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<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 70089 ***</div>
<div class='figcenter id001'>
<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c000' />
</div>
<div class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/frontis.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
<div class='ic002'>
<p><span class='sc'>Frontispiece.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c001' />
</div>
<div>
<h1 class='c002'>DRIFTED ASHORE<br /><span class='c003'>OR,</span><br /><span class='c004'>A CHILD WITHOUT A NAME</span></h1>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c001'>
<div>BY</div>
<div><span class='c005'>EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN</span></div>
<div class='c000'><span class='c006'>AUTHOR OF “LENORE ANNANDALE,” “THE MISTRESS OF LYDGATE,” “HER</span></div>
<div><span class='c006'>HUSBAND’S HOME,” ETC.</span></div>
<div class='c007'><span class="blackletter">“Thy will be done.”</span></div>
<div class='c007'>────────</div>
<div><i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES WHYMPER</i></div>
<div>────────</div>
<div class='c007'>BOSTON:</div>
<div>BRADLEY & WOODRUFF</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='figcenter id003'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_iii'>iii</span>
<img src='images/i003.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c009'>CONTENTS.</h2>
</div>
<hr class='c010' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER I.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'> </td>
<td class='c012'><span class='xsmall'>PAGE</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>The Fisherman’s Hut</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_7'>7</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER II.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>The Squire’s Hall</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_21'>21</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER III.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>A Little Intruder</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_34'>34</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER IV.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>Queenie’s Home</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_48'>48</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER V.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>Sunday</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_63'>63</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER VI.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>The First Interview</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_78'>78</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER VII.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>The Fugitive</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_90'>90</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_iv'>iv</span>CHAPTER VIII.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>Bertie and Phil</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_107'>107</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER IX.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>Queenie’s Ideas</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_130'>130</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER X.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>Bertie’s New Friends</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_144'>144</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XI.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>Uncle Fred</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_159'>159</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XII.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>A Project</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_171'>171</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XIII.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>A Picnic</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_184'>184</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XIV.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>Autumn Days</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_198'>198</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XV.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>The Grave in the Churchyard</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_212'>212</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XVI.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>What Bertie Did</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_225'>225</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XVII.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>Christmas-tide</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_239'>239</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XVIII.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>The Squire’s Story</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_253'>253</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_v'>v</span></div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XIX.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>Coming Changes</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_264'>264</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XX.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>The Rocky Bay</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_277'>277</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XXI.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>The Mother</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_291'>291</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XXII.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>The Name Found</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_307'>307</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c008'>
<div>CHAPTER XXIII.</div>
</div>
</div>
<table class='table0' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='80%' />
<col width='20%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<td class='c011'>Conclusion</td>
<td class='c012'><a href='#Page_323'>323</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER I.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>THE FISHERMAN’S HUT.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-t.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
THE fitful light of a showery April day
was shining upon the level expanse of
pale yellow sand, and upon the heaving
plain of the sullen, angry sea. Great
waves came racing in upon the beach, as though
nothing would stay their impetuous course; and yet,
as they approached that invisible limit against which
was traced in unseen characters “Thus far and no
farther,” their proud crests fell with a grand crash,
and with a sullen and subdued sound, as of resentment
and wrath, they drew back again into the seething
waste of water they had for the moment seemed
to leave behind.</p>
<p class='c015'>When the dark clouds, heavy with rain, drifted
<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>over the sun’s pale disc and blotted out his watery
smile, the face of the ocean looked very grim and
black; but when the driving shower had passed, and
the sunlight shone out clear and bright, turning to
powdered gold dust the last of the retreating raindrops,
then it seemed as if the great waves were
laughing and rejoicing in their play; and even the
dreary wastes of sand looked bright and almost beautiful,
and the level country beyond, bare and bleak,
and in many places almost treeless, put on an aspect
of quiet, smiling contentment that might almost be
taken for beauty.</p>
<p class='c015'>A little boy had been sitting for many hours beneath
the shelter of an old boat drawn up upon the
shore. He was protected from the driving showers,
and seemed quite contented with his position, for it
was long since he had moved. He sat very still,
nursing his knees with his clasped hands and resting
his chin upon them, whilst he gazed unweariedly out
over the tossing sea.</p>
<div class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/i009.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
</div>
<p class='c015'>His coarse clothing and sun-browned face and
hands proclaimed him a fisherman’s son. He looked
about ten or twelve years old, and had a gentle,
thoughtful, although not an intellectual cast of countenance.
He did not appear very robust, despite his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>indifference to raindrops and chilly sea-breezes, and
his placid inactivity betrayed a nature more prone to
contemplation than to the toils of the life to which
he was evidently born.</p>
<p class='c015'>The sun began to set behind the sandhills, whose
shadows slowly lengthened, whilst the thin, coarse
grass which grew sparsely upon them turned golden
in the radiance of departing day. The hoarse cries
of the seabirds grew more frequent as they flew
hither and thither, as if in search of their night’s
quarters; and the little boy, rousing himself at last
from his reverie, rose slowly from his sitting posture,
stretched his cramped limbs, and began slowly making
his way in a diagonal direction across the sandhills.</p>
<p class='c015'>He had not proceeded far, before a wreath of pale
blue smoke curling up from a little hollow indicated
the presence of some dwelling-place; and a few
more steps brought him to the door of a tiny cabin
such as fisher-folk often inhabit.</p>
<p class='c015'>The door stood seawards, and was as usual wide
open, and upon the threshold sat the boy’s mother,
busily engaged in mending a broken net.</p>
<p class='c015'>She looked up as the child approached, and
smiled. She had a round, motherly face, and her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>person, as well as the interior of her diminutive
abode, was far more clean and neat than is usual
with the dwellings of people of her class.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, David,” she said, “where hast thou been
all the day, honey?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, down by the sea, mother,” he answered;
and then, glancing quickly up into her face, he
asked, “Be he woke up yet?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The woman shook her head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Nay, nay, that he has not,” she answered.
“Sometimes I be afeared he’ll never wake no more,
for all the doctor says he will.”</p>
<p class='c015'>A look of distress clouded David’s face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, mother, don’t say that! He’s sure to wake
up soon—the doctor must know best. May I go
and look at un?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Ay, do so, child, if thee wants.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And David stepped over his mother’s net and went
into the inner room of the little low-roofed cabin.</p>
<p class='c015'>Upon a low pallet-bed, beneath the little west window,
through which the sun was now pouring a flood
of golden light, lay a child about eight years old, a
little boy, with dark soft hair lying in heavy waves
across his forehead, and his white face very set and
still, more as if in unconsciousness than in sleep. A
<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>glance at the delicate features of the child upon the
bed, the blue veins showing through the transparent
skin, the short upper lip, broad, intellectual brow,
and small, well-shaped hands, showed plainly enough
that he was no relation to the little brown-faced fisher
lad who stood beside him, looking down at him with
such interest.</p>
<p class='c015'>What then had brought him to that humble abode?
Who was he? and how came it that he lay there so
still and motionless, untended save by the hard
though motherly hands of the fisherman’s wife?
Where were the boy’s own friends and kindred, who
would be the most eager to be with him at such a
time as this? Where was the mother, who would be
first to fly to her darling, could she but see him lying
there, on that hard pallet-bed, with no luxuries around
him, and only strangers to minister to his need?</p>
<p class='c015'>Where indeed? That was a question that entered
many minds; but none gave voice to it, for all knew
how vainly it would be asked. The little white-faced
boy had been cast up by the stormy sea at the good
fisherwife’s feet three days ago now, but not a single
clue could be found by which to identify the child,
or even the vessel from which he had been swept.
Probably he was the only survivor of some ill-fated
<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>ship; probably he had been washed ashore alive
only because a life-belt had been tied about him and
had floated him to shore. Not a single plank or
fragment of wreckage had been cast ashore with the
little waif; and, unless he awoke to give an account
of himself, it seemed likely that he too would have
to lie in a nameless grave, as his companions now
did beneath the waves of the pitiless ocean.</p>
<p class='c015'>The doctor of the nearest village, who had been
every day to see the boy, was still of the opinion
that he would awake to consciousness in time. He
detected traces of a heavy blow upon the head, that
was evidently the cause of this prolonged unconsciousness,
some concussion of the brain having
probably taken place; but consciousness would
return in time, and then they would be able to
learn who the child was, and communicate with his
friends.</p>
<p class='c015'>Meantime, as the fisherwife’s “goodman” and big
boys were out on a fishing excursion, there was room
in the cabin for the little waif, and the dame’s motherly
heart was filled with compassion for him, and
prompted her to “do for him” as if he had been a
child of her own.</p>
<p class='c015'>Little David had taken from the first an immense
<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>interest in the nameless stranger. He thought he
had never in his life seen any face half so beautiful
as that of the white-faced child who lay motionless
upon the bed, and he wove round him the web of
romance that always seems so dear to children,
especially when they are of an imaginative turn.
He believed that he would prove to be at the very
least a prince, although what a prince was David had
only the vaguest of ideas.</p>
<p class='c015'>He was never tired of standing beside the bed and
looking at the white face upon the pillow, of watching
his mother feed the unconscious child, and observing
the face and movements of the doctor as he made his
daily examination. He would have been pleased to
stay all day in the quiet room, did not his mother
insist on his going out for some hours every day;
but the moment he felt at liberty to return he did so,
and his first question was always the same—Had the
little boy awoke yet?</p>
<p class='c015'>And now, as he stood gazing down upon the little
white face, suddenly his heart began to beat more
quickly and his breath came thick and fast, for he
saw that the long black lashes resting upon the waxen
cheek were beginning to tremble and to slowly lift
themselves up; and the next moment a pair of large,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>dark, soft eyes were looking straight into his. There
was no meaning in that gaze, no surprise or inquiry.
It was like the expression in the eyes of a little child
just awakened from sleep, before any consciousness
of its surroundings has dawned upon it; but David
uttered a smothered cry that brought his mother
hurrying up.</p>
<p class='c015'>The great dark eyes turned upon her then, and she
laid her hand upon David’s shoulder.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Run for the doctor, quick, Davie boy!” she cried
in an excited whisper. “Don’t thee linger by the
way now. Fetch him as fast as thee can.”</p>
<p class='c015'>No need to tell David not to linger. He was off
like a shot almost before the words were spoken.</p>
<p class='c015'>Fortune favored him that day. The doctor, whose
experienced eye had that morning detected an approaching
change in his little patient’s state, had
already set out upon a second visit to the fisherman’s
cottage, and David encountered him about a quarter
of a mile away from his home.</p>
<p class='c015'>The boy imparted his news with breathless eagerness.
The doctor quickened his pace, and in a very
few minutes he was standing beside the pallet-bed.</p>
<p class='c015'>The sick child had turned his face away from the
light and had closed his eyes again; but when the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>doctor laid a cool, firm hand upon his head, he
started a little, and the dark eyes unclosed once
more and fastened upon the doctor’s face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, my little friend, and how are you?” was
the kindly inquiry; but the child only looked hard
at the speaker and said nothing.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Can you tell me your name, my boy?” was the
next question; but still there was no reply.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Perhaps he is a foreigner,” thought Dr. Lighton.
“His eyes are dark enough;” and, summoning up
first French and then Italian, he tried if he could
make himself understood.</p>
<p class='c015'>The child’s dark eyes had never left his face for an
instant. Their glance was curiously intent, expressive
of some feeling that it was impossible to define,
full of a wistful perplexity that was akin to pain,
which filled the young doctor with a sort of compassion
he did not altogether understand.</p>
<p class='c015'>Quite suddenly the child’s lips unclosed, and he
said, very distinctly and softly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I understood you before, thank you; but I can
speak French too. Is this France?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, we are in England, my little man. You are
in your own country, and we will soon find your
friends for you. What is your name?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>A look of distress and perplexity clouded the
child’s face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know,” he answered.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Don’t know!” repeated Dr. Lighton, kindly.
“Well, it will soon come back to you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>There was a long silence in the little room. David
almost held his breath, for fear he should disturb the
current of the little prince’s thoughts. His mother
shook her head sympathetically and murmured, “Poor
lamb, poor lamb!” whilst the doctor’s eyes were
fixed with keen professional scrutiny upon the child’s
face.</p>
<p class='c015'>The look of bewildered distress had deepened
there. The dark eyes began to burn with strange
intensity, and with a sudden little frightened cry the
boy pressed his two hands upon his head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I can’t remember—I can’t remember! It’s all
gone!”</p>
<p class='c015'>Dr. Lighton laid his own hand upon those of his
little patient.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Never mind,” he said, in kindly, reassuring tones;
“it will all come back in time. Do not try to think,
or you will only hurt yourself. Take some of this
milk, and go to sleep. When you wake up again
you will remember all about it, I dare say.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>The child was docile and obedient, as well as exceedingly
weak. He took what was offered from the
doctor’s hands, and fell asleep shortly afterwards—the
sleep of exhausted nature.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Let him sleep; see that he is not disturbed,” said
the doctor to the fisherman’s wife, as they stood in
the outer room together. “He wants rest more than
anything. He must not excite himself by talking.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“He’ll remember all about hisself by and by, doctor?”
questioned the good woman, compassionately.
“I be main anxious to let his poor mother know he’s
safe. She must be fretting sorely.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Perhaps, perhaps,” answered the doctor, glancing
over the sea, thinking to himself that the mother
might in all probability be sleeping beneath the
waves; “time and rest may work wonders for him;
but don’t press him, don’t try to force his memory.
Let it come of itself by degrees. I’ll look round
early to-morrow.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And with that the doctor took his departure, nodding
a kindly adieu, and muttering, as he walked over
the soft sandhills,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“A curious case, a curious case. I wonder how it
will end.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The opinion of the kindly fisher-folk of the neighboring
<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>hamlet was that the child would be able to give
an account of himself, as soon as he had recovered a
little more strength, and grown used to his surroundings;
but day by day passed by, strength and spirit
both began to revive, and still the little boy remained
utterly silent as to his past history, and when the
doctor questioned him (he had forbidden any one
else to do so) as to his name, his parentage, his antecedents,
a look of bewildered distress would cross his
face, he would press his hands upon his head, and
say,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I can’t remember. It’s all gone. Oh, I don’t
know anything about it!”</p>
<p class='c015'>Dr. Lighton never pressed him. He always turned
the talk, with a smile or a kind word; but as day by
day passed on, and still no memory returned, he
began to wonder how it would all end, and how long
a time must elapse before the shaken faculties could
reassert themselves.</p>
<p class='c015'>The boy grew better and stronger every day. He
played with David unweariedly for many hours upon
the bed, and when he was able to get up and be
dressed in some of the elder boy’s clothes,—he had
been washed ashore in a little nightdress and a rough
blue pilot coat,—they wandered out upon the sandhills
<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>together, and enjoyed themselves after a peculiar
fashion of their own.</p>
<p class='c015'>They were a very quiet pair, but not on that account
unhappy. David was in a state of quiet and
ecstatic delight. It was enough for him to be with
the stranger, to watch his every movement, wait upon
him, talk to him, love him as only children can love
their own kind, and to bask, as it were, in the light
of his countenance.</p>
<p class='c015'>The little new boy was very silent and quiet. He
answered when he was spoken to, but seldom volunteered
a remark. His eyes were always dreamy, and
wore a look of wistful bewilderment and sorrow that
was very expressive of the confused state of his mind.
He would sit for hours gazing over the sea, with a
strangely rapt expression of countenance, and when
David spoke to him he would start and flush as if his
thoughts had been very far away.</p>
<p class='c015'>He seemed to cling, in an abstract way, to the
gentle-faced boy who watched him with such undivided
interest and devotion; but so far the conversation
had been limited to a very few remarks, and
even the games they played together were of a
peculiarly silent description.</p>
<p class='c015'>The boy had a marked preference for the sandhills
<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>and the shore, and an increasing distaste for the
low cabin that somewhat distressed David and his
good mother.</p>
<p class='c015'>This distaste was not expressed in words, but was
manifested in a marked reluctance to come in, in an
intense eagerness to get out, and in a quiet determination
not to eat his food until he had carried it into
the purer air without.</p>
<p class='c015'>The food, too, as soon as he had advanced beyond
the “slop stage,” seemed very unpalatable to him.
He was too thoroughly the little gentleman to complain,
but it was plain that he would never thrive on
such coarse fare; and the doctor was once more
appealed to.</p>
<p class='c015'>He looked with a smile at the slight and graceful
child, as he sat beside David on the sandhills, and
said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“It is plain something must be done, Mrs. Wickham;
he cannot go on much longer like this. You
have done your share, and more. I must see to
matters myself, I think.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER II.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>THE SQUIRE’S HALL.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-t.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
THE Squire sat in his library, surrounded
by his books and papers; and Dr.
Lighton sat opposite to him in earnest
conversation. The Manor House of
Arlingham was a fine old mediæval house, picturesque
both without and within. It was built of red
sandstone, and its irregular outline, mullioned windows,
and an air of peaceful antiquity, delighted all
lovers of bygone days and their relics, whilst the
interior of the old house was just what would be
expected from the appearance it presented from
without. The rooms were low, rather dim and
dark, irregular in shape, yet delightfully cosey and
comfortable. The stairs were of polished oak, as
were the floor and walls of the panelled hall. There
was nothing new in that house, nothing bright,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>staring, or incongruous. The stained glass windows
admitted a rich, dusky light, and the peculiar stillness
and peaceful hush that often rests upon old
houses whence all young life has fled pervaded all
the rooms and corridors of the Manor House at
Arlingham to an unusual extent, and no one could
step within the shadows of the hall without being
instantly conscious that they had entered a place
whose life was rather a memory of the past than an
active present.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire had lost his wife and all his children
many years before. Arlingham still spoke with
bated breath of that terrible year when cholera
visited them, and, whilst the Squire and his lady
were doing all that money and skill and benevolence
could accomplish to succor their poorer neighbors,
the awful visitor entered their own doors, and within
a week the sweet lady all had learned to love was
lying dead, as well as her two eldest boys—fine lads,
the pride of Arlingham; and before the death angel
had stayed his hand, mother and five children—all
her little ones—lay sleeping in the quiet churchyard,
and the Squire, a hale man of but forty summers,
was left quite alone in his desolated home.</p>
<p class='c015'>In one week his hair, which had been black as the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>raven’s wing, had turned as white as the driven snow;
but otherwise no great outward change had fallen
upon the Squire, and he had taken up the duties of
his position with a strong hand and resolute will,
only betraying the depth of his wound by his increasing
distaste for any kind of society save that of his
own people, with whom his duties brought him in
contact, and his increasing shrinking from partaking
in any of the amusements and social relaxations
common to those of his position and standing.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was fifteen years now since the date of the fatal
year that had cost him so terribly dear,—fifteen
years, and yet the memory of his loss was still green
in his heart, and, although he never spoke of it, his
servants, and indeed all Arlingham, knew that he had
not forgotten, and never would forget. He had lived
his life alone, true to the memory of those he had
loved, and he would live it alone to the end.</p>
<p class='c015'>He had many friends, but few intimates. He was
universally liked and respected in the county, but
distances were long, his habits those of a recluse, and
visitors were rare at the Manor House. Young Mr.
Lighton, who had lately settled in the neighborhood,
was a distant connection of the Squire’s, and partly
perhaps on that account, partly from a similarity in
<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>some of their tastes, partly because the elderly man
was sincerely kind-hearted and knew that the place
was very dull and quiet, the young physician had
been made more welcome at the Manor House than
any one else had been for many long years; and he
had grown to understand thoroughly the nature and
character of the white-headed, keen-eyed Squire.</p>
<p class='c015'>He often dropped in after dinner for a little chat,
as he had done on this occasion.</p>
<p class='c015'>The library was a very comfortable room, with its
walls warmly lined with books, its two great oriel
windows, and the wide hearth, where in the evenings,
for the greater part of the year, the great logs
blazed cheerily, sending out showers of sparks that
were whirled upwards into the dark cavern of the
huge, old-fashioned chimney.</p>
<p class='c015'>Dr. Lighton liked this room, with its flickering
lights and shadows, and its central object of interest,
the stalwart figure of the Squire, with his snow-white
head, his fine, handsome face stamped with the indelible
lines of a great sorrow heroically borne, and
his commanding air that had lost but little of its
youthful strength and firmness, notwithstanding the
years that had rolled over his head.</p>
<p class='c015'>The young physician enjoyed his evening talks
<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>with the Squire as much as any part of his day’s
work, but on this particular occasion his thoughts
were less engrossed by his host than was usual, for
he had another more pressing matter on his mind.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Undoubtedly a very interesting case, I should
say; and a remarkable one, too,” observed the
Squire, after hearing the doctor’s story. “What do
you imagine will be the end of it?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“The end, if the child is left in his present surroundings,
will be that he will pine away and die,”
answered the young man, with a little impetuosity.
“It is plain as daylight that he is a gentleman’s son,
and has been reared up in every luxury. Every day
proves more clearly how utterly unfitted he is for his
life; and of course the poor woman cannot keep him
always. The money you kindly sent down has kept
her so far from feeling any loss by her goodness to
the child; but she expects her husband and sons
home shortly, and then she must turn out the little
stranger. The cabin is barely large enough for the
family as it is; besides, it would be unreasonable to
expect her to adopt the little waif. She is not in a
position to do it.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Decidedly not. What is to become of the child?
I suppose the parish will be responsible for him.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>Dr. Lighton looked quickly at the impassive face
of his interlocutor.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It would be absurd to send a boy like that to the
workhouse,” he said, in the same slightly impetuous
manner. “He is a gentleman’s son, every inch of
him. His voice, his manner, his appearance, all
show it. Any day he may be able to recall the
past,—it may all come back like a flash, although I
admit that the process may be much more tedious,—and
it would be sheer cruelty to have turned the
child into a pauper and made him rough it with a
lot of lads no more like himself than chalk is like
cheese. If you were only to see the child, Squire,
you would understand my meaning.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire turned his gaze full upon the young
doctor’s face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“And why do you tell all this to me? You have
some reason. What is it?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Dr. Lighton knew by the expression of the Squire’s
face that the time had come to speak out and say
exactly what he did mean.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I will tell you,” he said, frankly; “you may think
I am taking an unwarrantable liberty, but, if so, I can
only crave your pardon. You are the great man of
the place here, the Squire, and the friend of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>people. A little waif has been cast up almost at
your doors, and, until he is able to remember his
past history and assist in his own identification, somebody
must in common humanity give him a home
and look after him a little. He is obviously of gentle
birth, and wants the gentle treatment to which he has
been used. You are the only wealthy man in the
place, the only friend to whom I can plead my cause,
for you know what Lady Arbuthnot is like. I thought
you might be willing to take an interest in the boy,
to let him come here for a time perhaps, and give
him a temporary asylum until his own home could
be found. Rather than he should go to the parish, I
would take him myself; but a bachelor in small lodgings
is at a great disadvantage; whereas this house
is large, and the staff of servants in all ways adequate
to the wants of more than a solitary—”</p>
<p class='c015'>A quick spasm of pain contracted the Squire’s
face. The young man saw it and paused.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I hope I have not taken an unwarrantable liberty
in making the suggestion,” he said.</p>
<p class='c015'>A few minutes of silence ensued before there was
any answer.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You have surprised me a little, I admit,” answered
the Squire; “but there is force in what you
<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>say. I believe I am the right person to see after this
waif. Legally, of course, there is no claim upon me;
but I admit the moral claim.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Dr. Lighton’s eyes brightened.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You are very good to say so.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Not at all. I do not profess I want the child
here; I shall not see much of him if he comes. I
have no disposition to look at the case sentimentally;
but you appeal to my sense of justice and hospitality.
A small atom of humanity has been cast up at our
doors, and I, as the Squire of the place, admit that
my door is the one that should open to him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I confess I hoped you might see it in that light,”
admitted Dr. Lighton. “I trust you will not consider
I have been intrusive in saying so much.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Not at all. You have only done your duty
promptly, whilst I have been inclined to be slack in
the performance of mine. You consider it probable
that the boy’s memory will return shortly?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I should be quite inclined to think so, and all the
sooner for a return to civilized life. Some chord can
hardly fail to be struck, and at any moment a flash
of memory might bring the whole past back. Nobody
can pronounce a decided opinion in such cases;
but my own feeling is that such a state of mind will
<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>only prove a temporary phase, and that he will soon
be able to give a rational account of himself.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Very good,” returned the Squire; “the sooner
the better for me; but until that time comes he shall
have a home here. I will send for him to-morrow.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You are very good,” answered the young man;
“I feel personally grateful.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire smiled a little.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You seem to take an interest in the child.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I do. The case is interesting professionally for
one thing, and there is undoubtedly something interesting
in the boy himself, as you will see for yourself
when he comes.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire’s face had put on an expression not
easy to read.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I shall hardly be likely to see much of him myself,”
he said, with an odd intonation in his voice.
“Children are not in my line.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And then he turned to his table, leaned one elbow
upon it and his head on his hand, turning over some
papers with an air of deep abstraction.</p>
<p class='c015'>Dr. Lighton knew by instinct that he was a good
deal moved, little as he betrayed it, by the revival of
some memories of the past. He judged it advisable
to take his departure, and he did so at once, the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>Squire, who still appeared abstracted and unlike himself,
offering no remonstrance to this early move.
Indeed, he hardly seemed to notice his guest’s departure,
and returned his farewell with unusual
brevity.</p>
<p class='c015'>When he found himself alone, he rose from his
seat and began pacing the room slowly backwards
and forwards with measured tread.</p>
<p class='c015'>Presently he paused, and rang the bell with a certain
force and decision of touch, and when the gray-haired
butler appeared in answer to the summons he
merely said, briefly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Send Mrs. Pritchard to me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Pritchard was the housekeeper now. She had
been nurse to the children in bygone days, and had
served in the family ever since she was a slim girl of
fifteen. She was a stout, buxom woman now, with a
pleasant face and a respectful manner. Her master
trusted her implicitly, and she never betrayed his
trust.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Mrs. Pritchard,” he said, quietly, “be good enough
to be seated for a few minutes.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire was sitting himself now in his customary
chair. Mrs. Pritchard did as she was bid, and
sat down facing him.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>“No doubt you have heard, Mrs. Pritchard, of the
little boy at the fisherman’s cottage, who was washed
up after the storm the other day, and can give no
account of himself?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Ay, sir, I have, poor lamb! I saw him on the
shore the other day with David. My heart fairly
ached for him, that it did.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire smiled a little.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Your heart was always tender, Mrs. Pritchard.
Well, what did you think of the child?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“A little gentleman born, if ever there was one,”
answered the worthy housekeeper, with some warmth.
“He was dressed just like the other boy, in old
patched clothes, but the difference between them!
Why, the little one was on his feet almost before he
knew I was speaking to them, and took off his cap
as pretty as could be, and answered so gentle, and
quite like as if he’d been used to company all his life.
Poor lamb, it isn’t fitting he should stay in such a
place. The look in his eyes fairly haunts me, it
does. I can’t get it out of my head.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, Mrs. Pritchard, I have been hearing the
same story from other quarters. What should you
say to having him here to take care of, until he can
tell us where his own home is?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>The housekeeper’s face brightened visibly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do you really mean it, sir?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Certainly. Dr. Lighton has spoken upon the
subject, and I agree with him in thinking that this
house should be the one to shelter him until we can
discover something about him. Are you prepared
to put up with the trouble of having a child about
the place for a few weeks?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, sir,” cried the good woman, clasping her
hands together in a sudden outbreak of feeling, “if
there is one thing would make me happier than another,
it would be to have a child to tend and care
for again!”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire turned his face slightly away; he took
out his keys and began fumbling in the drawer of the
table before him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Very good, Mrs. Pritchard,” he said at length,
after rather a long pause, and speaking with manifest
effort. “Then you had better make all necessary
arrangements, and get the nurseries ready for him
by to-morrow. He had better live there entirely,
except when he is out of doors. You will arrange
all that; but understand that I do not care about
seeing him all over the house.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>“Yes, sir, I will take care of that,” answered Mrs.
Pritchard, with ready comprehension.</p>
<p class='c015'>“And you must get him whatever he wants in the
way of clothes,” continued the Squire, handing across
a crisp bank-note. “You had better have the dog-cart,
and get William to drive you both in to Twing
to-morrow morning. Buy whatever is needful for the
present, and order what you cannot get at once. The
child must look as he should whilst he stays under
my roof.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Pritchard rose and curtsied and took the
money held out.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Thank you, sir,” she said; “I will see that your
wishes are carried out to the best of my powers.”</p>
<p class='c015'>She withdrew, and the Squire was left alone with
his books and his dying fire. The night was merging
into day before he roused himself from the reverie
into which he had sunk, and extinguished the lamp
that had grown pale in the feeble glimmer of coming
dawn.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER III.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>A LITTLE INTRUDER.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-t.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
THE Squire’s study had a westerly aspect
and as evening drew on the sunset rays
streamed into the quaint, quiet room
and flooded it with golden light. The
old calf-bound books upon the long rows of shelves
took all manner of rich hues, and the picture over the
fireplace, representing a beautiful woman with two
fair children beside her, seemed to awake to a new
and smiling life.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire had been a little less self-possessed
than usual upon this particular day. Work seemed
irksome to him. He had not been able to give undivided
attention to his bailiff’s accounts of the farm
and stock, and shortly after he had finished his lunch
<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>he ordered his horse and set out for a ride over the
estate, feeling that air and exercise would be more
congenial to him in his present mood than any sedentary
work could be. He did not examine into his
state of mind, nor ask himself why it was that he was
disturbed and unlike himself; but he recognized that
such was the case, and accepted it without comment
or question.</p>
<p class='c015'>He returned home as the sun was slowly sinking
in the west, and went straight to his study as usual,
but when he stood upon the threshold he stopped
suddenly short and stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed
with intent scrutiny upon something in the room that
appeared to give him the keenest surprise.</p>
<p class='c015'>Nothing very remarkable to other eyes was presented
by the spectacle of that quiet room bathed in
the golden sunset, only upon the cushioned seat of
the great oriel window sat a little boy with a delicate-featured,
pale face and a pair of wistful dark eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>The child leaned his head against the window and
gazed intently out upon the western sky, painted with
all the gorgeous hues of sunset; and he was evidently
entirely unconscious of his present surroundings or
that his solitude had been invaded.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire stood for some minutes gazing fixedly
<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>at the little intruder. A frown had quickly clouded
his face when his eyes had first fallen upon the childish
figure; but as he stood there in the shadow of the
doorway, and noticed the perplexed and settled sadness
of the boy’s expression and the hungry, unsatisfied
longing in his earnest gaze, the frown slowly
faded and a more gentle look came into the weather-beaten
face. Still, discipline was discipline, and orders
were orders; the child had no right to be there,
and the Squire was too much the master in his own
house not to feel a passing sense of displeasure at
this direct infringement of his commands.</p>
<p class='c015'>He walked forward into the room and settled himself
in his usual chair, without taking the least notice
of the child perched up in the window-seat.</p>
<p class='c015'>Minutes flew by, and still the silence remained unbroken.
The Squire turned over his papers, but he
did not master their contents in his usual rapid way.
His ears were keenly alive to the faint sounds that
proceeded from the window behind him, and an impatient
wish that Mrs. Pritchard would come and
claim her little charge rose more than once in his
mind.</p>
<p class='c015'>This ignoring of the child’s presence in the room
seemed even to himself strained and unnatural; and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>yet he had no business to be there at all, and the
Squire knew that it would never do to encourage
such a breach of discipline.</p>
<p class='c015'>Suddenly he was aware that a small soft hand was
laid upon his own, and a sweet little voice said, in
accents of eager, tremulous surprise,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Grandpapa!”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire turned quickly in his chair to meet the
pleading, earnest gaze of those liquid brown eyes fixed
upon him with an almost pathetic intensity.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Grandpapa!” said the child again, but this time
with more of distressed uncertainty in his tone, and
the delicate little lips began to quiver as the boy
glanced up into the unresponsive face before him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why do you call me that, little boy?” asked the
Squire, gravely.</p>
<p class='c015'>The child’s hand was pressed to his forehead, his
eyes brightened unnaturally.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know,” he answered, slowly, and a tear
gathered upon the long lashes.</p>
<p class='c015'>After all, the Squire was a father, and, although
that very fact made the sight of the boy painful to
him, he was not on that account hard-hearted, nor
could he look with an unmoved countenance upon
the distress of a little child.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>He drew the little fellow gently between his knees,
and it seemed as if there was something in the
fatherly touch that went home to the heart of the
lonely child in some overpowering way, for he suddenly
laid his head against the Squire’s shoulder
and burst into convulsive weeping.</p>
<p class='c015'>There was something very touching in the nameless
sorrow of the little lonely child, who was so
utterly forsaken in the great world, without home or
kindred or even a name to call his own. His partial
realization of his anomalous position gave a pathos to
his distress that raised it above the level of ordinary
childish grief.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire could have found it in his heart to wish
that he had not been the recipient of this burst of
sorrow, but he could not for a moment refuse to
comfort the child, who clung to him as to a natural
protector. He put his arm round the sobbing boy,
and by and by said, in kindly accents,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“There, there, my little man, there, there! Do
not cry so bitterly. What is it all about? Let us
see if something can’t be done to make it better.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The tone rather than the words seemed to soothe
the agitated boy; his sobs were slowly checked, and,
although he did not lift his head from its resting-place
<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>upon the broad shoulder, the little frame ceased
to tremble so convulsively and gradually became still.</p>
<p class='c015'>When the child’s tears seemed fairly conquered,
the Squire put him a little farther away and looked
at him steadily, with an intent expression upon his
fine, commanding face.</p>
<p class='c015'>The little boy looked up timidly, but he did not
seem alarmed by the glance he encountered. Children
have a marvellous instinct in distinguishing between
the sternness of an inflexible yet just and kindly
nature and that of harshness and tyranny.</p>
<p class='c015'>His wistful glance travelled upwards till it rested
upon the snow-white hair that gave to the Squire a
more venerable appearance than his years indicated,
and again a little smile shone out from the sad eyes,
and the same word sprang in a whisper to the lips
that quivered yet with the past fit of weeping,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Grandpapa!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“So that is to be your name for me, is it?” questioned
the Squire, kindly. “Very well, it will do as
well as any other. And what am I to call you?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child’s hand went up to his head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know,” he said, pitifully.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, then, I must think of something for myself.
You have given me a name, so I must give you one.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>What shall it be, I wonder? Shall we say Bertie?
That gives us a certain license, you see, and does not
commit us to anything very definite, eh, Bertie?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child smiled a little uncertain, tearful smile.
The name did not appear to arouse any associations;
but still it was something to have a name again.</p>
<p class='c015'>“And now, Bertie, tell me why it was you came
here at all? Where is Mrs. Pritchard?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“She is having her tea. She left me in the nursery,
and said she should soon be back. I came
down-stairs to go into the garden, and then I saw
the door open, and the books, and I came in to look.
I like a library; I always used”—but here the look
of bewilderment swept over the boy’s face again, and
he concluded, confusedly, “I mean, nobody was
there, and it all looked nice and quiet, and so I came
in and sat there, and then you came back, and I
thought—”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Never mind, never mind what you thought,” interposed
the Squire, hastily, for the look in the child’s
eyes was painfully bewildered and strained. “Tell
me if you know who I am.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You are the Squire,” answered Bertie, promptly,
looking more natural and childlike again. “I saw
you ride out on your big brown horse to-day; and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>yesterday I saw you walking in the garden and telling
the men what to do. Mrs. Pritchard says that all
this big house belongs to you. Are you ever lonely
living here all by yourself?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire looked down into the child’s upturned
face, and a curious shade passed over his own.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What do you know about being lonely?” he
asked, in an odd, muffled voice.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie put his hand over his eyes; and then, after
a moment’s pause, looked up again smiling.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I was lonely down by the sea with David. He
was very kind, and I liked him, and so was his
mother. But I was lonely with them. It isn’t half
so lonely here with you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You are not lonely, then, with Mrs. Pritchard in
the nursery, I suppose?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie hesitated.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Mrs. Pritchard is very kind,” he said, with a little
courtly air that was almost amusing,—“very kind
indeed; but, somehow, this feels more <i>natural</i>, you
know.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire, as he found the child grew more composed
and quiet, began to return to his former state
of mind as regarded his position in the house.</p>
<p class='c015'>“But you must understand, Bertie, that the nursery
<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>is your room, and that this is mine. You must not
come here without leave.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child’s face put on a look of distress and perplexity.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Isn’t this a library!” he said.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes; this is my library.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I always used to sit in the library when I wanted
to,” he said, appealingly. “I never did any harm.
I like the smell of the books, you know. Ours used
to smell just the same.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yours?” interrogated the Squire, hoping to elicit
some further intelligence.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Grandpapa’s,” was the prompt response; but
there Bertie stuck fast. The moment he <i>tried</i> to
recollect anything, everything fled away in painful
confusion; reminiscences sprang unconsciously to his
lips, but eluded him pitilessly the moment he tried to
arrange his ideas and seize upon a memory of the
past. The tears again stood in his eyes, and he put
up his hands, crying piteously,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, why can’t I remember? Why does it all run
away so fast?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire had to turn comforter again.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Never mind, little chap, it will all come back of
itself some day. Don’t you worry your head over it;
<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>that will make matters worse instead of better. Ah!
and here comes Mrs. Pritchard, looking for her lost
lamb. She will wonder what has brought you here.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Pritchard’s face expressed a good deal of
alarm and confusion as she appeared in the doorway,
guided there by the sound of voices.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Indeed, sir, but I’m truly sorry!” she exclaimed.
“I had no idea the child had left the nurseries. I
truly am most—”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Never mind, never mind, Mrs. Pritchard,” answered
the Squire, quietly. “Children will stray,
and I do not expect you to alter your usual routine
on his account. Take him away now; but if he is a
good boy, you may dress him and send him down to
dessert. He will be all the better for a little more
change, and will have less time to think.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Pritchard looked deeply gratified, and thanked
the Squire as if he had been conferring some personal
favor upon herself.</p>
<p class='c015'>“We have settled upon a name for him, Mrs.
Pritchard,” continued the Squire. “He is to be
Master Bertie, until we know any better. He will
be wanting his tea now; you had better take him
away.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie followed the housekeeper obediently, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>the Squire was left alone to his own meditations, and
as he turned to his papers he sighed once or twice.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Poor little fellow!” he said; “poor little fellow!
Well, I suppose it will all come right some day soon.
Very odd turn of affairs altogether.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Meantime Bertie was silently discussing his substantial
nursery tea, whilst Mrs. Pritchard sat by,
busy with her needle.</p>
<p class='c015'>By and by the little boy spoke.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Was it naughty of me to go into grandpapa’s
library, Mrs. Pritchard?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The good woman started visibly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“The Squire’s library, you mean, dearie?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, I know he’s the Squire; but he seems like
grandpapa, you know; and he said I had found a
name for him, and then he found one for me.
Grandpapa is a nicer name than Squire, you know.
I don’t think I ever knew a squire before.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“He did not mind you calling him so? Well, to
be sure, he is always kind and good. But, Master
Bertie dear, you must not go there without leave.
It’s only the nurseries that belong to you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked perplexed and sorrowful, but said
nothing. The look upon his face touched his kind
friend, and she added, reassuringly—,</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>“It isn’t anything as has vexed him with you,
dearie, but he’s had a deal of trouble has the Squire,
and there’s some things as it hurts him to talk of,
and one of them is children.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s eyes were very wide open now, brimful of
eager intelligence.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t understand, please, Mrs. Pritchard. Why
do children hurt him?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Because, dearie, he once had five little ones of
his own; and there came a dreadful sickness here
one year, and they all five died within a fortnight;
and the Squire has never been the same man since,
and no child has ever set foot inside the house, till
you came three days ago.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s gaze was very intent.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Did they <i>all</i> die?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Ay, that they did, and the mother too; and he
was left all alone.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked dreamily out of the window.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What is dying?” he asked.</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Pritchard hesitated how to reply; and Bertie
gave the answer to his own question.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Isn’t it when God takes people away with Him
that people say they are dead?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The ready tears had started to Mrs. Pritchard’s eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>“Ay, indeed ’tis so, Master Bertie dear; but we’re
sadly given to forget that.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I haven’t forgotten that,” said Bertie, slowly, “but
I can’t remember who told me.” He looked hard at
Mrs. Pritchard and asked, earnestly, “Do you think
God knows all about me?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Ay, my dearie, I suppose He knows everything.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I wish He would let me remember,” said the
child, wistfully. “Do you think He will?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, dearie, I do. He is very good to us, for all
He sends us trouble sometimes. You can ask Him,
you know, when you say your prayers to-night; you
can ask Him any time.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s hand was pressed to his head, his eyes
glowed strangely.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Somebody said—” He paused, and then went
on again, “Somebody said that we must not choose
ourselves, only ask God to choose for us. I can’t
remember just what it was. But it was like Jesus,
you know, in the garden, when He said “Thy will be
done,” to everything. I must say “Thy will be done”
too, mustn’t I, about remembering things again? I
know they said that—I can’t have made it up.”</p>
<p class='c015'>He was growing distressed, as he so easily did
when the vanished memory eluded his grasp; but
<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>Mrs. Pritchard took him into her motherly embrace
and soothed and quieted him. Very soon the child
was himself again, and looked at her with a smile.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ve got ‘Our Father’ left still, you see, Mrs.
Pritchard,” he said, with a sort of quaint gravity that
was very touching in its way. “He is my Father, isn’t
He? even if I’m quite lost, He knows where I am,
and He takes care of me, I’m sure. I don’t think
He’ll ever quite forget me, and p’raps He’ll let me
find my real home some day; but I’ll always say ‘Thy
will be done’ about it.” Then, looking quickly up
into the kind face above him, he asked, “Perhaps
grandpapa will explain it all and help me. He had
to say ‘Thy will be done’ when God took his little
children away, and I suppose that was very hard.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER IV.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>QUEENIE’S HOME.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-i.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
“I DO hate term-time!” cried Queenie,
stamping her little foot and looking altogether
fierce and out of sorts. “I hate
all the boys to be away! Why do boys
have to go to school? I’m sure they don’t learn so
very much; I believe I know more than most of them.
Boys ought either to stay at home or else take their
sisters to school with them.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And Queenie, who was standing in the middle of
her big nursery surrounded by piles of books and
toys, looked triumphantly round her, as if she had
uttered a very fine sentiment indeed. Her nurse, who
was quietly working by the window, smiled a little at
this outbreak.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>“Perhaps young gentlemen might not care about
taking their sisters with them,” she suggested, mildly;
but Queenie tossed her head with a supercilious air.</p>
<p class='c015'>“<i>My</i> brothers always like to have <i>me</i> with them,”
she answered. “It’s perfectly horrid when they all
go away. Nothing is any fun without boys.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You won’t think so long, Miss Queenie. It’s
only just at first that it seems dull-like.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie stamped her foot. I am afraid she often
did so, being a very excitable young lady, and without
much control over herself.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It isn’t!” she cried, angrily; “it’s all the time,
every bit of it—a whole horrid three months nearly!
I hate people who try and pretend things aren’t what
they are. It’s very stupid and very unkind. You
know I’m always miserable when the boys are away,
and it’s not a bit of good pretending I’m not!”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie turned defiantly upon her nurse as she
made this challenge; but the wise woman, knowing
well the disposition of her little mistress, held her
peace.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie sat down suddenly in the middle of her
toys and stared about her disconsolately.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It is horrid to live in a place where there isn’t a
single boy.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>“There is a boy now at the Manor House,” remarked
the nurse, threading her needle afresh.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie looked up, all interest and vivacity.</p>
<p class='c015'>“A boy at the Manor House!” she repeated.
“Who is he? I didn’t know the Squire had any
boys.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Neither he has, Miss Queenie. Poor man, he
lost them all. The little boy he has with him now is
the one, you know, who drifted ashore after the last
storm, who doesn’t know who he is nor where he came
from, poor little fellow.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why doesn’t he?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“He can’t remember; he’s forgotten it all. His
head was hurt somehow, and when he got better he’d
forgotten everything he knew about himself.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“How funny!” cried Queenie. “I wonder what it
feels like to forget everything like that.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The nurse shook her head, and Queenie went on
with her own train of thought.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think it would be rather nice to forget everything
and begin again quite fresh. It would be so
funny. I should like to forget all my lessons, and
to go on forgetting them, so that by and by people
would say it was no good teaching me any more, and
I should do just as I liked all day.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>“You would soon be very glad to go back to your
lessons again, Miss Queenie,” answered the nurse,
quietly. “There is nothing in the world so dull as
having no regular employment.”</p>
<p class='c015'>This wise remark did not provoke any ridicule
from Queenie at this moment, as it would usually
have done. She had other things to think of now.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why has the little boy gone to the Manor
House?” she asked.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I suppose the Squire asked him there. You see
he has no friends to take care of him—at least he
cannot find them yet. The Squire is a very kind man.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Mamma doesn’t like him,” remarked Queenie.
“She tells people he is very unsociable, and does
not treat her with proper respect. I think he looks
a nice old man. I met him once when I was out on
my pony, and had run away from William and lost
him. He picked up my whip for me because I’d
dropped it, and when I thanked him, he smiled and
looked quite kind, though in church he is always so
grave and solemn. But I can’t think why he should
take a little fisherman’s boy to live in his house.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The nurse smiled a little.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Who told you he was a fisherman’s boy, Miss
Queenie?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>Queenie tossed her little curly head with the air of
one who half resents such a question.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, of course he is! everybody knows that.
He lived ever so many days in that dirty little hut
with the Wickhams. I saw him one day on the
sands, playing with David. Only quite a common
boy could possibly think of doing <i>that</i>!”</p>
<p class='c015'>The nurse smiled again.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, Miss Queenie, however that may be, there
are other opinions about the little boy. Anyway, he
is living at the Manor House now, and Mrs. Pritchard
does not think it beneath her to wait upon him,—fisherman’s
boy or no.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie listened with interest to this account of
the little stranger; but she would not admit that she
could possibly be mistaken in her estimate of him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ve seen him,” she said; “he was dressed in
horrid old clothes. I’m quite sure <i>he</i> can’t be a
gentleman’s son. It’s quite ridiculous!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“And I suppose, Miss Queenie, if you happened
to get lost some day, and were found by poor people,
and dressed in poor clothes, you would not be a
gentleman’s little daughter any longer?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie flushed indignantly, and drew up her little
head.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>“I am Sir Walter Arbuthnot’s only daughter,” she
said, in her most stately way. “Nothing that could
happen could make any difference to <i>that</i>.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Nurse smiled again.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, I thought it was all a matter of clothes.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie made no reply. She began to see that
there was something more than that to be taken into
consideration; but she was not going to make any
rash admissions to her nurse, whose ideas upon some
subjects did not at all commend themselves to the
little lady.</p>
<p class='c015'>But she thought a good deal about the little boy
who had come to the Manor House, and wove several
romances about him. She wondered whether she
would ever make his acquaintance, what he would be
like if she did, and whether he would prove worthy
of the notice she half resolved she would take of him
should the opportunity present itself.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie, as will be seen from what has gone before,
was a little lady with a great idea of her own importance.
It was not altogether her own fault that she
had this exalted opinion of herself. She was an only
daughter, and had been spoiled ever since she was
born. The youngest of the family and the only girl,
it was no wonder she had been made much of, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>her beauty, her self-will, and her quickness all helped
to increase the dangers and difficulties of the position.
Her father gave way to her whims in everything,
whenever she appealed to him, for he was much entertained
by her vivacity and delighted in her fearlessness
and high spirit. He secretly countenanced
those acts of insubordination and defiance of authority
that shocked Lady Arbuthnot’s sense of propriety,
and cared nothing at all about her “tomboy tricks”
so long as she was always ready to amuse him by
her sharp sayings when she came in to dessert or
was sent for into the drawing-room. The mother,
on the other hand, disliked all this tendency to frolic
and careless deportment, and sedulously cultivated
what she termed the graceful side of her little daughter’s
character. In plain words, she tried hard to
instill a great deal of vanity and foolish pride into
Queenie’s youthful mind, and had it not been for the
child’s healthy love for play and natural freedom from
petty follies of this kind, she would in all probability
have become before this time a little woman of fashion
instead of a happy, careless child.</p>
<p class='c015'>As it was, in spite of many drawbacks and many
dangers, the child was a child still,—proud, self-willed,
and passionate, it is true, yet on the whole
<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>generous, well-disposed and merry, satisfied with herself
and with most things about her. She was not
spoiled yet, whatever she might be later, and she
undoubtedly owed much to the kindly and judicious
treatment of her nurse.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie thought a good deal more of her nurse’s
opinion than she was at all aware of; and as nurse
had said that the little boy who had been received at
the Manor House was a gentleman’s son—or seemed
so—the small lady at the Court began to think a
good deal about him, and to wonder if she should
ever be allowed to make his acquaintance.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie’s parents had not lived for more than a
year at the Court, and they hardly knew the Squire
at all. He did not pay calls in a general way, and
although he had broken through his habitual seclusion
to pay his respects to Lady Arbuthnot on her first
arrival there, he had not repeated the visit, and she
had taken offence at what she considered a lack of
proper respect. They were very near neighbors, and
yet almost strangers. Sir Walter would say in his
careless fashion that the old Squire was a good fellow
enough, only growing very rusty with being so shut
up in his dismal house all alone; but no intercourse
existed between the neighbors, and Lady Arbuthnot
<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>took somewhat an exaggerated view of the old man’s
unsociable disposition. A vain woman in a small
neighborhood, with little to occupy her thoughts, is
likely to get into a silly way of making much out of
little, and her annoyance with the Squire was out
of all proportion to the supposed affront.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie knew a great deal more of her mother’s
opinions than was at all advisable; and so she felt
considerable doubt as to whether any friendship would
be permitted between her and the little strange boy
who had drifted ashore by the storm. Still she was
not a child who was easily daunted by opposition,
and she was quite convinced in her own mind that,
if she liked the looks of the new-comer, she would
soon find a way of making his acquaintance.</p>
<p class='c015'>When Sunday came round, Queenie was conscious
of a little sense of excitement as she allowed herself
to be dressed for church. She knew that the Squire
was never absent from the great square pew just
opposite their own, and that, if the little boy were
there with him, she could not fail to have an excellent
view of him.</p>
<p class='c015'>Lady Arbuthnot was not very well that day, so that
Queenie would have the satisfaction of going alone
with her father, which always pleased her very much,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>for she could chatter to him the whole time during
the double walk, sit in her mother’s corner at church
and use her beautiful velvet-bound books. The little
girl always stood upon the high footstool during such
parts of the service as it was possible, and indulged
secret hopes that strangers in the church would take
her to be Lady Arbuthnot.</p>
<p class='c015'>To-day she had herself dressed in excellent time,
and coaxed her father into his light overcoat quite
five minutes before he was disposed to start, in order
to be sure to be in time to see the Squire’s entrance.</p>
<p class='c015'>Sir Walter was very good-tempered and very fond
of his little daughter. Queenie looked particularly
bright and pretty to-day, her blue eyes beaming with
excitement and pleasure, her golden curls straying
out from beneath the brim of her little velvet cap,
and her pretty spring dress, warm yet light, all fresh
from the hands of careful nurse. She was a dainty
little maiden as regarded her clothes, despite her
active “tomboy” nature, and Sir Walter was pleased
to take her hand in his and listen to her merry chatter
as they walked through the copse and over the fields
together.</p>
<p class='c015'>She did not speak of the thought uppermost in her
head. Some instinct of caution sealed her lips until
<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>her own mind should be made up on the subject.
She must see the little boy herself before she could
possibly tell whether she wished to take any step
towards forming his acquaintance. She was not at
all sure, in spite of nurse’s vague hints, that he would
prove to be worthy of the honor she proposed to
extend to him in bestowing upon him her friendship.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire had not yet arrived when the Arbuthnots
took their places. So far so good. Queenie
settled herself with dignity in her seat, and prepared
to wait for him.</p>
<p class='c015'>She had not to wait long; the Squire was always
in excellent time, and very soon she saw the familiar
white head passing in through the open door.</p>
<p class='c015'>Was he alone? No, surely not! In another moment
all doubt was at an end. He had entered,
leading by the hand a little boy in a suit of black
velvet, and in another moment or two the children
were sitting quietly in their places immediately facing
one another.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie’s gaze immediately fastened upon the little
boy’s face, and fixed itself there with the unconscious
interest and frankness only possible in childhood.</p>
<p class='c015'>“How pretty he is!” was her first thought; her
second “But, how sad!”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>She had certainly never seen any one quite like
him before. She could not tell what it was made
him so different from other boys she had known;
but she was quite aware that there was a difference.</p>
<p class='c015'>No boy she had ever seen before had ever looked
dreamy and sorrowful and bewildered, as this little
boy did almost all through the service. The wistful
sadness in his great dark eyes stirred Queenie’s sympathy
as much as it quickened her imagination.</p>
<p class='c015'>All her doubts as to the little boy’s “fitness” to be
her friend vanished, she knew not how. All that
seemed of any importance now was that he seemed
lonely and unhappy, and that <i>of course</i> she must
make friends with him and try to comfort him. She
caught herself wondering again and again what he
could be thinking of, as he sat so still in his corner,
his eyes sometimes fixed upon the clergyman, sometimes
wandering dreamily towards one or another of
the stained glass windows. Did it all seem very
strange to him? or did he remember what a church
was like and feel at home there? His deportment
was quite correct, but that might be imitation. How
much did he remember, and how much was forgotten?
It was a question that affected her imagination keenly
and quite occupied all her thoughts.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>She was glad that the little boy was younger than
herself, though she could hardly have said why. He
did not look a bit more than seven or eight, whilst
she was nearly ten, and he did not look at all strong.
She would be able to patronize and protect him,
which was of all things what she loved best to do.</p>
<p class='c015'>Fortune favored Queenie that day, for, as the congregation
left the church, Sir Walter said to his little
daughter,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Don’t be in a hurry; I want to speak to the
Squire.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was delighted, and eagerly waited by the
little gate till the Squire should appear. He was a
little time in coming, as several of the poor people
had something they wished to say to him.</p>
<p class='c015'>But he came at length, the child close at his side,
at whom Sir Walter cast one curious glance, and then
drew the Squire a little on one side in order to talk
at his ease.</p>
<p class='c015'>The two children were thus left confronting each
other. Queenie of course spoke first.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What is your name, little boy?” she asked,
graciously.</p>
<p class='c015'>“They call me Bertie here,” he answered, gently,
lifting his cap when the little strange lady spoke to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>him in a way that raised him many steps higher in
Queenie’s opinion.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, they call me Queenie,” responded she,
laughing, “though it isn’t my name, so we’re something
like one another, you see. How old are you?”</p>
<p class='c015'>He shook his head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know. Mrs. Pritchard and the tailor said
I must be about seven or eight.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I thought so!” cried Queenie, quickly; “I always
guess people’s ages nearly right. I shall be ten
pretty soon. We live in the nearest house to you—next
door, we should say in London; but people
don’t talk like that here.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked up with a little start.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Next door,” he said, quickly, and then stopped short.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What about next door?” asked Queenie.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know,” he answered, slowly. “I thought
I did; but I didn’t.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I want us to be friends,” said Queenie; “would
you like to be?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“If grandpapa likes,” answered Bertie, without the
animation Queenie looked for.</p>
<p class='c015'>Yet he spoke so gently that she could not be
offended, and the wistful look in his eyes touched
her, she could not tell why.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>“Why do you call him grandpapa?” she asked,
with interest. “Do you mean the Squire?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes,” answered Bertie. “He lets me call him
that. It seems more natural, somehow.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie looked at him curiously.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You must feel very funny, don’t you? I should
worry all day to remember things.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s eyes were troubled and sad.</p>
<p class='c015'>“That does no good, it only makes my head ache;
but I like being in church.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was aware that her father was shaking
hands with the Squire. A sudden impulse came
over her to speak whilst she had the chance.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I want us to be friends,” she said again. “Do
you know the big oak tree down by the sunk fence
at the end of the Squire’s park, near the lodge?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie thought a little.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think I do.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“If you’ll come out there to-morrow afternoon, I’ll
come too. One of us can climb over, and we’ll play
together. Don’t forget, and do come.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie had no time to reply. A quick smile passed
between the children as they parted to go their several
ways.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER V.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>SUNDAY.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-i.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi0_8'>
IT was very easy to make it a rule that
Bertie should not leave his nurseries
without permission, except at stated
hours; but it was a rule that appeared
impossible to enforce.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was not that he was defiant, or passionate, or
even, as it seemed, wilfully disobedient; but nevertheless
he was perpetually slipping away at odd moments
to the library window-seat, where he would
remain quietly perched up, gazing intently over the
stretch of level country and well-timbered park, and
when discovered and reproved he would glance up
with troubled eyes into the grave face of his nurse,
and say in faltering tones that he did not mean to be
naughty, but he liked being there.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>It seemed, indeed, as if some power more strong
than that of mere liking drew him to that spot. It
almost appeared that an instinct which he could not
resist drove him to the place, and when Dr. Lighton
heard of it, he advised that he should be given way
to in this matter.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It is evidently some train of association that attracts
him—some link with the past that may in time
prove of great value. I should let him alone, Squire,
unless he is in your way. He may find out what we
want to know, if he is allowed undisturbed leisure for
thought in the spot of his own choosing.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“He does not disturb me,” answered the Squire.
“He is the quietest child in the world. He never
talks, and he hardly moves. He is welcome to stay,
if you think it will be productive of any good results.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, I hope it may, that is all I can say. The
case is an odd one, and perplexes me, I own, but the
experiment is worth trying.”</p>
<p class='c015'>So the order was issued, and Mrs. Pritchard found
her duties considerably lightened, for Bertie troubled
her with little of his society, and was nearly always
to be found perched silently upon the library window-seat,
sometimes with a book on his knees, but more
<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>often merely resting his chin on his hand and gazing
intently either at the Squire in his leather-covered
chair before the writing-table, or else out of the
window.</p>
<p class='c015'>His daily walk was always the same—to visit David
and the sandhills by the sea, whilst his days were
spent in quiet contentment in the old library. It was
an odd life for a little child to lead, as odd as the
whole strange chain of circumstances that had led
him to this new home.</p>
<p class='c015'>Things were in this state by the time Sunday came
round; and the brief interview with Queenie in the
churchyard was the first incident that had occurred
to rouse the child out of the dreamy state in which
he had been sunk ever since his return to conscious
life.</p>
<p class='c015'>His eyes were brighter as he walked home beside
the Squire, and he looked about him with more of
natural, childish interest than he had ever evinced
before.</p>
<p class='c015'>When they stood together in the hall, the child
looked up in the Squire’s face with the first smile
that had been seen as yet in those wistful dark eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>“May I have my dinner down-stairs to-day with
you?” he asked. “Because it’s Sunday, you know.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>The Squire looked meditatively into the child’s
face, and asked in his turn,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why should I be more troubled with you on a
Sunday than on any other day?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie smiled once more quite fearlessly. It had
been observed from the very first that the child had
never appeared in the least afraid of the Squire, whose
rather rough manner and sharp way of speaking often
made him appear a formidable being to those who
did not understand his truer nature.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I won’t be any trouble,” answered Bertie, in his
frank and serious way, “but I should like to come.
Please will you let me?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Very well, I will allow it to-day, since your heart
seems set upon it; but you must not take it as a
precedent.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh no, of course not,” answered Bertie; “it’s
only on Sundays that I want to stay with you for
dinner.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And then he mounted the stairs, to tell Mrs. Pritchard
of the arrangement he had just made.</p>
<p class='c015'>The housekeeper was less surprised than she would
have been four days ago. She had observed how
readily the child’s presence was tolerated in the
library, and she began to indulge the secret hope that
<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>the companionship of the little boy might beguile the
Squire out of his long-established habits of sorrowful
reserve and gloom.</p>
<p class='c015'>She brushed his short, dark, curly head till it shone
in the sunlight, washed his face and hands, and tied
afresh the little crimson bow that contrasted well with
the black of his velvet jacket. The new brightness
that had not yet left his face gave to it quite a new
expression, and there was in the child’s whole bearing
a sort of courteous yet commanding air that had not
been observable before. He seemed suddenly to
take it for granted that he belonged to the house, and
had a certain right to a voice in its affairs.</p>
<p class='c015'>He walked boldly down-stairs as soon as he was
released from Mrs. Pritchard’s hands, and made his
way into the dining-room, where the butler was laying
the table.</p>
<p class='c015'>The butler was no other than Mrs. Pritchard’s
husband, and shared her compassionate interest in
the little waif who had been thrown upon their
hands. He smiled as the child approached, and
said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“So you will take your dinner with the Squire to-day,
Master Bertie?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes; and please don’t put me at the side of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>table, Pritchard. I should prefer to sit opposite to
him here at the end.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Pritchard was by no means certain how the Squire
would like this arrangement. It was seldom indeed
in the years that had passed since her death that his
wife’s vacant place had been occupied by any one
else; but it is a weakness with elderly people, and
especially with kind old servants, to give way to
the fancies of a child, and Pritchard did as Bertie
directed, and laid the two covers, one at the foot
and the other at the head of the long table that
seemed meant for a merry family party.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was standing gravely by his chair when the
Squire came in and the latter cast a keen glance
upon the little figure outlined against the sunny
window behind.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Shall I say grace?” asked the child, with the
composure of manner that showed this to have been
an old habit in the forgotten life of past days. He
folded his hands and repeated a brief formula, and
then he took his seat at the table and arranged his
napkin with an air of perfect familiarity with the
situation.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire watched him with more interest than
he had done before. Certainly there was something
<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>rather attractive in this little nameless boy who knew
nothing about himself, yet betrayed his gentle birth
and breeding in each unconscious word and movement.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Grandpapa,” said Bertie, looking across the table,
“who is the pretty little girl who sat opposite in
church, and talked to me afterwards?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“That is little Miss Arbuthnot. She lives in the
big white house next to ours.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, I know; she told me so. She asked if I
would play with her sometimes. May I?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire smiled a little.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh dear, yes! as far as I am concerned you
may; I have not the least objection for you to play
with her. Whether she will be allowed to play with
you is quite another matter.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie made no response. He was not quite sure
that he understood the drift of this remark, and so
he took refuge in silence.</p>
<p class='c015'>After dinner he asked leave to go out alone. He
wanted to go and see David, but he did not wish to
disturb Mrs. Pritchard.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You see she will like to have a quiet nap on
Sunday afternoon,” he concluded, gravely, as if well
acquainted with the habits of the elderly housekeeper.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire’s eyes twinkled a little.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>“Who told you that, young man?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked a little perplexed.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know,” he answered, slowly. “I seemed
to know it.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, I don’t suppose you are far wrong. Yes,
you may run along alone; you’re too big a boy to
have a nurse always dangling after you. Don’t
wander too far and lose yourself; but you may go
and see David by yourself whenever you like.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, thank you!” answered Bertie, eagerly; and
he ran off to fetch his cap, much elated by this permission.
Certainly he was beginning to awake to
life in a remarkable way.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was a mild and sunny day out of doors. The air
was still and sweet, and the scent of spring was everywhere,
as well as its signs and sounds. Primroses
and anemones made a starry carpet beneath the great
oak and beech trees of the level park. The buds
were swelling visibly overhead, and the sycamores
and horse-chestnuts had already shaken out some
little tufts of delicate green. The birds sang overhead
as they only sing in the sweet spring-time, and
Bertie’s eyes grew dazzled with trying to follow the
flight of the soaring larks, who rained down upon
him the liquid melody of their joyous songs.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>Flat and bare as was the country round, the Squire’s
park was well timbered, and the trees were tall and
old and grand.</p>
<p class='c015'>His ancestors had laid out this place hundreds of
years ago, had planted trees when they built the
house, and had cared for the one as much as the
other. The consequence was that the grounds of
Arlingham Manor House looked like an oasis of
green woodland amid the flat monotony of the fen
country, and gave an air of picturesque well-being to
the estate which it could not otherwise have possessed.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked round him as he walked down the
wide carriage road with a newly awakened interest
in his surroundings. The painful confusion of his
mind had given place to something of natural and
healthy curiosity and pleasure. There was still a
sorrowful consciousness of loss in the child’s head
and heart, a sense as if a black curtain had been
suddenly let down across his life and had shut him
off from the light and warmth he dimly knew to be
behind; but he had begun to turn his thoughts away
from the blank vacancy behind, and to look out with
a certain dawning hopefulness into the new life that
was opening out before him.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie could not have put the sensation into words,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>but what was happening to him was simply this.
The faint recollections of a forgotten past that had
wearied and confused his brain during the first days of
his return to consciousness were fading away in the
stronger light of an actual, tangible present, and,
save in certain places and under certain conditions,
the painful sense of bewildered perplexity was gradually
giving way to a more healthy frame of mind.</p>
<p class='c015'>The park, with its voiceless language of coming
spring, awoke no associations within the child’s
breast. He walked on quietly, enjoying it all very
much, but haunted by no illusive visions that refused
to be defined; troubled by nothing worse than a sort
of anxiety lest Queenie, the pretty little girl whose
name Mrs. Pritchard had told him, should not be
able to keep the appointment she had made for the
following afternoon.</p>
<p class='c015'>But he had soon left the park behind, and came
out upon the low sandhills that stretched away for at
least a quarter of a mile towards the margin of the
sea. The sun shone very bright and warm here;
the soft sand crumbled beneath his feet; and the
sea-gulls walked tamely about, and looked at him
with a sort of impudent assurance before they took
wing. Bertie was fond of this spot; he could not
<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>have said why, for something in its level desolation
always made him a little sad; yet the sight of the
boundless waste of heaving water and the arid
stretches of pale sand had an odd fascination for
him, and he would have felt sorrowful had a day
passed without his visiting at least once the scene
that exercised a powerful sway over his imagination.</p>
<p class='c015'>As he wandered down towards the margin of the
sea, a little black figure jumped up from a recumbent
position upon the sand, and David and Bertie stood
face to face.</p>
<p class='c015'>They looked very different indeed now, the two
children who had once been almost like little brothers
for a few brief days of their life: David, with his
pale blue eyes, straw-colored hair, indeterminate face,
and coarse clothing, and Bertie, dark-eyed, dark-haired,
clad in velvet, and with that nameless air
about him that bespoke birth and breeding as no
costliness of apparel could do. The boy’s face was
aglow with intelligence and eager welcome, and its
expression was so utterly different, in its refinement
and sweetness, from the awkward, clumsy pleasure
painted upon that of the fisherman’s boy, that it was
no great wonder, perhaps, if David himself had some
dim perception of it.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>He stopped short and gazed at Bertie for a full
minute in silence, and then said, heaving a great
sigh,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Eh, but thee is so beautiful! I do love thee!”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie smiled and took both of David’s hands
in his.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I love you too,” he answered. “What are you
doing, David?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I be learning my Sunday lesson. I goes to school
mornings before church; but I don’t go afternoons.
I come out here and learns my lesson. Does anybody
give thee Sunday lessons to learn?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s hand went up for a moment to his head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Not here,” he answered, after a moment’s hesitation.
“I should like to learn yours with you,
David.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The fisher lad’s face brightened.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Would’ee now? Eh, but that’s prime! I’ll learn
un twice as fast with thee.”</p>
<p class='c015'>They sat down together upon the sand and laid
their arms over each other’s shoulders. David produced
a card upon which the words of his lesson
were printed in large type:</p>
<p class='c015'>“I will be with thee: I will not fail thee, nor forsake
thee. Be strong and of good courage; be not
<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy
God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Together the children read the words, and repeated
them again and again until they were quite familiar.
David had almost mastered them before, and Bertie
had no trouble in impressing them upon his memory;
but after this was done, and David considered the
matter at an end, his little companion looked straight
at him and asked,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“What does it all mean, David?”</p>
<p class='c015'>David stared hard for a few seconds at his questioner,
and said, slowly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Teacher said as it was what God said to Joshua
after Moses had gone and died, you know.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s chin rested meditatively in his hand, his
eyes were fixed upon the shining sea.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Did He say it only to Joshua?” he asked, with a
certain wistfulness in face and voice.</p>
<p class='c015'>David’s brow drew itself into perplexed wrinkles.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Teacher said as He says it to everybody; but I
don’t understand about that. Maybe you do.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s face brightened.</p>
<p class='c015'>“That’s just what I wanted to know. You’re sure
she said so?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Certain sure I be,” answered David, gravely.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>“She said as God loved us all alike, and wouldn’t
forsake none of us any more than Joshua. Only
we’ve got to trust Him, you know, like Joshua did.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s face was very thoughtful.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It seems as if He’d forsaken me,” said the child,
dreamily. “It seems as if I’d forgotten everybody,
and everybody had forgotten me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>David looked perplexed and distressed for a moment,
and then his brightest smile shone over his
face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t believe God’s forgot thee after all,” he
said. “I don’t believe He ever would.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s face was very grave. He was not equally
sure of this.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ll tell thee what to do,” cried David, with a
sudden flash of inspiration. “Thee’d best tell God
all about it, and ask Him to remember thee again,
if He’s forgot. I’m main sure He would then. He
couldn’t choose but love <i>thee</i>.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I wonder if He’d listen,” said Bertie, slowly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Teacher says He will,” answered David, with
modest confidence. “She says as He’ll hear the
likes of us, so I know He’ll hear thee.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked down at the words upon the card,
and repeated them aloud.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>“I’ve got to be strong and of good courage,” he
said. “Well, I’ll try. I’d like to be that—boys
ought to be brave and strong. I’ll ask God to help
me, and not to forget me much longer”—the child’s
hand was pressed to his head now, and he added,
with a strange glance at his companion,—“only we
must always say, ‘Thy will be done,’ too.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER VI.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>THE FIRST INTERVIEW.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-s.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_5'>
“SO you have come at last, have you?” said
Queenie, tossing her curly head and
speaking with a sort of disdainful pride.
“I thought you had most likely forgotten
all about it.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie had been waiting for some time by the
old oak tree near to the sunk fence, and during that
time she had mounted her “high horse,” and was
by no means disposed at once to quit her exalted
position. A very imperious and exacting young lady
could little Miss Arbuthnot show herself when she
had a mind to do so.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You didn’t say any particular time, you know,”
answered Bertie, gently.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I said afternoon,” returned Queenie, with dignity.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>“That means after dinner, of course. I came as soon
as I could get out after dinner, and if you had been
what people <i>say</i> you are, you would have done the
same.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What do people say I am?” asked Bertie.</p>
<p class='c015'>“They say you are a gentleman,” answered
Queenie; “but <i>I</i> don’t feel so sure about it. Do
you think you are?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie shook his head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh no! I’m only a little boy.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“<i>That</i> doesn’t make any difference,” cried Queenie,
impatiently. “What a stupid little boy you must be!
I’m only a little girl; but then I’m a lady too, as you
can see for yourself.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s eyes opened wide.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Are you?” he questioned, innocently. “I don’t
think I should have known.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie drew herself up for a moment, as if she
were going to walk away in a pet; but, as Bertie did
not in the least understand his own enormities and
showed no disposition to follow and humble himself,
she stopped short and began to laugh instead.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie understood that sort of thing, and he joined
in the laugh, without quite knowing why.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You’re such a funny little boy,” said Queenie.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>“You’re not a bit like my brothers; but I like you.
I think we shall be friends, don’t you?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I should like it,” answered Bertie; “only—”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well? Only what?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Only the Squire didn’t think you’d be allowed to
play with me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Did he say so? When?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“At dinner-time yesterday, when I asked if I might
play with you. He said I might; but he didn’t think
you’d be let to play with me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie laughed and tossed her head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think the Squire is a very clever old man; but
you see I’m cleverer still.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“How?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, because I do things without asking leave.
It saves <i>such</i> a lot of trouble.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked rather scandalized.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do you mean you wouldn’t be allowed to play
with me if people knew about it?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Papa wouldn’t mind,” answered Queenie, quickly;
“he lets me do as I like. It’s only mamma who is
so tiresome. Mamma wanted me never to go out
alone, even in the garden, but papa said it was all
nonsense, and that I might. I love papa twice as
much as mamma. He’s just given me a pony to ride—such
<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>a pretty little pony, brown, with black legs!
Would you like to come and see him?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s eyes were shining with a strange light.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes,” he answered. “I should like it very much.
I think—I must have had a pony—once.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Did you?” questioned Queenie, eagerly. “Oh,
if you can ride, we can go out together sometimes.
I’ll get papa to say we may. Now come and see my
pony. Mamma is out, and papa won’t mind a bit if
he does see you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie had climbed the sunk fence once before
Bertie had joined her, and had put the great trunk
of the oak tree between herself and the chance of
pursuit by nurse or any other attendant; but now
she was eager to retrace her steps, and to display to
her new companion the possessions of which she was
most proud.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie followed her willingly enough. He felt sure,
after what the Squire had said, that he would not
object, and as for Queenie’s odd statements regarding
her relations with her parents, the little boy did not
profess to understand them, nor did he, at the present
stage of their acquaintance, feel called upon to interfere
or criticise. Queenie’s fearless gaiety of manner
exercised a certain fascination upon him, and he was
<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>quite ready to let her take the lead, whilst he humbly
followed in her wake.</p>
<p class='c015'>They climbed the sunk fence together, and then
Queenie took his hand protectingly and led him up
the meadow towards the back of the house.</p>
<p class='c015'>“We will go round by the farm first,” said Queenie.
“I will show you my chickens.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The farmyard was certainly an attractive spot, and
the little mistress was evidently a great favorite with
all the men employed there. Hard, stolid faces
smiled kindly upon the two children, and rough
hands were eager and willing to do their bidding,
whatever it might be.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie talked to the laborers with her little air of
stately affability that impressed Bertie very much.
He was inclined to be shy and silent himself; but
the little girl did not know what shyness meant, and
chattered away to him and to every one who came
near them in a way that evidently made her an immense
favorite.</p>
<p class='c015'>The chickens were very sweet indeed, little fluffy
balls of yellow and black. Bertie was delighted with
them, and the children spent a good half-hour in the
poultry yard, feeding the fowls and laughing at their
funny ways.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>“I’ll give you some chickens if you like, when
they’re big enough to leave the hen,” said Queenie,
who loved to patronize.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think the Squire has plenty of his own, thank
you,” answered Bertie. “I don’t know if he’d care
for me to have any more.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do you like his yard as well as ours?” asked
Queenie, rather jealously.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know. I’ve never been there.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Never been! Why not?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know. I never thought of it. I’m not
sure that he’d like me to go.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You could go when he was out.”</p>
<p class='c015'>But Bertie shook his head resolutely.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why not, pray? It would do no harm.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I shouldn’t like to go if he hadn’t given me
leave,” answered Bertie.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie tossed her head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Who taught you to be so strait-laced as all that?
Mrs. Pritchard?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No,” answered Bertie, slowly; “Mrs. Pritchard
never said anything about it.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie looked at him, and he looked at her, his
eyes dreamy and wistful.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think you must have been very strictly brought
<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>up,” she said, gravely. “That sort of thing would
not suit <i>me</i>. You would have much more spirit if
you were less particular. You should see <i>my</i> brothers.
They don’t care about anything.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie did not seem convinced by this argument,
but he held his peace, as he always did when not
quite sure of his ground. Queenie thought she had
won a victory, and said graciously,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Now we will come and see my pony.”</p>
<p class='c015'>When Bertie found himself in the stable, he
seemed more at home than he had done in the
farmyard. He went boldly up to the pony in his
box, and stroked and caressed him as if he had
known what it was to be on friendly terms with a
horse before. The creature responded to his advances
and Queenie looked on with a gracious air of
approval.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, here is papa!” she cried, suddenly; and
Bertie turned round in time to see the gentleman who
had stopped the Squire on Sunday entering by the
stable door.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Hullo, Queenie! what are you doing here?”
was the quick inquiry; “and what would mamma
say?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I am showing Bertie my pony,” answered Queenie,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>running up and taking her father’s hand coaxingly.
“I didn’t come alone. I had Bertie with me. You
know who Bertie is, don’t you, papa? The little boy
who lives with the Squire now.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Of course Sir Walter had heard the romantic story,
and he looked at the child with kindly interest.
Bertie took off his cap and gave his hand to the
baronet with the gentle courtesy characteristic of
him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, my little lad, and how do you like your
new home?” he asked.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s eyes grew vaguely sorrowful.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Everybody is very kind,” he said; adding after
a short pause, and rather inconsequently, “Your little
girl has been showing me her chickens and her
pony.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“That is right, that is right; and have you enjoyed
yourself?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, thank you, sir. I like horses. I think I
used to ride on one once.”</p>
<p class='c015'>That look that always shone in the child’s eyes
when he spoke or thought of the vanished past
touched the baronet’s kind heart.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, well, you will soon know all about it, no
doubt; and meantime, you must come and talk to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>my little girl as often as you can, and play together
and enjoy yourselves. Now run off, Queenie, and
take your little friend with you. You can ask
Bennet if he has any strawberries to spare for you.
Keep in the garden, children. You know, Queenie,
mamma does not like your being in the yard or the
stable.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie knew this quite well; but she did not care
always to remember such prohibitions, and she knew
that her father never enforced discipline with any
great authority.</p>
<p class='c015'>She looked at him with a saucy laugh.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Mamma would like me to live in a glass case,
wrapped up in cotton wool; but I don’t think she’d
keep me there long.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Sir Walter laughed too.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Now run away, puss, and take Bertie with you;
and try to keep out of mischief for one day of your
life, if you can.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie stood on tiptoe to make her father bend
down whilst she whispered in his ear,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“And you’ll make mamma let Bertie come here
often? He’s a nice little boy, and has nobody to
play with; and it must be <i>so</i> dull for him living all
alone with the Squire.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>Sir Walter smiled at his little daughter’s way of
pleading her cause.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It isn’t that you want a playfellow yourself, I
suppose?” he questioned. “It’s all for Bertie’s
sake, of course. Well, well, I’ll see about it.
Yes, certainly, I have no objection to your playing
together.”</p>
<p class='c015'>So Queenie led Bertie away in triumph, saying as
she did so,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“There! I knew papa would let us be friends.
Now you will have somebody to talk to when you
are dull.”</p>
<p class='c015'>If Miss Queenie had expected Bertie to be very
much impressed by this favor, she was certainly
doomed to be disappointed.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I have somebody to talk to now,” he answered.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, but not anybody who is any fun,” answered
Queenie, quickly. “Grown-up people are
<i>so</i> dull.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I wasn’t thinking of anybody grown up.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Who were you thinking of then?” asked the little
girl, regardless of grammar.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I was thinking of David,” answered Bertie. “I
go to see him every day.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie drew up her head in a very lofty way.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>“David!” she repeated, superciliously; “and pray
who may David be?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“He is the fisherman’s boy,” answered Bertie,
simply. “He lives in that little cottage on the
sandhills down by the sea. I lived there a few days
before the Squire took me. David was very kind to
me then; and I am very fond of him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie’s head was held up very high.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Very fond of a fisher lad!” she repeated, very
slowly and clearly, as if such an idea as that required
careful investigation. “Well, perhaps in that case
you had better go to your dear David. You will
find him much more entertaining than me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No,” answered Bertie, with great gravity; “he
isn’t so amusing; but I think he is a good boy. He
cares about being good much more than you do.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie turned round upon Bertie with an air of
outraged pride and with eyes that flashed angrily.
She pointed imperiously towards the boundary fence
that divided the Squire’s property from her father’s.</p>
<p class='c015'>“If you are going to compare <i>me</i> to your precious
David, you need not trouble to come <i>here</i> again. Go
to your dear fisher people, since you are so fond of
them. It is very plain you are not yet to be <i>my</i>
friend.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>And Queenie marched away with her head held
very high in the air, and Bertie, after gazing after
her very much astonished for some minutes, quietly
turned away and wandered home, not at all disturbed
by the outbreak, only regarding it as a new development
of the odd disposition of his little new friend.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER VII.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>THE FUGITIVE.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-q.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
QUEENIE was very much surprised when
she found that Bertie had taken her at
her word, and had not tried to follow
her or coax her out of her fit of temper.
As soon as her pride would allow her, she turned to
look back, and saw Bertie quietly climbing the fence
and pursuing his way home again, without a single
lingering backward glance at his offended companion.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was so much astonished by this unexpected
display of spirit, that she stood quite still for
several minutes, and then suddenly began to laugh.
It occurred to her that Bertie was only doing exactly
what she would have done in his place, and she was
sensible enough as well as generous enough to see
that she could not reasonably take offence at conduct
so very like her own.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>“After all, it was my fault,” she said to herself.
“I told him to go, which wasn’t quite polite, as he
was my guest. I hope papa will not come after me
and ask where he is. He would not like me to be
rude. Bertie was rude too; he had no business to
speak of me and David as if we were anything to do
with one another—and to call him <i>gooder</i> than me!”
Queenie often became ungrammatical when she was
put out. “I’ll soon show him that I’m not going to
put up with that sort of thing.” The little girl tossed
her curly head, and her face assumed its expression
of greatest dignity, which was, however, soon replaced
by a look of regret and sorrow. “But I wish he had
not gone, all the same. I do like having a boy to
play with, and he was a nice little boy, I think,
although he’s not a bit like any one I’ve ever seen
before.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie pursued her way to the house in rather a
melancholy mood, feeling as if a promising beginning
to friendship had suddenly been nipped in the bud.
She was afraid to stay in the garden, lest her father
should see her and ask what had become of Bertie,
so she wandered rather aimlessly into the house and
up the staircase to the corridor where the nurseries
were situated. These were shut off from the rest of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>the house by a red baize door, and as Queenie heard
this swing to behind her this afternoon, and saw the
row of doors belonging to the “boys’ rooms,” which
were never banged now, and only shut in cold emptiness
and vacancy, she said once more softly to herself,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I do hate term-time. It is quite horrid when all
the boys are away.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Then Queenie stopped short suddenly, for she saw
something that puzzled, and for a moment rather
startled her.</p>
<p class='c015'>The door of one of these empty rooms moved, and
opened quite slowly a very little way. The sun was
shining upon the panels from the window at the end
of the passage, otherwise her attention might hardly
have been attracted by anything so slight as the
movement of the door; but as it was she stood quite
still, gazing with all her eyes, and wondering in a
half-fearful fashion what could have opened it.</p>
<p class='c015'>The next thing she saw was an eye cautiously
applied to the chink of the door. She was quite
certain that it was an eye, although the chink was so
narrow that she could see nothing else, and only a
glimpse of the eye.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was not a timid child. She did not
<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>shriek or rush screaming away; but she was a little
afraid, for she could not imagine who could be hiding
in the empty room, and she did not much think
that her nurse was up-stairs.</p>
<p class='c015'>But as she stood there quite still, wondering
what she should do, a head was suddenly popped
round the door, a smothered, laughing voice cried,
“Queenie!” in a sort of whisper, and the head was
instantly withdrawn. Queenie uttered a little shriek
of ecstasy, and made a dash at the door.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Phil!” she cried, with breathless eagerness.</p>
<p class='c015'>The closed door opened suddenly, she was pulled
in with unceremonious haste, and the door was closed
and bolted behind them in a moment of time.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was so bewildered by this mysterious
appearance of her favorite brother, that she was
absolutely tongue-tied. She could only gasp out,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Phil!”</p>
<p class='c015'>And the curly-headed lad, his eyes full of laughter
and his face brimming over with fun, caught his little
sister round the waist, and executed the wildest of
war-dances without speaking a single word.</p>
<p class='c015'>At last, when both were fairly exhausted, he flung
himself upon his bed and burst into a fit of tumultuous
yet noiseless laughter.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>Queenie’s eyes were quite round with astonishment.
She was too much perplexed and surprised to join in
her brother’s mirth.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Phil,” she said at last, in her little imperious way,
“do tell me what it is. I don’t understand. Why
have you come home now?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The boy sat up on his bed and laid his finger on
his lips. His eyes were sparkling with mischief, yet
his face wore a look of preternatural gravity.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Hush!” he said, in a tragic whisper; “if any one
hears us I am lost!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What do you mean, Phil?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie, however, lowered her voice to a whisper.
If she did not believe in danger, at least she scented
mischief, and her eyes began to shine like Phil’s with
the anticipation of coming fun.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Is anybody about?” asked Phil, cautiously.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know. Shall I go and see?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, do; and bring me something to eat if you
can. I’m half famished.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie asked no more questions for the moment;
but, after listening intently at the door, to make sure
there was nobody outside, she glided out into the
corridor and dashed across to the nursery. Nobody
was there. She had announced her intention of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>spending the afternoon in the garden, so that her
nurse had left her usual domain and had gone elsewhere.
She might, of course, be back at any moment,
as the child well knew, and she did not waste
a moment in the fulfilment of her task.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was quite the spoiled darling of the household,
and all the servants vied with each other to do
her pleasure, and give her everything they thought
she could want. The cook made her cakes of every
description, of which she had quite a collection in the
nursery cupboard; the butler gave her more figs and
plums, almonds and raisins and crystallized fruits than
she could possibly consume; and, as a natural consequence,
Queenie could provide a feast for herself
or anybody else at a moment’s notice, and in less
time than it has taken to explain all this she had filled
a little basket with all sorts of good things, and had
rushed back to Phil as silently and swiftly as a bird.</p>
<p class='c015'>The schoolboy’s eye sparkled as the contents of the
basket were emptied upon the bed. He snatched up
the most substantial of the cakes and set to work
upon it with ravenous eagerness.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie saw at a glance that it would be hopeless
to expect him to speak until he had satisfied his hunger.
She sat down upon the bed also, nibbled at a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>date, and tried to hazard a guess as to what could
possibly have happened.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil was the youngest of the boys, and had not yet
gone to Eton, being still at a preparatory school.
He was nearly thirteen, and in September he was to
join his brothers, and become a public schoolboy,
which was the summit of his present ambition; this
therefore was his last term at Dr. Steele’s school, where
all the Arbuthnot boys had received their early education;
and what made him suddenly turn up at
home, when the first month of term-time had not
expired, was more than his little sister could imagine.
She knew he always professed to hate Dr. Steele’s
establishment; but by his own account he always
managed to have plenty of fun there.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil was not long in making away with all the
good things his sister had brought him. When the
last mouthful had been consumed, he heaved a sigh
and said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Ah, now I feel rather better; but I’ve had no
dinner, and hardly any breakfast. Queenie, you’ll
have to hide me somewhere for a few days, and feed
me secretly, like people used to do in the olden times.
I’m a fugitive, you know, in peril of my life.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie’s eyes dilated slowly.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>“Oh, Phil!” she said, in awestruck tones; “what
have you done?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ve run away,” he answered, the gravity of his
face belied by the mirthful twinkle of his eye,—“I’ve
run away, Queenie, to save Dr. Steele the pain and
trouble of sending me away.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh!” breathed Queenie, her mouth growing as
round as her eyes as she began to understand a little.
She had often heard it said that Phil would undoubtedly
be expelled some day, if he could not conquer
his predilection for playing pranks, and she had
secretly wished that he might. “So you have been
getting into a row, have you, Phil?”</p>
<p class='c015'>She spoke in an eager whisper, for she delighted
in Phil’s natural bias towards mischief and bravado.
She never felt more entirely proud of her brother
than when listening to accounts of his reckless disregard
for rules and his calm defiance when detected.
I am afraid Queenie is not the only little girl in existence
who shares in this admiration for lawlessness
and mischief; and perhaps those of us who have not
grown too old to remember how we felt when we
were young may understand this naughty feeling,
and perhaps sympathize a little with it. After all, if
boys never got into mischief, the nursery would be a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>duller place than it is; and so long as they can be
manly and truthful and honest with it all, it is not so
very hard to forgive a little “kicking over the traces,”
which is common and natural to two-legged as well
as four-footed creatures, when first they begin to run
in harness. As a rule, they do no great harm, and
steady down to the collar in due time.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do tell me all about it, Phil,” pleaded Queenie,
very eagerly. “Have you got into a very bad row
this time?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie must be forgiven if she used slang words
now and then. With four brothers to teach her, she
could hardly have escaped.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil looked at his sister, and winked his eye in a
very knowing way.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ve not got into a row at all. I just cut and ran
before there was time for the explosion. I’m a fugitive,
Queenie! I’ve run away! and now you’ve got
to hide me!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, Phil! Why!”</p>
<p class='c015'>The boy showed his white teeth in one of his own
merriest smiles.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Hush! that’s part of the plan. I want to give
them a good scare, and then they’ll be so glad to get
me safe home they’ll never think of putting me into
<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>disgrace; and we’ll just have a jolly summer together,
Queenie, you and I, until September comes and I go
to Eton. You’ll help me, won’t you? and then we’ll
have the best times we ever had in our lives.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie’s eyes sparkled.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, Phil, how splendid! But won’t they send
you back to Dr. Steele’s?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Not they! Besides, he would not have me at
any price, the old buffer. He says I’m worse than
all the rest of the four dozen put together. Oh no,
trust him! He’ll not have me back; and if we only
manage to give them a scare at this end, I shall be
received with open arms, and they’ll be so glad to
get me home safe that they’ll never remember to
scold.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“But what have you done, Phil?” asked Queenie.
“I want to know all about it.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil grinned from ear to ear.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, it was such a lark! I’d do it again to-morrow
if I had the chance. I do love to rile old
Higgins! You know who old Higgins is, don’t you?—the
under-master next to Steele himself,—a horrid
old curmudgeon whom we all detest. Steele is bad
enough, but Higgins!—such a name too!—Higgins!
It’s enough to put any fellow’s monkey up to be
<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>bullied by a creature with a name like that! Well,
this is how it was, you know. Steele had to go away
for a day or two, and of course Higgins was left boss
of the place, and began his usual bullying tricks,
keeping us twice as strict as the Doctor does, and
giving us twice the punishment we ought to have if
ever he caught us at anything.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What a horrid creature!” interposed Queenie, with
sympathetic indignation.</p>
<p class='c015'>“So he is; but we weren’t going to be done by
him, you bet. I’m not the fellow to sit quiet and be
bullied, and there were plenty of fellows ready to join
with me. You know, on the 1st of May every year,
there is a big fair at Blexbury, three miles away, and
of course we’re not allowed to go. It’s long out of
bounds, and then a fair’s considered an awful bad sort
of place. I’m sure I don’t know why, for there’s
nothing but fun, and gingerbread, and merry-go-rounds,
and shooting-galleries, and things that couldn’t
hurt anybody. Anyhow, of course, we weren’t
allowed to go, and of course lots of us do go every
year.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do you?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, to be sure we do; and this year there were
to be fireworks in the evening too, and we meant to go
<span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>twice, first in the afternoon, and then at night. It
was a half-holiday, you know,—Saturday,—so nothing
could have been better; and old Higgins gave
out after morning school that no boy was to go beyond
bounds that day, on pain of—I don’t know
what—unheard-of penalties.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie drew a long breath.</p>
<p class='c015'>“But you went?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Of course we went—a dozen of us at least, and
old Higgins too, and we dodged him about up and
down the fair, and led him such a dance. Oh, didn’t
he get wild, and didn’t the people laugh at him!
And didn’t the little boys throw mud, and the women
tell him he ought to be ashamed of himself, chasing
about the lads who only wanted to enjoy themselves
and get a little fun. Some of the fellows kept out of
sight, but I didn’t care; I let him see me fast enough,
and, as he always hated me, he pretended he only
saw me, and only really tried to catch me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“And did he?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil laughed uproariously and kicked up his heels
with joy.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Catch me! I should just think he didn’t. I’d
like to have seen him do it. Everybody was on my
side. The men hid me in their tents and the women
<span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>in their stalls, and wouldn’t let him come in at any
price; and the menagerie-man—he <i>was</i> a jolly fellow—he
beckoned me to come up into his circus place,
and when old Higgins came rushing up after me, he
just opened the cage of a big monkey, who sprang
out at old Higgins, whipped off his hat and chawed
it up, and gave him <i>such</i> a scratch all down his nose!
He’ll carry that scratch to the end of time, I know.
After that he thought he’d had enough, and went
home without his hat in such a sweet temper. And
that night we screwed him up in his room, after all
the servants had gone to bed, and let off fireworks
under his window.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie’s delight knew no bounds. Phil was more
of a hero than ever.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Go on! go on!” she cried. “What happened
next day?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Next day was yesterday, and Sunday, you know;
and old Higgins was so used up with rage that he
could not appear all day. I was ordered to my room;
but I said, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ and went
a walk instead. I knew it was all up with me by
that time. The Doctor was coming back on Monday
morning,—to-day you see,—so I didn’t trouble to
wait for him, but just bolted before any one was astir.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>I didn’t go to the town or station, where we’re pretty
well known, but cut across country for ten miles to a
big junction, where I was not likely to be noticed.
I’d just money enough for my ticket and some rolls,
and that’s all I’ve had to eat since morning. You
must manage to give me a good feed somehow, soon,
and to look after me for a few days; for I mean to
give Higgins and Steele a good fright before I’ve
done with them.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Did nobody see you get in?” asked Queenie,
excitedly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, not a soul. I took good care of that. I
managed beautifully, for I didn’t mean anybody but
you to know. You’ll keep the secret, won’t you,
Queenie? It will be <i>such</i> a lark having the whole
country raised after me, and me here all the time.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie’s eyes sparkled.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Like Cassy in ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin.’ Oh yes,
Phil, I’ll hide you if I can! only—only—won’t papa
and mamma be frightened too?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh no, I don’t think so—not for a day or so.
They know I can take care of myself well enough.
I want them to be just frightened enough to be very
pleased to see me back, and we’ll not let them get
more frightened than will be just right.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>Queenie was satisfied with this compromise. She
was eager to carry out Phil’s scheme, for she had a
keen love for adventure and romance, and it seemed
to her a delightfully romantic thing to hide away her
fugitive brother whilst his cruel and inhuman schoolmasters
hunted high and low for him. Her zeal was
great, and Phil knew he could trust both her courage
and discretion, and the main difficulty was to know
how and where to dispose of himself.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You had better stop here for to-night,” said
Queenie, with her little air of command; “nobody
will come till the housemaid goes round in the morning;
I don’t know if she comes every day when you
are all away. There is the wardrobe cupboard you
could hide in, if you heard anybody coming, but I’ll
take care nobody does to-day. To-morrow morning
early, I think, you’ll have to get out of the window
and down by the ivy and hide somewhere in the
garden till we can settle something. If I were you,
I’d get over the fence and hide in one of the Squire’s
shrubberies, and I’ll come to you as soon as ever I
can.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil nodded his head approvingly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“That’s the sort of thing, Queenie, that’s the sort
of thing;” and after ten minutes’ animated discussion
<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>their plans till the morrow were all carefully laid.
Then Queenie had to effect her escape unseen, for
nursery tea was imminent; and then there was the
difficult and delicate task of obtaining some substantial
supplies and conveying them to Phil. Queenie,
however, proved herself equal to the occasion. She
wandered innocently down to the housekeeper’s room,
where she was always welcome, and paid a visit to
cook in the larder, and admired very much a row of
meat pies that she had lately taken from the oven.</p>
<p class='c015'>As she was wandering about in the aimless way
that children do when they find themselves amongst
indulgent old servants, who are pleased to see them
about their premises, she was aware of a commotion
in the servants’ hall.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Cook!” cried a voice from thence,—“only think,
cook, a telegram has just come from the master to
say that Master Phil has run away from school, and
can’t be heard of anywhere!”</p>
<p class='c015'>Cook threw up her hands in dismay at the news,
and hurried away to learn all particulars. Queenie
was sharp enough to know that for the next few
minutes all the servants would be congregated together
to hear the news and discuss it with keen interest and
wonder. She therefore acted with care and deliberation,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>took down one savory pie from the shelf, rearranging
the rest so that it was not likely to be
missed, and stole quietly and coolly away with her
prize, no hurried movement or undue excitement
hindering her from carrying out her design in the
best possible way.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bread and all other additions were easily obtained
from the nursery table, and Phil supped sumptuously
that night.</p>
<p class='c015'>The little girl was told nothing about her brother,
for which she was glad, in case her face might betray
her; but when she went down to dessert that evening,
she fancied her mother seemed rather nervous
and put out, and she was a little troubled at first;
but as she left the room, she was reassured by hearing
her father say,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Of course I will go over to-morrow and see about
it, but you may trust Phil for looking after himself.
He’ll come to no harm, you may be sure; he’ll be
turning up like a bad halfpenny somewhere before
another day is out. You see if he doesn’t.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And Queenie laughed quietly to herself as she ran
up-stairs to her nursery, very full of importance and
delight.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>BERTIE AND PHIL.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-b.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
BERTIE was not at all angry at being ordered
home by his imperious little companion,
neither was he indisposed to obey
the mandate. He liked Queenie, she amused
and interested him, but he found her a little overwhelming,
and he was not altogether sorry to quit
her presence and be alone once more.</p>
<p class='c015'>Several new impressions had been made upon him
during the past hour, and a little of the aching sense
of bewilderment, now slowly leaving him, had been
awakened by his visit to the stable and the appearance
of Sir Walter Arbuthnot. He could not tell
why some things seemed to hurt him in an odd,
inexplicable fashion, whilst others made no impression
upon his mind. Yet undoubtedly such was the case,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>and, as the dim and undefined sense of familiarity
was always followed by a sort of reaction of sorrowful
bewilderment and distress, Bertie was rather glad to
be left alone to pursue his way unmolested and in
peace.</p>
<p class='c015'>His little face was pale and sad as he paused at
last beneath a great beech-tree and sat down upon
its gnarled roots to think. He looked down at the
primroses growing at his feet, and put out his hand
as if to pluck them; but he drew it back again, and
then instead began stroking their leaves with gentle,
loving touches.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Poor little pretty things!” he said, half aloud;
“I won’t take them away; I’m sure they’ll be happier
here.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked up from the flowers to the blue sky
overhead, and, as he looked, sudden tears glistened
in his eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I wish I was a primrose, growing in a nice quiet
place like this. Everybody is fond of flowers; but
nobody wants me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child’s lip quivered. A wave of desolation
was sweeping over the lonely little heart. With the
greater clearness of perception that was coming to
him by degrees, was coming also a clearer understanding
<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>of the peculiar isolation of his position.
He had less and less hope of remembering the past—its
fleeting memories grew rather less than more
defined, and eluded his grasp with even greater pertinacity
than at first. He was not old enough to
realize to the full the curious position he occupied;
but he did begin to understand something of the
situation, and to feel his loneliness and friendlessness
with the acute sensibility peculiar to childhood.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Nobody wants me,” he said, slowly; “I don’t
belong to anybody in the world; I haven’t even got
a name. The Squire is very kind; but he doesn’t
want me. He would rather I was somewhere else.”</p>
<p class='c015'>A tear rolled slowly down each of the child’s
cheeks and fell upon his little thin hands. Bertie
looked meditatively at them as they sparkled in the
sunshine, and then he slowly wiped his eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I mustn’t be a baby,” he said, shaking his head.
“That won’t do any good, and people will think I
am naughty and ungrateful. I wish I could be happy
like Queenie; but she has a papa and mamma and a
home of her own, and I have nobody.” He put his
hands up to his head again with the old perplexed
look, but that faded in time, as the blank of the
present closed him in.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>“I think I’ll go and see David,” he said, slowly;
and, rising to his feet, he wandered down to the
shore.</p>
<p class='c015'>David was always more or less on the look-out for
his beloved companion. His tender admiration for
Bertie had in no wise diminished; indeed, it seemed
rather to increase as time passed by, though he gave
it little expression.</p>
<p class='c015'>He ran up eagerly to meet Bertie as he approached,
but all he said was,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I do be glad thee’s come.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Still these simple words of welcome were sweet to
Bertie at this minute.</p>
<p class='c015'>“David,” he said, as they wandered down to the
margin of the waves, hand in hand and with slow,
lingering steps, “I’m afraid He’s forgotten me—I
am indeed.”</p>
<p class='c015'>David’s eyes opened wide.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Who?” he asked, briefly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“God,” answered the child, with deep gravity and
a sort of settled sadness that was not without its
effect upon his companion. “I think He must have
quite forgotten me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I feel forgotten,” answered Bertie, and his lip
<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>quivered. “I feel as if everybody had forgotten me,
and God too. If He hadn’t, why don’t I remember?—He
might let me, I think.”</p>
<p class='c015'>But Bertie couldn’t get on any further than that,
and David stood staring over the sea, as if to glean
inspiration from the ever-changing, tossing sheet of
water.</p>
<p class='c015'>When his answer came, it was spoken with a sort
of modest diffidence, as if he hardly knew whether it
would be accepted as an answer at all.</p>
<p class='c015'>“He don’t forget easy, I don’t think, lovy. He
don’t never forget to stop the sea when he’s come up
high enough. It don’t matter whether it’s nights or
days, He’s always watching, and sends it back again.
If He forgot only once, our cottage would be drownded,
it would, but He never do. Father’s lived there all
his life, and his father afore him; that’s ever so many
years, and He’s never forgot once all that time. It
do seem as if forgetting wasn’t much in His way.”</p>
<p class='c015'>This was such a very long speech for David to
make, that when it was done he seemed almost afraid
of his own boldness; but Bertie made no answer, only
stood quite still, looking dreamily out over the water.</p>
<p class='c015'>After a long silence David took courage and spoke
again.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>“I don’t see as He could forget thee,” he said, with
a certain finality in his tone that was comforting in
its assurance,— “’specially when thee’s so much down
by the sea here. He must see thee when He looks
down to make the waves go back.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked up into the sunny sky, and a little
smile broke over his face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I didn’t think of that,” he said, slowly. “I wonder
if He does.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’m main sure He must,” answered David, with
an increase of confidence. “I ain’t no scholar, but I
know teacher said as them words on my card were
for everybody as would take un. Teacher knows all
about it; I know she’d tell you as He doesn’t ever
forget, and I can kind of understand it too, because
He don’t forget the sea, you know.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s face looked a little less sad, though still
very grave and thoughtful. He seemed to have a
purpose in his mind, which he proceeded to confide
to David.</p>
<p class='c015'>“When will it be high tide, David?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“In half an hour about.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Then I’ll wait for it,” said Bertie. “Let’s sit down
just above high-water mark.”</p>
<p class='c015'>David obeyed readily, and when they were seated
<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>upon the loose dry sand he looked at his little companion
as if awaiting instructions.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie rested his chin in his hand, in one of his
favorite attitudes, and when he spoke it was with
great deliberation.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You’re sure it’s God who makes the tide turn,
David?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, quite sure. Mother says so, and father and
teacher and everybody. Besides nobody else <i>couldn’t</i>
do it.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No,” answered Bertie; “there was a king once
who tried to—no, let me think how it was. His
servants told him he could, because he was such a
great king; but he knew he couldn’t, and did not
like the people to say such things. So he came
down and sat on the sand one day when the tide was
coming in, and told it to go back, and of course it
wouldn’t; and the silly men who had pretended to
think the sea would obey him were made ashamed of
themselves. Somebody told me the story once—it
was a lady—we were sitting in a big room with red
curtains, by a fire—”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie stopped suddenly; the flash had gone and
left him in darkness; he could see nothing more.
David had listened with deep attention.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>“That’s a nice story,” he said, adding, after a moment’s
pause, “I knew there wasn’t nobody but God
as could stop the sea.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie gave himself a little shake and brought himself
back to the present.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do you think God looks down out of heaven
every time to send it back?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think He must. It do all go so regular like;
don’t see how it could if He didn’t look after it well.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie turned his answer over, and seemed convinced.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Then, if we go on sitting here, He can’t help
seeing us too?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, I don’t see as He can.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Very well,” said Bertie, with an odd look of purpose
on his face, “we’ll sit and wait. You tell me
when it’s high tide.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Upon that level shore each wave seemed to advance
upon the last, and the distance between high and low-water
mark was very great. As a natural consequence,
the turn of the tide was more easily defined along
that coast than upon one more steep, and the practised
eye of the habitual watcher could distinguish
with considerable accuracy the moment at which the
tide might be fairly said to “be on the turn.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The children sat very silent during the space of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>time that elapsed before this turn should occur.
David’s face had caught some of the awe from
Bertie’s, and he felt as if an impending crisis were
approaching with the advancing waves.</p>
<p class='c015'>At length David said, in a low voice,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“It be turning now.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And Bertie suddenly rose and knelt down, baring
his head as he did so, whilst David copied every
movement and clasped his hands together, as he saw
his little companion do.</p>
<p class='c015'>Side by side upon the warm sand the two children
knelt for many long minutes. A look of awe was
upon Bertie’s face. He felt, as he saw the advancing
waves gradually begin to retire, as if the great God
of heaven were very near to them, looking down from
His holy place, bidding the great ocean keep its
appointed limits. Surely He must see the two little
children kneeling before Him; and surely He would
listen to their prayers.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s prayer took no articulate form. He could
not put into words the strange longing that was in
his mind—a longing to be remembered, helped,
comforted—not to be left so utterly alone. It was
more a cry than a prayer that arose from his heart,
and yet he felt that he had been heard.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>He knelt for many minutes beside the receding
waves, and when he rose his face wore a look of
calmness and serenity very different from its troubled
expression half an hour before.</p>
<p class='c015'>“David,” he said, “I do think God was very near
us then. I think He heard.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Ay, ay, He’d be sure to hear thee. What did
thee say?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t quite know,” answered Bertie, gravely;
“but I’m sure God understood.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I be sure too,” returned David, with absolute
confidence.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I should like to come here every day when the
tide turns,” said Bertie.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I wish thee would. I’d always be here too, I
would.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie pondered for a few moments.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ll come as often as I can,” he said; “but I can’t
be sure of coming every day at the right time. If
I’m not here, David, will you do just as we did alone,
and ask Him not to forget us ever, and to let me find
out some day the things I can’t remember? I don’t
want to be impatient; I know He knows best; but I
do want to remember some day.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“And I’m sure He’ll help thee some day,” answered
<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>David, with some fervor. “I’ll ask Him every day
for thee, that I will; and He’ll be sure to answer
when He’s ready. All good folks say so, and they
must know best. I’ll come here every day when
the tide turns, and then He’s sure to see me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>So Bertie went away comforted, a sweet sense of
fatherly love and protection seeming to overshadow
him. It might be true enough that nobody wanted
him, that he was of no use to anybody, but perhaps,
if he tried to love and trust God more, to be “strong
and of good courage,” to have faith in Him and wait
quietly for His will to be done—perhaps then God
would help him to be of some little use, to win some
of the human love he felt to be lacking in his life,
perhaps he might be able to fill the blank of which
at times he was so painfully conscious.</p>
<p class='c015'>When he went down to dessert with the Squire
that evening, he was quite bright and conversational,
and the Squire unbent as the child chatted away to
him, and was betrayed into telling some stories of
his own boyhood, a thing which he had not done for
fifteen long years.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was immensely interested, and wanted them
all told over again, after the fashion of childhood.
As he went to bed that night, he detailed them with
<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>great accuracy to Mrs. Pritchard, who nodded her
head several times and uttered oracular speeches to
herself afterwards.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie, like many children, awoke early in the
morning, and hated lying in bed awake. The sunshine
seemed to tempt him out into the glad world of
spring-time, and he was generally out and about by
six o’clock. No objection was made to his morning
rambles, and some of his happiest hours were spent
among the dewy trees and flowers of garden or park.</p>
<p class='c015'>No adventure had ever befallen him so far during
his early walk; but to-day it was destined to be more
eventful than usual.</p>
<p class='c015'>He was wandering through a secluded shrubbery
path, when he suddenly heard a quick rustle amid
the laurels just around the next corner, and quite expected
to see either a gardener at work, or else one
of the dogs hunting amid the bushes. Nothing less
than a large animal could have made so much noise,
yet when he turned the corner not a sign of any living
thing was to be seen.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked about him rather puzzled. He wondered
if he had made a mistake; but he was quite
sure he had heard the noise, and he began to peer
about in curious fashion for the cause of it.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>Suddenly his eyes encountered the laughing glance
of another pair of very blue ones. Bertie quite
jumped as this happened, and he pushed aside the
wet laurel leaves to obtain a better view of the intruder.
For one moment he had fancied it was
Queenie’s face, but he saw directly that it was a
boy who had forced his way into the midst of the
laurel hedge, and had tried to conceal himself there.
Yet the boy did not appear in the least abashed at
being caught. The merry, laughing look upon his
face disarmed Bertie at once.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You will get very wet in there,” he remarked, by
way of a beginning.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I can’t be wetter than I am; I’m about drenched,”
was the cheerful answer.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why don’t you come out, then, and get dried?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Because I’m a fugitive—in mortal peril of my
life!” answered the boy, his whole face beaming with
fun. “You can’t think what a funk I was in when I
heard you coming.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was rather puzzled.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I shan’t hurt you,” he said.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Nor betray me?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, of course not. I don’t know what you mean.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil laughed merrily.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>“Well, then, I’ll come out, and chance the rest.
It’s jolly uncomfortable in there;” and the boy pushed
his way out amid fresh showers of dew, and stood
before Bertie all wet and dripping, his curly hair
bright with sparkling drops, his merry eyes brimful
of fun.</p>
<p class='c015'>The little boy stared at him in great surprise.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Who are you?” he asked.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ve told you once—a fugitive, a despairing and
desperate character—so beware! And pray who
are you, if I may make so bold?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child hesitated a moment.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’m Bertie,” he said, slowly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Bertie what?”</p>
<p class='c015'>He shook his head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“That’s all—only Bertie. I live with the Squire
now.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You do, do you? You’re a little chap anyhow.
I wonder who you are?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know myself,” answered Bertie, with great
gravity; “and nobody else knows either. But I
know who you are; you must be Queenie’s brother,
you are so like her.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil’s face put on a look of horror.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>“Gracious goodness! I am betrayed! What will
become of me now?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was extremely puzzled; but he had a composed
manner that concealed his bewilderment very
well.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What do you mean, and what are you doing
here? I wish you’d tell me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil loved to talk better than almost anything else
in the world, and he gladly plunged headlong into
his tale. Bertie did not understand it all; but he
understood enough to be immensely interested and
to give Phil all the encouragement necessary to
make him exceedingly diffuse and circumstantial.
Only towards the close did Bertie’s face grow grave.</p>
<p class='c015'>“But why don’t you go and tell them you’ve run
away? Why does only Queenie know?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, they know I’ve run away, only they don’t
know where I am.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why don’t you tell them?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil explained his reason; but Bertie shook his
head gravely.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It looks as if you were afraid,” he said.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Afraid of what?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Of being scolded or punished. Are you afraid?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil’s face flushed.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>“Afraid indeed! If you’d seen all the lickings
I’ve had at school, you wouldn’t think I was.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, it <i>looks</i> as if you were then,” persisted
Bertie, who knew his own mind when it was once
made up.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil looked a little vexed; though it was not in
his nature to be easily put out.</p>
<p class='c015'>“That’s all rubbish! I only hide for the fun of it.
You don’t suppose I’d funk anything really?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I didn’t think so till just now. I was thinking
how brave you were.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil was mollified by the compliment.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, young un, you’re a pretty cool hand, I
must say. Pray, what do you think I’d better do,
under the circumstances?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’d go straight off to your father and mother and
tell them all about it,” answered Bertie, gravely.
“I don’t think they <i>could</i> be very angry,—it was so
funny, you know, especially about the monkey and
his hat. I should say I didn’t want to go back to
school any more at Dr. Steele’s, and I expect they’ll
let you stop at home with Queenie, and they’ll see
you’re not ashamed or afraid. If you hide here,
perhaps somebody will find you, and then everybody
<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>will think you were afraid. I like people to
be strong and of a good courage, and speak the truth
always,—”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie stopped suddenly. It seemed to him as if
he were repeating words he had heard somebody
say long ago, and the feeling puzzled him and made
him stop short.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil was standing quite still now, thinking more
than he often did. Thoughtlessness was his failing,
and he was often and often led away by his high
spirits; but he was not in the very least a naturally
deceitful boy. Indeed, he had never for a moment
considered that there was any deceit or cowardice in
hiding away from his parents until it pleased him to
show himself.</p>
<p class='c015'>When, however, Bertie had put the idea into his
head, he began to see that other people might not
view his conduct in quite the same light that he did.
It was possible even that there might be some truth
in the little boy’s view of the case.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Queenie will be awfully sold if I don’t keep to it,”
he remarked, ruefully, for the idea was also very
attractive to himself. “She thought it was the best
fun in the world.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie said nothing. He was beginning to feel
<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>rather shy at having been so ready with his advice
to the elder boy—the hero of such an adventure.</p>
<p class='c015'>At last the silence was broken by Phil, who burst
out laughing.</p>
<p class='c015'>“After all, youngster, I believe you are right.
Perhaps it would be rather mean and shabby to let
them have all the bother of trying to hunt me down
when I’m here all the time. Mother would be in
a fright, perhaps, and father might, too—though it
isn’t his way. Perhaps I’d best show myself, and
tell the whole tale, as you say. I should not like
anybody to think I hid away because I was afraid or
ashamed, for I’m not.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And Phil threw back his head and looked for a
moment very like his father; so much so that Bertie
admired him very much.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, that’s settled then,” remarked Phil, after a
pause. “I only hope Queenie won’t be in a great
way about it. She can be very cross when she is
put out, as I daresay you know. I wonder what
time it is. My father and mother are never down
before nine o’clock at earliest.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“It’s a little past seven,” said Bertie; “I heard the
clock strike just now.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, I can’t show myself till I can go to father
<span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>straight. I must loaf about out of sight somewhere
for the next hour or two; but I’m getting jolly
hungry, I know.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Come and have some breakfast with me,” said
Bertie, hospitably. “Mrs. Pritchard always gets me
mine about half-past seven when I’ve been out—which
is most mornings.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil’s eyes lighted with satisfaction.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do you think the Squire would mind?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, I don’t think he would a bit. He’s very kind
always.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, so he is. I think I’ll come. I should like
some breakfast awfully.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Pritchard knew “Master Phil” well by sight;
and, though surprised at his sudden appearance, received
him hospitably enough, and added a dish of
fried bacon to Bertie’s simple meal, which was greatly
enjoyed by both boys.</p>
<p class='c015'>Whilst they sat at breakfast, the Squire happened
to look in, as he sometimes did when Bertie was at
his meals. Phil of course had to explain his presence
there, which he did with so much spirit and boyish
fun, that, although the Squire drew his thick eyebrows
together and shook his head, he could not help giving
vent to a gruff laugh; and when the part played
<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>by the monkey was told, Bertie could not restrain his
delight, but broke into such a laugh as had not been
heard from him since his arrival.</p>
<p class='c015'>“And so Bertie persuaded you to give up your
plan and speak out, did he?” quoth the Squire, when
Phil had got to the end of his tale.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, sir,” answered Phil. “I’d never thought it
could be wrong before, or cowardly, or anything like
that; I only meant it for fun; but I guess the little
chap is right.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire’s hand rested for a moment upon Bertie’s
shoulder.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What made you think of all that, my boy?” he
asked.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie got very red.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I didn’t want him to be afraid,” he said; “I liked
him, and I wanted him to tell the truth and not mind
being punished.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire was not a man of many words, and he
soon left the boys to themselves, but Bertie felt by a
sort of instinct that he had pleased the old man by
the part he had taken, and that made him feel glad
and happy.</p>
<p class='c015'>He enjoyed his hour’s talk with Phil, though he
hardly spoke a word, for the schoolboy was a tremendous
<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>talker, and delighted to find so attentive a listener.
To be sure, Bertie was only quite a little boy,
but then he had proved that he had some sense and
some pluck in him, and Phil was always ready to believe
the best and not the worst of everybody he came
across.</p>
<p class='c015'>At nine o’clock he jumped up and said he must go,
as his parents would be having breakfast soon. He
promised to come back later and tell Bertie how he
had fared, and he went off whistling gaily.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil possessed an amount of quiet assurance that
stood him in good stead on occasions such as the
present. If he felt any trepidation or anxiety as to
his reception, he did not show it in the least, as he
strolled into the dining-room with his hands in his
pockets, and he confronted his astonished parents
with his broadest and sunniest smile.</p>
<p class='c015'>Lady Arbuthnot uttered a little shriek and fell
back in her chair speechless; Sir Walter looked
quickly up from his paper and drew his brows
together darkly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“And pray what is the meaning of all this, sir?”
he asked, with his severest manner. “What do you
mean by this disgraceful conduct?” and he laid his
hand upon an open letter that lay beside his plate.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>Phil knew that the hand-writing was that of Dr.
Steele.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ve come home,” he answered, with a smile that
was almost irresistible; “I really couldn’t stand it any
longer, so I came home; and now, you know, they
won’t have me back. You can’t think how jolly I feel.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Keep your impudence to yourself, Philip,” returned
his father, with another frown. “A nice thing
for a son of mine to be expelled from his school for
gross misconduct!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I didn’t wait for that; I expelled myself,” answered
Phil. “Please may I have some pigeon pie?
I’ve been half starved ever since I left home. You
can’t think what a lot of boys have come to old Steele’s
lately, father; if you knew, I know you would not
like to have <i>your</i> son there. That’s one reason why
I decided to go, and, of course, when my mind was
made up, I had to make the most of the occasion;
such an opportunity might not occur again, you know.
Mother dear, please let me have some coffee; nobody
in the world can make coffee like you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And Phil spoke with such innocent sweetness, and
drew up his chair with such a complete air of being
master of the situation, that Sir Walter suddenly
exploded into a laugh.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>That laugh told Phil that he had won the day.
He always knew—the rascal—that he held a soft
place in his father’s heart, and he had presumed
upon this when he had resolved upon quitting his
school with flying colors.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You know, father,” he explained, with inimitable
gravity, “I really want a rest before going to Eton.
I have overworked my brain, I think, and I am certain
it will be a great thing for me to have a long holiday
before I begin work again. And then, you know, it
will be such an advantage to Queenie to have me at
home. She gets sadly spoiled in term-time, with
being the only child at home and having no brothers
to keep her in order. You see, I have taken a very
comprehensive view of the situation, and have thought
of every one before myself.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I see that you are the coolest and most impudent
rascal that ever trod shoe-leather,” retorted his father,
with a sudden laugh. “Now, be off with you to your
own premises; and mind, if I keep you at home,
that you behave yourself. A nice state of things, to
be sure! You deserve the best thrashing you ever
had in your life. Now, be off sharp; and I must go
and answer this precious missive as best I can. What
a trouble boys are, to be sure!”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER IX.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>QUEENIE’S IDEAS.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-q.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
QUEENIE had slept but restlessly upon
the night following Phil’s unexpected
return. She had been much excited
by his sudden appearance, and still more
by the weighty sense of importance imposed upon
her by the necessity of keeping the secret.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie loved a romance and a mystery better
than anything in the world besides; and the task of
keeping Phil hidden away for several days, and of
secretly supplying him with food and all other necessaries,
seemed to be the most delightful and romantic
occupation that could possibly be desired.</p>
<p class='c015'>She made many plans and revolved many ideas in
her busy little brain as she lay awake in bed that
night.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>Where was Phil to hide? Where would he be safest?
Where could he be certain of remaining undiscovered,
and yet near enough for her to have easy access
to his hiding-place and be able to visit him at will
without attracting attention or suspicion by doing so?</p>
<p class='c015'>For a long time this problem remained unsolved;
but at last a gleam of inspiration burst upon her.</p>
<p class='c015'>“The ruin!” she cried, speaking aloud in her excitement,
though luckily there was no one near enough
to hear. “The ruin, of course!—down in the underground
part. He will never be seen there, and I can
carry him food whenever I like. I often play in the
ruin. Nurse will never think anything about it if I
go there every day.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“The ruin” was the remains of an old tower that
might once have been a large building, but of which
only a very small portion now remained.</p>
<p class='c015'>Children always seem oddly attracted by anything
in the way of a tumble-down building, and all the
young Arbuthnots were much delighted with their
ruin. Queenie thought it would be a lovely place to
hide Phil in, never considering in her youthful inexperience
how exceedingly cold and damp and uncomfortable
would be the accommodation afforded by the
ancient cellar of the ruined habitation.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>When she had settled all the details of her plan
with great exactness, she settled herself to sleep, and
awoke in the morning brimful of zeal and energy,
longing for their satisfactory accomplishment.</p>
<p class='c015'>At breakfast-time she watched her opportunity,
and conveyed supplies from the table to her own
private cupboard, and restricted her own share of the
delicacies offered to the minimum, in order that Phil
should have plenty. Queenie’s nursery breakfast
was a less simple affair than Bertie’s, and she was
able to set aside sufficient good things to feel quite
comfortable as to Phil’s morning repast.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie did not go out till ten o’clock, as she
always had to practise her music and do some reading
with her nurse between nine and ten. To-day she
found the task sadly irksome. She was so inattentive
that nurse had to speak to her again and again;
and as for the tiresome scales, they seemed as if they
could not go right this morning, and Queenie got so
cross that she fairly belabored the poor old piano
with two angry little fists, making it give out the most
discordant sounds.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Really, Miss Queenie,” said nurse, looking up from
her work in surprise, “I cannot think what has come
to you to-day.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>But there was no time to say more, or for Queenie
to answer, for outside the door was heard the sound
of scampering steps—steps that could belong to no
one but a boy, and Queenie turned quite pale and
jumped off the music-stool with a little cry.</p>
<p class='c015'>Next moment the door was burst open, and in
rushed Phil like a whirlwind.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Phil!” cried Queenie, with accents of something
like despair,—“Phil, how could you? Don’t you
know nurse is always here now?”</p>
<p class='c015'>But Phil had caught her round the waist, and was
executing one of his impromptu war-dances.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It’s all right, Queenie, all right! I’ve shown up
and reported myself, and made it up with everybody;
and father says you may have a holiday in honor of
my triumphant return; so get your hat and come
along. I’m dying to go all over the place. I’ve not
seen anything yet.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was so utterly astonished by the turn
matters had taken, and by the overturning of all
her cherished and carefully-laid plans, that she remained
quite silent, and let her nurse put on her
out-door things without uttering a single word. To
tell the truth, Queenie was not quite pleased at Phil’s
conduct. She felt that he ought to have consulted
<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>her before changing his mind so entirely, and she
was a good deal disappointed at being robbed of her
share of the romantic drama she had planned.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil, however, was in such capital spirits that he
was a long time in observing Queenie’s displeasure,
and when he did find out the cause of her annoyance,
he detailed to her his morning’s adventure and the
arguments Bertie had brought forward against the
proposed scheme.</p>
<p class='c015'>But when Queenie heard that Bertie’s counsel had
been, as it were, preferred before her own, she felt
even more annoyed than she had done before, and
tossed her little head with her grandest air.</p>
<p class='c015'>“So Bertie is to be your lord and master, is he?”
she asked, scornfully. “Well, I did think you had
more spirit than <i>that</i>.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil laughed good-humoredly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“He’s a nice little chap enough; and I’m glad I
took his advice now. It would have been jolly dull
and uncomfortable hiding away, and perhaps father
would have been more angry than he is now. He’d
most likely have thought I was afraid, as Bertie said,
and that would quite have spoiled it.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You would not have been a bit dull or uncomfortable.
I should have hidden you in the ruin, and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>brought you everything you wanted, and stayed with
you ever so long. It would have been just like a
game in history; and now you’ve gone and spoilt
everything, and it’s all Bertie’s fault.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, this is much jollier anyhow,” cried Phil,
who was of a more practical turn than his little
sister.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Don’t you be cross, Queenie; that will spoil
everything. Tell me who Bertie is. I can’t think
where he’s come from, and he doesn’t seem to know
himself.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie did not wish to quarrel with Phil, of whom
she was very fond; but she registered a mental vow
to let Bertie know what she thought of <i>him</i>, and to
make him suffer for having been the cause of her
disappointment.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil’s question was answered in very scornful tones.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Who is Bertie? I’m sure I don’t know, nor anybody
else. He was washed ashore one day, and lived
at the Wickhams’ cottage for ever so many days.
David is his great friend, so I suppose he was a common
boy himself once. But the Squire has adopted
him, and now he gives himself airs, and sets up for
being a gentleman. I don’t think much of him. I
shan’t play with him any more.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>Phil laughed. He was always amused when Queenie
put on her airs, and rather admired her for it, unless
they were directed against himself. However, he
made her tell him all she knew about Bertie, and
found the curious story very interesting.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Poor little chap!” he said, kindly; “it must be
horrid to forget everything like that. He’s a nice
little fellow. I shall go and see him, and tell him
how I got on with my father. He’ll like to know
that I didn’t get much scolded. Will you come
too?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was not best pleased at this arrangement,
but she preferred to go rather than to be left behind,
and so they climbed the fence together and went
boldly up to the front door to inquire for Bertie.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie, however, was not at home. He had gone
down to the shore, Pritchard thought, and Phil
thought he should like to go to the shore too.</p>
<p class='c015'>“He’s gone to see his precious David, I suppose,”
said Queenie, disdainfully. “He likes him better than
he likes anybody else, and I don’t admire his taste.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why not?” asked Phil, who did not share his
sister’s exclusive views.</p>
<p class='c015'>“David is a fisherman’s son,” said the little lady,
with some scorn.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>“Well, he’s none the worse for that, I suppose.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know what you call the worse. I know <i>I</i>
shouldn’t care to play with him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, I don’t mind,” answered Phil. “I like
playing with any boys, if they’re jolly and all that;
but of course you needn’t if you don’t like.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie felt rather angry with Phil; but she did
not say anything. She began to wonder if after all
it would be so very nice having him at home all the
summer. He had a way of unconsciously snubbing
her that she did not care for at all.</p>
<p class='c015'>When they reached the sandhills they saw the two
boys sitting on the shore, as they often did, not talking
much, but enjoying the feeling of being together.
Phil rushed forward with a whoop and a bound,
and Bertie sprang up to ask him all about what had
passed; and as soon as the story was told a regular
game of play ensued between the boys, which brought
the light to Bertie’s eyes and the color to his cheeks,
and seemed at once to transform him into a new
being.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie stood a little apart, longing to join in the
fun, but restrained by two powerful reasons: first,
she thought it beneath her dignity to condescend to
play with a poor little boy like David; and, in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>second, she did not mean to speak to Bertie until she
had shown her displeasure at his conduct in daring
to advise Phil to a course of action that had robbed
her of much anticipated fun.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie grew tired of the game before the elder
boys, who were stronger than he; and then he came
and stood by Queenie, who looked, as he thought,
rather dull. Queenie did not look at him or speak
to him; but Bertie was very straightforward and
simple-minded, and did not in the least know that
he was in the little lady’s black books.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why don’t you play too?” he asked.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why should I?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I thought you liked playing. You said yesterday
you were always wishing you had some boys to
play with.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie’s chin went up into the air.</p>
<p class='c015'>“<i>Some</i> boys,” she answered, grandly. “I did not
say <i>any</i> boys.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was a little puzzled by this rather fine distinction.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Are we <i>any</i> boys?” he asked.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Rather like it, I think,” answered Queenie, a little
put out by Bertie’s simplicity.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You wanted to play with me yesterday,” remarked
<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>Bertie. “I suppose you are rather changeable, aren’t
you?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie looked exceedingly angry.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I suppose you are a very impertinent little boy,
and don’t know your manners.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie saw now that Queenie was angry. He began
to think she was not quite so nice as he had once
thought. He judged it wise to change the subject.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Aren’t you very glad Phil has come home? I
think he is <i>such</i> a nice boy!”</p>
<p class='c015'>This praise of her favorite brother soothed Queenie’s
ruffled feelings a little. Moreover, she was finding it
a little dull to be so cross. She felt that she was
spoiling her own fun, without being half as dignified
as she could wish.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, he is a <i>very</i> nice boy,” she answered, with
more warmth; “only I think it is a great pity he did
not hide away as we intended. It would have been
great fun; and I can’t think why you came and
spoiled it all.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked a little shy, but he did not offer any
excuse for his conduct.</p>
<p class='c015'>This silence encouraged Queenie, who continued,
with judicial severity,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think you were a very interfering little boy.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>Bertie was silent for some time, and then he said,
slowly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I didn’t mean to interfere. I only wanted him to
go on being brave.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I should think he wouldn’t want <i>you</i> to teach him
that.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“It didn’t sound very brave to hide away and make
everybody frightened and miserable. You would
have been very unhappy if you had not known
where he was, and so would other people. I don’t
think it brave to frighten people and make them
unhappy just because it’s fun.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie made no reply. She was not angry, yet
she rather felt as if she ought to be.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What made you think of all that, Bertie?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know. It seemed to come into my head.
I suppose somebody told me once.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Are you brave?” asked Queenie, suddenly.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie shook his head gravely.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know. I want to be; but I don’t know
if I am. I try.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“How do you try?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The color rose in the child’s face, and he turned
his head a little away whilst he made his answer.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I try not to fret and be unhappy because—because
<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>I haven’t any home or name or anything.
I try to love God, and ask Him to make things come
right when He thinks best. I want to be good, and
not to be impatient or ungrateful or naughty. I can’t
say it properly; but I do try.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie stopped short. He had not made his meaning
at all clear, yet he knew himself what he had in
his mind.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was very much surprised at being talked
to so seriously. She had never in her life been
troubled by thoughts such as these. It seemed to
her rather awful and unnatural.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Bertie,” she said, rather severely, “are you saying
all that because you think it sounds fine?”</p>
<p class='c015'>He looked very much surprised.</p>
<p class='c015'>“All what?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, all that about God. You can’t really care
about Him, you know.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was silent. He knew that he did love God,
and did believe that He was taking care of him; but
he did not in the least know how to say it all to
Queenie.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, I do,” he answered, after a long pause.</p>
<p class='c015'>“How? I don’t understand.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was silent again, and then said, slowly,—</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>“Perhaps, if you’d got nobody belonging to you,
you would understand. I can’t explain; only it just
seems as if everything else had gone but God. He
is there always—and I’ve nobody now but Him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s lips quivered, and Queenie was touched.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Never mind, Bertie,” she said, quickly; “it will
all come right some day; and I’ll never tease you or
be cross any more.”</p>
<p class='c015'>A smile stole over Bertie’s face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“That will be nice,” he said.</p>
<p class='c015'>“And Phil is never cross. We’ll both help you to
be happy. Only you must not be <i>too</i> good, you
know, or we shall be frightened of you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s face was bright again now. He did not
quite understand Queenie’s words, but he saw that
she was friendly again.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You shall come to see us soon,” she said. “Have
you any lessons to do?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No; the doctor says I mustn’t do any yet; but I
read in the Squire’s study sometimes.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I wish I mightn’t do any either,” said Queenie,
enviously; “but I don’t suppose I shall do much,
now Phil is at home, so we shall have plenty of time
to play together.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Here Phil came rushing up, full of plans for future
<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>fun. David had said that his father’s boat would
soon be back now, and that then they could go out
rowing or sailing together. David knew all the creeks
and islands along the coast, the cliffs where the sea-gulls
bred, and all the places where fun was to be
obtained.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil was utterly and entirely delighted, and as he
went home he confided to Queenie that running away
from school was the best thing in the world.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER X.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>BERTIE’S NEW FRIENDS.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-t.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
THE friendship between the children in
the two adjoining houses, begun under
rather exceptional circumstances, led to
a considerable degree of intimacy as the
summer wore on.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire encouraged the friendship, as likely to
be of advantage to Bertie. Sir Walter Arbuthnot
had no objection to it, and his wife soon became
convinced that her children could take no harm from
associating with the little waif.</p>
<p class='c015'>So Bertie went as often as he chose to the other
house, and his nurseries were always open to his new
friends, so that hardly a day passed without a meeting
at one place or the other.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>Bertie was fond of Phil, whose constant flow of
high spirits and imperturbable good humor made him
a favorite everywhere; but Queenie was not always
quite so easy to get on with, and although she fascinated
him by her imperious ways, and made him do
her bidding submissively and gladly, yet he was not
sure that he was very fond of her always.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was undeniably disobedient. Phil often
broke rules and disregarded his parents’ commands;
but then, with him this was the result rather of
thoughtlessness than of downright, deliberate disobedience.
I do not say that he would always deny
himself a wish because he remembered just in the
midst of his fun that its attainment would necessitate
a breach of rule. Phil was lax in his ideas on such
subjects, as are many boys of his age; but he was
not in the least deceitful, and he would never lay
plans and plot and scheme to evade detection, as his
little sister often did; and if reminded at the outset
that what he meditated doing involved disobedience,
he would often abandon the idea of his own accord.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie, however, loved her own way, and hated
control too much to be as amenable. She had a
deeply-rooted belief that rules were only made in
order to be broken, and that, so long as she could
<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>break them without detection, it was all quite right
and fair. She had been spoiled from her babyhood,
and it was perhaps no great wonder that she had
come to look upon herself as a person of such great
importance that she could hardly do wrong; still,
from some cause or another, this was the view she
held, and it led her into many faults, of which not
the least was disobedience.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie, who, without quite knowing why, was always
very determined not to disobey anybody who had
the right to command him, noticed this failing of
Queenie’s very much, and it troubled him a good deal,
but he had not spoken of it, for he knew now by
experience that the little lady was very intolerant of
criticism, and that to offer it would be pretty sure to
provoke a quarrel.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire’s rules were few; but they were scrupulously
obeyed by Bertie. It is true he had forced
his way into the library again and again after having
been told not to go there without leave; but that had
seemed to be with him a matter rather of instinct than
a voluntary act. The library was the one place where,
from the first moment, he had seemed at home, and
his haunting of the room appeared to be something
rather outside of his own will.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>In other matters Bertie was perfectly docile and
obedient. Mrs. Pritchard was loud in his praises, and
Queenie many times held him up to rather merciless
ridicule, because he insisted on returning home at the
time he had been told, or declined to share in some
escapade because he thought the Squire would not
approve of it. But Bertie, in spite of his quiet ways
and dislike to anything like a quarrel, could be firm
enough when he chose, and Queenie soon learned to
know that he could “hold his own” against her, as
Phil called it, if he meant to do so.</p>
<p class='c015'>This often annoyed the little girl at the moment;
but it made her respect Bertie the more in her heart,
and the children were very good friends, in spite of
their little differences, and the companionship of playmates
of his own age and station was of undoubted
advantage to the lonely boy.</p>
<p class='c015'>Still, it may be doubted whether Bertie’s happiest
hours were not those spent by him alone with David
wandering over the sandhills, or watching with a sense
of reverent expectancy for the daily turning of the
tide. All the child’s deeper thoughts were locked
away in his own breast when he was playing with
Queenie and Phil; but they were brought out quite
naturally when David and he were alone together,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>and many earnest talks were held by the margin of
the wide-flowing sea, and many prayers went up from
two faithful, patient little hearts, that the great loving
Father above, who never forgot to preserve the fisherman’s
cottage from danger, would look down and
“remember Bertie again.”</p>
<p class='c015'>For as the weeks rolled silently away, it seemed
as if Bertie would never “remember himself.” His
health improved gradually, and he was active and
merry, though always in a quiet way; but no gleam
from the past ever lighted up his mind; he was still
as ignorant of his real name and state in life as he
had been when he lay unconscious in the fisherman’s
cottage, and the vague impressions that used sometimes
to flit across his brain were growing now more
rare and more faint.</p>
<p class='c015'>Dr. Lighton sometimes shook his head and looked
disturbed as he heard from time to time of the state
of the case. One day he began a sort of half apology
to the Squire for having, so to speak, imposed upon
him the charge of the child; but he was not allowed
to go far in his speech.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Don’t name it, Lighton, I beg you. It is a
matter of no moment to me. The child is welcome
to his food and shelter. He is no trouble
<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>to me, and the servants seem to enjoy having
him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, but there is the future to consider,” said
Dr. Lighton. “You are very generous and kind, but
if this oblivion of the past continues, what of the
future?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire waved his hand as if to dismiss the
subject.</p>
<p class='c015'>“The future, I find, generally manages to take
care of itself. I have no doubt he will eventually
remember something by which we can identify him;
and if not, why, I must do what I can; I am ready
to take my chance.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You are very good,” said the young doctor.
“I had no idea of letting you in for anything so
serious.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire would not let him say more.</p>
<p class='c015'>“The house is big enough for us both,” he said,
rather curtly, “and that is all that matters. He is
welcome to stay till he is claimed.”</p>
<p class='c015'>So Bertie stayed on in the unquestioning confidence
of childhood, and at times he would almost forget
that all his life had not been spent at the old Manor
House.</p>
<p class='c015'>For the most part Bertie was happy enough in the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>society of little companions not much older than
himself; but he had his own troubles to bear, as all
of us have, and one of these was of a rather curious
nature.</p>
<p class='c015'>The boating excursions to which Phil had so
eagerly looked forward became in due course a
reality. The fisherman, David’s father, and his two
big sons, returned from their long excursion in search
of herrings, and they were quite ready to take out
parties of pleasure in their large boat, or to let the
little one to the boys to row themselves along the
coast, provided David were of the party.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie had looked forward as impatiently as anybody
for the time to come when they could go out
sailing or rowing over the sea he loved so well; and
yet, when the day came, and he found himself in the
boat, gliding over the shining water, he was seized
with a horrible and unconquerable sense of terror;
his agitation became so great that the boat had to be
put back to land, so that he could be put ashore and
no determination on his own part, or persuasions or
ridicule from others, ever induced him to repeat the
experiment. Again and again he made up his mind
that it was all nonsense, and that he <i>would</i> conquer
himself, and again and again the first sight of the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>boat would bring back all the nameless horrors which
he could neither understand nor drive away. The
very thought of trusting himself to those frail timbers
was agony to him, and nothing could bring him to
the point of entering the boat again.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil and Queenie laughed at him, and David was
quite distressed that he should miss all the pleasant
hours the rest spent upon the water; but they were
all kind each in a different way, and Bertie was
allowed to please himself in peace until the other
big brothers came from school, and with them his
troubles began.</p>
<p class='c015'>Walter, Bernard, and Ralph Arbuthnot were strong
lads, high-spirited, full of fun and mischief, and quite
determined, like most boys fresh from school, to get
all the fun out of the holidays that they possibly
could. They were not hard-hearted or unkindly
boys, but they loved to tease and to play tricks on
anybody who gave them the chance, and they found
in little Bertie a sort of victim whom they sadly
plagued, without having any idea of the pain they
inflicted upon him.</p>
<p class='c015'>He took it all so quietly that they fancied he did
not feel it. When they laughed at him for being
nameless and homeless, a sort of “outcast” and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>“vagabond,” he never made any reply, and they had
no notion that their taunts cut into his very heart
and brought back all that sense of misery and desolation
that he had gradually been outgrowing with time.</p>
<p class='c015'>They liked the little boy in reality, although he
was so different from themselves that they could not
help poking fun at him. They had no wish to be
unkind, but they did not understand him in the least,
and had no idea that he was not as careless and
“thick-skinned” as themselves.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was some time before they discovered Bertie’s
horror of the water. The arrival of a very favorite
uncle soon after the commencement of the holidays
took up a great deal of their time and attention; and
so long as Uncle Fred was available to play tennis or
cricket or take long walks or rides with them, they
wanted nothing else, and the boating was given up
for a season.</p>
<p class='c015'>Mr. Frederick Arbuthnot was always very kind to
Bertie whenever the child appeared, but the little boy
rather shunned the Court just now, for he dreaded
the banter of the bigger boys, and he fancied that he
was not wanted by any one.</p>
<p class='c015'>He returned to his old pastime of wandering over
the sandhills alone or with David; but a sort of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>melancholy had come over him, and he often felt
unspeakably lonely and desolate. The only thing
that seemed to do him any good was to repeat
again and again the words of unchanging promise
that he had learned from David’s card that Sunday
long ago.</p>
<p class='c015'>One day, as the two boys were sitting together
under the shadow of the boat, they heard the sound
of trampling footsteps and many voices, and the
whole party from the big house rushed down to the
shore and proceeded unceremoniously to lay hands
upon the boat, ordering David to run and fetch oars
and rudder whilst they launched the craft.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie stood aside and watched them run the boat
down to the water. He learned from Queenie that
Uncle Fred was coming down shortly, and was going
to take them a long sail or row, and she asked Bertie
if he would not like to come too.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You know we shall be <i>quite</i> safe with Uncle Fred.
He was once a sailor himself.”</p>
<p class='c015'>But Bertie shook his head with a troubled look.
He would so much have liked to go, had it not been
for his fears; but he dared not. He knew he should
be miserable as soon as he felt himself upon the
water.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>Phil came up at the moment to make the same
suggestion that Queenie had done, and the attention
of the other boys was attracted, and they learned for
the first time Bertie’s horror of the water.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, that must never be allowed to go on!”
cried Walter, with a twinkle in his eye. “Bertie will
grow up a pitiful coward if we don’t take him in
hand. Little boys who are afraid must get over
their fears. Come along, Bertie, and get into that
boat at once. I’ll guarantee you shall be safe.”</p>
<p class='c015'>But Bertie shrank back, looking pale and scared.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t want to,” he said, quickly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Little boys can’t always do what they want,”
quoth Bernard, sententiously; “we were brought up
to believe that, if you weren’t. Don’t you be a fool,
Bertie, or you’ll never be good for anything.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“If you once get over the funks, you’ll enjoy it
like anything,” urged Phil. “Don’t be silly, Bertie;
they’ll make you do it, and you’d better go peaceable
than not.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was horribly frightened; an unreasoning
panic had seized him; he made a rush to try and
escape, but nothing could have been more fatal to
his hopes than that. He was caught in two minutes,
and the excitement of the chase and of his opposition
<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>made his captors absolutely determined now to work
their will upon him. A very little is enough to rouse
a boy’s instincts of tyranny, and to the Arbuthnots,
who did not know what nerves were, Bertie’s cowardice
seemed utterly despicable. Indeed, they firmly believed
that they were doing him a real service in
putting it down with a firm hand.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Here he is!” cried Walter, who was holding
the prisoner in an iron clasp. “This sort of thing
won’t do, you know. Who has a piece of whip-cord?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Two or three pieces were speedily produced, and
the boys proceeded deliberately to tie Bertie’s hands
and feet firmly together. His terrified struggles only
served to strengthen their purpose and to draw the
knots tighter, whilst the sight of his obvious fear
convinced them that they were doing the best thing
possible in teaching him how foolish it was.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie and Phil took no part in the matter. They
were rather sorry for Bertie, but both thought their
own brothers perfectly right in their estimate of the
case; and when Walter and Bernard took the captive
up bodily, carried him down to the water’s edge, and
deposited him in the boat, they could not help joining
in the triumphant laugh that was raised, and they
<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>thought Bertie quite stupid and bad-tempered not to
enjoy the joke himself.</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred had not as yet appeared, and some
instinct warned the boys that Bertie’s “lesson” had
better be concluded before his arrival. David was
just coming from the hut with his load, and the boys
ran to meet him and took the oars from him, for they
were not quite certain what he might do if Bertie
appealed to him for help.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie, however, lay quite still, his face as white as
death, his eyes fixed with terrified intensity upon the
dancing water that was ruffled to-day by a fresh
breeze. When the boys pushed out into deep water,
he only shivered convulsively, but did not utter a
sound.</p>
<p class='c015'>The big lads were rather disappointed. They expected
more of a “scene,” and betrayed the nature
of their true feelings by trying to add to the child’s
silent yet visible terror; for, had they only been
actuated by the wish to benefit him, they might
surely have dispensed with any such unnecessary
demonstration.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie and Phil had remained on shore, and
the big boys felt themselves entire masters of the
situation.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>“Can you swim, Bertie?” asked Walter.</p>
<p class='c015'>The child shook his head, but said nothing.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Because, you know, you should learn. It would
help you better than anything to overcome your
foolish terror. Now I’ve heard that there’s nothing
like being pitched into deep water at once to teach a
fellow to swim, especially when he’s small.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“To be sure that’s the way!” cried Ralph. “I
know I read in a book that little niggers were always
taught that way. I don’t believe it ever fails.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“We might try, any way,” suggested Bernard,
gravely; “and there’s no time like the present. You
see, if it should fail, no great harm would be done.
People always come up three times before they
drown, and we could catch hold of him when he
came up if he could not manage to swim. It’s a
nice warm day, and I always think the sea is more
buoyant when it’s a little rough.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The boat was rocking very much with the combined
roughness of the sea and the restlessness of
the boys. Bertie could not hold by anything, for
the whip-cord resisted his most violent efforts to free
himself, and in his terror he fancied every moment
that he should be rolled out into the green, terrible
water. Of course there was not the least danger of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>this, but fear knows no laws, and the horror of his
position was almost more than the child’s nerves
could stand. There was water, too, at the bottom of
the boat, and the lapping of the waves against the
sides made him certain that it leaked and that they
would soon be swamped.</p>
<p class='c015'>But the idea of being thrown overboard was the
most awful of all, and he was firmly convinced that
his tormentors were quite capable of doing what they
proposed. So that when Ralph sprang towards him,
making the boat lurch horribly, he was certain his
last moment had come, and, uttering a stifled cry, he
fell back senseless.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XI.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>UNCLE FRED.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-t.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
THE boys were frightened enough themselves
now, and their only thought was
to get to land as quickly as possible and
find help for Bertie. They hardly knew
whether they were most relieved or most alarmed to
see that their uncle had now come down to the shore,
and was standing with Queenie and Phil, waiting for
the boat to come back.</p>
<p class='c015'>They were glad he had come, because he would
know what to do with Bertie; but they had an uneasy
feeling that he would not approve their treatment of
him, and their own consciences began to tell them
that they had not acted well towards the helpless
child.</p>
<p class='c015'>But they had not much time for thinking or for
<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>planning excuses. Five minutes of hard rowing
brought them to the shore, and Uncle Fred hailed
them in his hearty way, and was waiting to help them
to run the boat aground.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Where’s Bertie?” cried Queenie. “Did he mind
the water to-day?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Walter’s face was very red.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think he’s fainted, or something. I never guessed
he’d be scared like that.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred looked searchingly at the speaker, and
then, catching a glimpse of the huddled-up figure in
the bow, he stooped down and lifted out the unconscious
child.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s face was deadly pale, and quite rigid. His
wrists were bleeding where the cord had cut into
them.</p>
<p class='c015'>David uttered a frightened cry; and Uncle Fred’s
face was very stern.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What does all this mean?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The boys were silent; and Queenie tried to make
some explanation that should also be an exculpation;
but as soon as her uncle had gleaned the bare facts
of the case, he cut her short very unceremoniously.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Go home, all of you! There will be no boating
to-day. I have nothing to say to you now. Another
<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>time we must talk of your cowardly and cruel conduct.
Go away now at once. You must not be in sight
when the child recovers. Go! I am very much
displeased with you all.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The boys and their sister moved slowly away in a
shamefaced manner, very unlike their usual rattling
pace. They heartily wished they had never indulged
their teasing propensities to the extent of trying to
give Bertie a lesson. Their own good feeling told
them they had been wrong, and they were terribly
vexed at having incurred Uncle Fred’s displeasure.
Queenie and Phil wished now that they had followed
their first impulse, and interfered on Bertie’s behalf;
but they had been ashamed to do so at first, and now
the mischief was done.</p>
<p class='c015'>Meantime, Uncle Fred had cut the cords that bound
Bertie, and had bathed his face with vinegar and
water that David brought from the cottage. Very
soon Bertie heaved a long, shuddering sigh, and slowly
opened his eyes. He did not at first seem to know
where he was or who was with him; but after Uncle
Fred had spoken to him once or twice kindly, reassuring
words, the child appeared to recover himself,
and put out a small hand, saying questioningly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Uncle Fred?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>The young man smiled at hearing himself so addressed,
but he was pleased to be accepted on such
terms.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, my little man, it is Uncle Fred; and if Uncle
Fred had only been here a few minutes earlier, all this
should not have happened. I am very sorry those
rascally nephews of mine have given you such a fright;
but you will be a brave boy, I know, and not think
of it more than you can help, and you will be none
the worse in the long run.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie remembered all about it now, and he began
to tremble in spite of the kindly pressure of Uncle
Fred’s arm round him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What is the matter, my child? You are not
afraid now?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No—not exactly—if they won’t do it again.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I will take care they do not.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“They said they would throw me in to teach me to
swim,” and the child’s teeth chattered at the bare
recollection.</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred muttered some words that Bertie did
not catch, and then said aloud,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Never you mind what they said. They shall
never have another chance.”</p>
<div class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/i163.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
</div>
<p class='c015'>Something in the tone warned Bertie that his tormentors
<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>were going to have rather a warm time of it,
as they themselves would phrase it, from this favorite
uncle of theirs.</p>
<p class='c015'>He was sorry then, and looked up suddenly with
appealing eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Please don’t be angry with them. I don’t think
they understand. You see, it never happened to
them.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What never happened to them?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, the water coming in—the cold, dreadful
water—rising higher and higher—and the people
crying and shouting and rushing to the boats;” and
Bertie pressed his hands into his eyes, as if to shut
out some terrible picture.</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred remained long silent, hoping the child
would go on, and perhaps utter words that might be
a clue for his identification; but he said no more,
and presently the young man asked,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“And did all that happen to you, Bertie?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Ye—es—unless I dreamed it;” and Bertie slowly
took his hands from his face and looked wonderingly
up at Uncle Fred.</p>
<p class='c015'>“And when did it happen? Just before you came
here?”</p>
<p class='c015'>But the child shook his head with a look of distress.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>“I don’t know. I can’t remember. But in the
boat it seemed just like it.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred was much interested; but he judged it
better to say no more on such an exciting topic.
Bertie’s eyes glowed strangely, and his face, a little
while ago so deadly pale was now flushed and hot,
and the little frame still quivered with excitement,
and perhaps with fear. It was evident that the
child needed soothing, and he purposely turned
the conversation into a channel that could not but
be safe.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Bertie,” he said, gravely, yet very kindly, “when
you are frightened and troubled about anything, do
you remember to ask God to take care of you and to
make you brave and strong?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked up quickly and wistfully into the face
above him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I do sometimes; I pray to God every day; but
when I get frightened, I think I forget.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do not forget again then, my child; for you will
never pray to God in vain. He never forgets.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s glance was more touchingly appealing
than before. It made Uncle Fred ask,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“What is it, my child?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s lip quivered.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>“I’ve been asking Him for weeks and weeks to let
me remember who I am; and He never does. I do
try to believe He will; but He does make it such a
long time. Sometimes it seems as if He must have
forgotten, though David says He doesn’t ever forget
really; but I do think He must have forgotten
me;” and then the child’s voice broke altogether,
and he told amid his sobs how he and David
tried to meet every day at the turn of the tide,
to pray for something that they seemed to ask
in vain.</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred was much touched by the simply-told
tale, and he put his arm round the little boy in quite
a fatherly fashion, and let him sob out his trouble
upon his shoulder, and then, when the child had
grown somewhat calmer, he began to talk to him in
a quiet and reassuring fashion.</p>
<p class='c015'>“My dear little boy, you may be quite sure of one
thing, and that is that God hears every word you say,
and that not one of your prayers is lost; but you
must be patient, and wait for the answer until He
sends it. He knows when that will be, though you
do not, and He knows best.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I know,” answered Bertie, quickly. “I always
try to remember to say ‘Thy will be done’ too;”
<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>and the old look of perplexity stole over his face as
he added, “Somebody told me to say that—it was
when the water was coming in.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You do not know who told you?” asked Uncle
Fred, gently.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie shook his head and looked distressed. Already
the recollection had passed like a flash, leaving
only the blank behind.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Whoever it was said quite right,” said Uncle Fred,
gravely. “You know who it was that taught us that
prayer, Bertie?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Jesus,” answered the child, softly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, Jesus; and you must never forget how much
He had to bear, and to bear for us. He prayed that
the bitter cup might pass away if it were God’s will,
and yet He drank it to the very dregs, and all for
our sakes. He once thought God had forsaken Him;
but do you think He had?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie shook his head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh no. He could not forget His Son, you know.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“And He cannot forget one of His children either,
Bertie. Are you one of His little ones, my child?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked up wistfully.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know. I should like to be. How can I
tell?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>“Have you ever gone to Him in His own way, and
asked Him to make you His?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know,” answered Bertie, slowly. “I have
prayed to Him; but I don’t know how to go to Him—I
don’t know what His way is.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“His way is the way of the cross,” answered Uncle
Fred, very gravely; and then, seeing that the child
did not understand his meaning, he added, “I mean,
my child, that you must go to Jesus first, and the
rest will follow of itself.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“How can I go to Him?” asked the child.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You can go in prayer, my little boy. You must
take all your troubles with you and all your sins.
Your burden of sins may not be very heavy, but I
daresay it troubles you sometimes.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie hung his head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I feel very naughty sometimes. I get angry and
cross, and I think naughty things, if I don’t say them;
and then I am miserable, and it doesn’t seem as if
God would care for me any more. Once or twice,
when I’ve been frightened, I’ve said things that were
not quite true. I know God can’t love me any more
if I do that. I sometimes think that is why He won’t
hear me when I pray to Him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred was too wise to make light of Bertie’s
<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>little recital of sins. He said gravely, and gently,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“You will have to get those sins taken away,
Bertie, before you can feel quite happy again, or
before you will feel to be one of God’s little children.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie look up pleadingly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Will Jesus take them away if I ask Him?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, Bertie, indeed He will. He is always waiting
for us to come to Him with our sins. He can
see our hearts. He knows when we are really sorry;
and if we are, He washes away our sins in His
precious blood, and make us worthy to call ourselves
the sons of God.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“But—but—”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, my child, what is your difficulty?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t quite know how to say it; but don’t you
think He might not care to listen to anybody like
me? He would love <i>you</i>—perhaps He likes grown-up
people to come; but I’m only a little boy—and I
don’t belong to anybody—and perhaps—”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You belong to Jesus, Bertie,” was the gravely-spoken
answer. “You belong to the dear Lord who
died on the cross to save <i>you</i>. And can you not tell
me who it was that said, ‘Suffer the little children to
come unto Me, and forbid them not?’ Is He likely
after that to forbid them Himself?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>Bertie looked up with a sudden smile.</p>
<p class='c015'>“He is very good, isn’t He? I should like to
belong to Him always.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, Bertie, go to Him, and leave your burden of
sin at the foot of His cross. Be one of His own little
children—His faithful little soldiers, ready to obey
Him and to fight for him as well as to love and trust
Him; and then, whatever happens to you here,
whatever may be His will about you, whether He
gives you back to your earthly parents or not, you
will always have a loving Father in heaven, a Friend
and Guardian in His Son, and in His good time,
I trust, a Comforter and Counsellor in the good
Spirit He will breathe into your heart. Whatever
else may happen to you, Bertie, you will never be
alone.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child could not understand all this speech, yet
he entered into its spirit, and it comforted him
strangely. He felt as if once he had known something
of the grand truths now unfolded before him,
as it were, for the first time, and the sweet, undefined
sense of familiarity brought them home to his heart
with a peculiar sense of warmth and light.</p>
<p class='c015'>He looked up with one of his rare smiles.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think I understand. I think I had forgotten
<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>about Jesus; but I shan’t forget any more. I love
Him very much now.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“And you will not love Him any less as time goes
on,” answered Uncle Fred, in the grave, kind way
that Bertie liked so much. “And now, my little boy,
I am going to take you home, and tell the Squire all
about my naughty nephews.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked rather disturbed.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t want them to be punished. They did not
mean to be unkind. They did not understand.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, well, we will not talk of that any more.
They were old enough to know better; but if it distresses
you, they shall get off easily. Do you feel
quite able to walk home now?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh yes!” answered Bertie, getting up, but finding
himself a little unsteady on his feet. However,
with the help of Uncle Fred’s hand, he was able to
get along quite easily, and his new friend talked so
pleasantly and kindly to him all the way, that he
enjoyed the walk very much, and was almost sorry
when it was over.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XII.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>A PROJECT.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-w.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
WHEN Uncle Fred returned to his
brother’s house, he went in search
of his nephews, with the intention of
speaking his mind to them pretty
freely on the unmanliness of their treatment of little
Bertie. But when he opened the schoolroom door,
he was assailed by such a chorus of eager voices,
that it was some time before he could “get a word
in edgeways,” as the saying is.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, Uncle Fred, how is Bertie now?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, Uncle Fred, we’re so awfully sorry!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“We really did not mean anything.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“We never guessed he’d care like that.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“We only meant it in fun, we never thought he’d
think we should!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Please, Uncle Fred, don’t be cross with them:”
<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>this from Phil, who had taken no active share in the
matter. “They didn’t really know how frightened
he is. I think I ought to be punished most, because
I only laughed instead of taking Bertie’s part, and I
knew much better than they did about him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred looked into Phil’s bright, frank face
with an approving glance. He liked the boy all the
better for his honest confession of a fault.</p>
<p class='c015'>“That is right, my boy. Never try to shirk blame
when you feel you have deserved it. Why did you
not take Bertie’s part, then, when you understood
so well how frightened it made him to be on the
water?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil hung his head for a moment, but he looked
up bravely again the next, and in spite of the gravity
of his face there was a merry sparkle in his bright
blue eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It was not at all nice of me, Uncle Fred, but I
<i>couldn’t</i> help enjoying it. Bertie did cut away so
fast, and kicked and struggled so hard, and seemed
in such a passion—I suppose it was fright really,
but it looked like a jolly big rage, and he made me
laugh, and when I once begin to laugh, it’s all over
with me;” Phil glanced up roguishly at his uncle,
and then dropped his eyes and added, with genuine
<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>penitence, “But I was awfully sorry when I saw that
Bertie was really hurt. It hasn’t done him any harm,
has it?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I hope not; but it is very bad for any one to
have a scare like that; and Bertie is not strong, and
you big boys ought to be more manly than to combine
against one smaller and weaker than yourselves.
You would not like to be called cowards, but if you
heard the story told in a book, I think you would
call it a very cowardly trick to set upon a little fellow
like Bertie and treat him as you did.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The boys flushed deeply, but did not try to defend
themselves. They felt a little guilty and conscience-stricken,
for one thing, and then Uncle Fred was an
immense favorite, and they knew that he never spoke
to them like this without good cause.</p>
<p class='c015'>But Queenie was indignant at having her brothers
condemned, and she tossed her head in her favorite
fashion as she exclaimed,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“<i>I</i> think it’s Bertie who is the coward, Uncle Fred,
not my boys.”</p>
<p class='c015'>He turned and looked at the little girl with a smile
in his kind eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Is it always cowardly to be afraid, do you think,
Queenie?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>“Of course it is, Uncle Fred!” she answered,
quickly; and after a moment’s pause she added,
proudly, “<i>I’m</i> not afraid of anything!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No?” he answered, questioningly; and then he
looked grave as he said, glancing round at all the
faces of his little relatives, “Perhaps you would all
be braver and happier if you were afraid of more
things.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie looked surprised and defiant. Uncle Fred
often puzzled her by some of the things he said, and
she thought that this was great nonsense. She wondered
why the boys said nothing and looked half
ashamed; but she was not readily silenced, and
answered, quickly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“It <i>can’t</i> be brave to be afraid, Uncle Fred. You’re
only trying to puzzle us. Everybody knows that it’s
only cowards who are afraid.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Excuse me, Queenie, but you’re quite wrong
there,” answered Uncle Fred, quietly. “All the
bravest men I have known have been afraid—very
much afraid, some of them—of some things.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What sort of things?” asked Queenie, with a
little gesture of scorn. “Rats, and mice, and snakes,
and all that sort of thing?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred’s face looked rather grave, yet very
<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>kind, and he took Queenie’s hands in his and gazed
down very steadily into the little girl’s blue eyes, that
glowed and flashed rather excitedly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, my little maiden,” he answered, speaking in
a tone that the children often heard him use, and that
never failed to impress them more than they could
quite understand. “No, Queenie, they were not
afraid of things of that kind, these brave men whom
it has been my privilege to know; they have been
afraid of doing wrong, afraid of falling into careless,
idle, disobedient ways, afraid of not proving themselves
true and fearless servants of the King they had
bound themselves to serve, afraid that by some act
of their own, committed perhaps thoughtlessly and
without intent of wrong, they might injure the great
cause they had vowed to protect and to forward all
their lives through.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The boys looked down, conscience-stricken and
abashed, but Queenie either did not or would not
understand her uncle’s meaning.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What king?” she asked, impatiently. “We haven’t
got a king, we have a queen; and if you’re talking
about foreigners, of course we all know they’re all
cowards!” And Queenie waved her hand, as if dismissing
all such poltroons from the question in hand,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>with a fine insular prejudice that would have made
Uncle Fred laugh at any other time; but just now
his face was very grave and earnest.</p>
<p class='c015'>“The King these brave men served, Queenie, is
the great King I trust we are all bound to obey—every
one of us, whether we be men or women, or
little children only just starting in life with the little
battles of childhood to fight. There, my boys, I
know you understand me. I will not preach to you
to-day; I will only say how pleased I shall be to see
you all more afraid of breaking the wise laws that
our King has laid down for His soldiers.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie did not approve a line of argument which
she felt put her at a disadvantage. She was silent,
more because she stood a little in awe of Uncle Fred
than because she was convinced by what he said.
She was not prepared to admit that fear was ever
anything but cowardly, and was half vexed when Phil
looked up and said, lightly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I know what you mean, Uncle Fred, only you
know it’s awfully hard for a fellow to think of all that,
and to be afraid when he ought. It’s much easier to
be like Queenie,—like all of us, in fact,—and not to
be afraid of anything.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil was always a favorite with everybody. He
<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>was so merry and bright and outspoken, that it was
impossible not to like him, and Uncle Fred smiled
at the boy as he answered his remark.</p>
<p class='c015'>“The easiest way is not always the best, Phil.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, no, to be sure, worse luck! it’s generally
the worst!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You wouldn’t like all your fighting to be quite
plain sailing, would you, Phil? There would not be
much glory in it if it were.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil looked grave for a moment, and then answered,
brightly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“To be sure not. No, I’d like some good tough
battles, only I’m such a fellow for forgetting—I might
get into the wrong lot before ever I knew what I was
about, as I did just now.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You must try to learn thoughtfulness as you grow
older,” said Uncle Fred, kindly; “that will be one of
your battles.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“All right,” cried Phil; “I’ll try to think of it like
that. Are you going to punish us, Uncle Fred, for
bullying Bertie? because if you are, I wish you’d set
about it sharp. I hate having a thing hanging over
one’s head.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred could not help laughing.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, as I’m not your father, but only an uncle,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>I don’t know that I have any right to punish you,
and, besides Bertie almost made me promise not to.</p>
<p class='c015'>“And as you seem sorry for being unkind and unmanly,
I would much rather say no more about it,
but let bygones be bygones. I don’t think you will
be tempted to repeat the offence, and all I will ask
of you is to try and be kinder to the little boy in the
future, remembering that he is very lonely, and has
nobody in the wide world whom he can really look
to for love or kindness.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh yes, poor little chap!” cried Phil; “we’ll be
good to him now;” and all the boys echoed Phil’s
words heartily; and Uncle Fred left the room, feeling
that there was no need to punish his thoughtless
nephews. It was in ignorance and carelessness that
they had acted, not with intentional cruelty.</p>
<p class='c015'>“And don’t you call yourself ‘only an uncle’ any
more,” cried out Phil after him; and all the boys
broke out into the chorus—</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c016'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“For he’s a jolly good fellow,”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class='c017'>which pursued their uncle all down the long passage.</p>
<p class='c015'>They had all recovered their usual high spirits and
good temper except Queenie, who still felt annoyed,
though she could hardly have explained why.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>“Bertie <i>is</i> a coward!” she exclaimed, in her very
determined fashion. “He is a horrid little coward,
whatever anybody says; and <i>I</i> think it served him
quite right.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The boys were secretly rather pleased that their
little sister stood by them, as it were, so boldly.
They were very fond of Queenie, and liked to look
upon her as the little queen she had always been
taught to consider herself.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, I’m not quite so sure of that,” answered
Phil, who was always honest, whatever faults he might
have besides. “I heard Dr. Lighton say once that
he was afraid of the water because he had been so
nearly drowned, and that he could not help it, and
would most likely grow out of it if only he was let
alone.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The elder boys exchanged glances, conscious that
their idea of curing him had differed from the doctor’s.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why didn’t you say so before, Phil?” asked
Walter.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I never thought of it,” he answered; “I always
do forget everything.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I should take him out every day in a boat till he
gave over being silly about it—that’s what I should
do if he were <i>my</i> little boy,” announced Queenie,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>very grandly. “I have no idea of spoiling children
like that.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And at that all the boys laughed, but they laughed
admiringly, for they were proud of their sister’s spirit,
although they all knew quite well that she had been
spoiled by every one in the house, save her nurse,
from the hour of her birth until now.</p>
<p class='c015'>“That’s right, Queenie,” cried Bernard. “Never
you let anybody have a will of his own but yourself.
You stick to your opinion, and let all the rest go.
But we can’t bully that little chap any more, after
what Uncle Fred said. Shall we try to make it up
with him instead, and show him we didn’t mean any
harm?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Uncle Fred would like that,” remarked Ralph.
“Only I don’t know if he’d care to make friends just
to-day—Bertie, I mean, you know.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“He’d make friends, I know,” answered Phil. “He
never bears malice; he’s a meek, gentle little chap;
but I guess he’s had enough of us for a while. I vote
we leave him in peace for to-day, and think of something
jolly for to-morrow.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What sort of thing?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, I don’t quite know; I must think a bit,” and
Phil thrust both his hands into his tangle of curls.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>“Why, yes, I have it now! You know what we were
going to do to-day—row to that odd rocky bay ten
miles down the coast, where the sea-gulls live. Well,
let’s go a regular picnic there. Uncle Fred can take
some of us in the boat, and three of us can ride
by the road,—Bertie loves to ride, and I’ve hardly
ever lent him my pony, though I’ve often promised
to,—and we’ll take heaps of food, and have a regular
jolly day. Bertie will like that no end, and we’ll
show him we want to make up for frightening
him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil’s plan was hailed with acclamation, and when
Uncle Fred heard of it he gave his ready consent,
and was pleased that the boys should have wished it
themselves. He thought the change of the ride and
the picnic would be very good for Bertie, and he
made all plain with the children’s parents for the long
day’s holiday upon the water.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil and Queenie, it was decided, should be the
two to ride with Bertie. The little girl submitted to
this arrangement because she was not very fond of
long journeys in the boat; its movement sometimes
made her feel rather sick, and the glare of the sun
upon the water often brought on a headache. She
liked riding on the whole better than the long row;
<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>but, as she felt a little cross with Bertie, she was not
quite pleased at being obliged to spend so much time
in his company. Still, that could not be helped, and
she was very anxious to visit the rocky bay; for she
had heard a great deal about it that had raised her
curiosity to a high pitch, and she had a secret hope
of her own which she at last confided to Phil.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Phil,” she said, mysteriously that evening, as they
wandered together about the garden,—“Phil, don’t
people say that lots of young sea-gulls are hatched
in that bay every year?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, yes, to be sure. What of that?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Phil, don’t you think,” sinking her voice to a
very low whisper, “that we might find one or two
little gulls if we searched very carefully, and bring
them home in an empty basket? You know some
people have tame sea-gulls in their gardens, and I
should <i>love</i> to catch some of my very own and keep
them here always.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil seemed struck with the brilliancy of this idea.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What a capital thought, Queenie!” he cried.
“It would be a tremendous lark to take a sea-gull’s
nest—only, I fancy they’re pretty hard to get”—He
paused suddenly, and then added, as if struck by an
unwelcome thought, “But I’m afraid it’s the wrong
<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>time for sea-gulls. I think all the young birds are
hatched in the spring. I don’t believe there will be
any left now, you see it’s August—pretty nearly
September too.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie’s face fell.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, how tiresome! Why can’t they arrange
things differently? Are you sure, Phil?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“About the young birds, Queenie? Yes, I’m
afraid I am sure.”</p>
<p class='c015'>For a few minutes she looked a good deal cast
down, but then a brighter look crossed her face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ll tell you what we can do, Phil,” she said, with
energy. “We can have a good look at the place,
and make David tell us where all the best places
are; and then, you know, when the spring comes
round—”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil tossed his cap into the air.</p>
<p class='c015'>“To be sure, Queenie! you’re a brick for thinking
of things.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XIII.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>A PICNIC.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-b.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
BERTIE felt rather queer when he got home
that day. His head ached a little, and he
was not much disposed to eat his dinner.
He did not care about going out any more,
and by and by he stole down-stairs to his old haunt,
the library window-seat, and established himself comfortably
there.</p>
<p class='c015'>He had not been seen in that place so much of
late as he had been at first. Latterly his frequent
visits to the next house had taken up a great deal of
his time, and he was out of doors for the greater part
of these warm summer days. Then Phil and Queenie
often came to see him, and at such times the children
were not allowed to leave the nurseries except to play
in the garden. The liberty granted to Bertie himself
was not accorded to his friends.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>So he had been little to the library of late, and
when he found himself there again he heaved a sigh
of contentment, as if he had somehow found a haven
of refuge for himself. The Squire was not in his
room when Bertie found his way there; but he came
in a little bit later, and his grave, stern face seemed
to soften as his glance rested upon the figure of the
child.</p>
<p class='c015'>He did not speak, however, only crossed the room,
and stood for a few moments in the embrasure of the
window, his hand resting kindly upon the head of
the little boy.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was more of a caress than Bertie had ever before
received from his benefactor, and it seemed to give
him courage; for when the Squire seated himself in
his chair with the newspaper, Bertie followed and
took a footstool at his feet, leaning his tired head
against the Squire’s knee; and in that position he
quickly fell asleep.</p>
<p class='c015'>When he began to awake, he found himself on
somebody’s knee, a kind arm encircling him, and his
head resting comfortably upon a supporting shoulder.
Half-sleeping, half-waking, the child moved a little,
and said, dreamily,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Grandpapa—where’s mother?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>It was the first time the child had ever named any
relative. He had called the Squire “grandpapa” as
if by instinct, and had appeared when he first came
to have some association with that name, but he had
never spoken of either father or mother, and it had
sometimes seemed doubtful whether he had ever
known a parent’s love at all.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire waited silently, hoping he would say
more, but Bertie’s eyes began to open then, and,
after a few seconds of great bewilderment, he appeared
to recollect himself, and pressed his hand to
his head, as if to quiet the confusion of his brain.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Does your head ache, Bertie?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, grandpapa. I think dreaming makes it ache
worse.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What were you dreaming about?”</p>
<p class='c015'>But he shook his head with a look of distress.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I can’t remember.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Never mind, then; dreams are silly things, not
worth remembering. Go to sleep again, and sleep
the headache away.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was very comfortable; but it dawned upon
him that he had never sat like this upon the Squire’s
knee before.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’m afraid I’m in your way,” he said, sleepily.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>“Go to sleep, child, go to sleep,” was the rejoinder;
and Bertie obeyed in such good earnest that when he
next awoke it was to find himself in his own bed, and
the morning sunshine streaming in through the uncurtained
window. He had actually slept all the rest
of the day and all the night, and woke up as gay
as a lark and as fresh as a kitten. So that, when
the ponies came to the door and Phil ran in with
his invitation to the picnic, Bertie was eager to
join the pleasure party, and rushed off to the
library to ask leave with a face as bright as the
sunny morning.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire was very kind: he gave a ready assent
to the proposal, and came himself to the front door
to lift the child into the saddle and to “pay his
respects to Miss Queenie,” as he called it. When he
saw how well the boy sat, how at home he seemed
on the spirited pony, and how easily he managed his
reins and whip, he nodded approvingly, and said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“So, so, Master Bertie, you have not forgotten
your riding. We must see about a pony for you one
of these fine days.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie flushed with pleasure, and as the children
rode away together Queenie said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“He’s a very kind old man, isn’t he?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>“He’s very kind to me,” answered Bertie, emphatically,—“very
kind indeed!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Is he going to adopt you?” asked the little girl,
who was not always very quick to see when she gave
pain by her words.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie flushed painfully.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know,” he answered, and the tears sparkled
in his eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>“People say he will,” asserted Queenie, “unless
anybody finds out who you really are. Dr. Lighton
isn’t half so sure about your ever remembering for
yourself as he was at first.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, you’ll remember fast enough, never fear!”
cut in Phil, whose feelings in some things were
quicker than his little sister’s. “You’ll wake up
some fine morning with it all as plain as a pikestaff,
and meantime it won’t be half bad to be adopted by
the Squire.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie said nothing. He always felt sad when his
forgotten past was brought up and discussed; but he
knew that Phil meant kindly, and was much obliged
by his friendly words.</p>
<p class='c015'>As they rode on over the level roads through the
bright sunshine, and with the fresh breeze whistling
in their ears, they all grew merry and cheerful.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>Bertie was delighted with his pony, Phil was as full
of fun and chatter as a monkey, and Queenie, though
rather inclined to be “on her high horse,” was too
pleased at the prospect of the picnic to be cross to
Bertie.</p>
<p class='c015'>He felt sure she was not quite friendly towards
him by the way she laughed at any blunders he
might make and teased him whenever she had the
chance; but he always considered it Queenie’s privilege
to plague him, and submitted to it with great
humility.</p>
<p class='c015'>At length they reached their destination, and Bertie
was very much impressed by the change in the character
of the coast as they approached. The level
sands with which he was so well acquainted had been
gradually merged in tracts of rocky coast of a wild
and strange formation; and as they proceeded onwards
the rocks grew higher and higher, until they
became great frowning cliffs, sometimes jutting far
out into the sea, in other places sweeping inwards
and forming great coves or bays, many of which were
floored by the loveliest white sand or by pebbles of
every color of the rainbow.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie thought he had never before seen anything
so beautiful, and he rode along for the last few miles
<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>in a sort of dream of wonder and delight, feeling
quite lifted out of himself by the beauty of all
he saw.</p>
<p class='c015'>At last they reached the bay that was to be their
goal, and reined up their ponies at the top of the
cliff. Far away in the distance they saw a boat
slowly rowing through the blue waves. It was
plain it could not reach the bay for at least half
an hour.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Ha, ha!” laughed Phil, triumphantly. “I told
those other fellows that we should be here the first.
Now, get off, you two, and I’ll take the ponies to a
farmhouse I know close by, and then we’ll find the
path and climb down it, so as to be waiting for them
when they come.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil led off the three ponies, and Queenie and
Bertie were left standing on the cliffs together. The
little girl began fastening up her long riding-skirt by
means of cleverly-arranged loops and buttons devised
by nurse to keep it out of her way whilst she was
climbing about the rocks, and Bertie went down on
his knees to help her, and as she condescended to
permit his attentions he asked, timidly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Are you cross with me, Queenie?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie made a little disdainful gesture.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>“Cross? What a question! Do you think I
should ask you to come with us if I were?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I thought you seemed rather vexed,” explained
Bertie, with gravity.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, it would serve you right, I think, if I were,”
she answered, judicially. “You know you were
horribly stupid yesterday.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’m afraid I was,” he answered, meekly; “only I
<i>can’t help</i> being so frightened on the water; I do try
not to mind,—I do indeed,—but trying doesn’t seem
any good.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie smiled rather severely.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, if you can’t help it, you can’t, I suppose.
But you can help being a hypocrite, I hope.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked much astonished.</p>
<p class='c015'>“A hypocrite!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes; you know what that is, don’t you?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes—but—I didn’t know I was one. I don’t
understand you, Queenie.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Don’t you? Well, I can soon explain. Do you
remember when Phil ran away from school and was
going to hide and have a lot of fun, what a fuss you
made about being brave and not afraid of things, and
how you spoilt everything by making him tell papa
straight out? Well, after all that lecturing, of course,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>I expected you to be as brave as a lion yourself,
instead of which you turn out a horrid little coward,
and nearly get the boys into a great big row because
you are such a coward. That’s the sort of thing I
hate!” and the little lady stamped her foot imperiously,
having talked herself into a good deal of excitement.
“I like people to <i>be</i> brave, not to talk
brave, and then turn awful cowards when the time
comes to try.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie stood humbly before the angry little girl,
feeling very much subdued by her vehemence, and
not at all inclined to defend himself. He felt that
there was a certain amount of injustice in the charge
brought against him. He knew in his heart that he
was not such a dreadful coward as she thought him,
although he could not control his terror in a boat.
But her argument was put in a fashion that made it
difficult to answer; and it was only after a very long
pause that he said, slowly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t think I should be a coward about other
things. Can’t you give me something else to do that
isn’t going in a boat?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie quite approved of being appealed to in
this way. She liked to feel her power over Bertie,
and her face relaxed its severity. After a little pause
<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>she approached a few paces nearer to the little boy,
and asked, in a low and mysterious tone,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Should you be afraid to climb about the cliffs to
look for sea-gulls’ eggs or young birds?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked both eager and astonished.</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, I don’t think so,” he answered, glancing down
the rugged face of the cliff, which showed numbers
of rough ledges and natural rocky steps, very tempting
to boys with steady heads and a natural aptitude
for climbing. “Do you mean now—to-day?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No,” answered Queenie, laying her finger on her
lips and looking cautiously round her. “It’s a great
secret, and you mustn’t say a word to anybody.
But when the spring comes Phil and I are going
to come here and try and get some young sea-gulls,—David
will tell us the best places,—and if
you can promise to be brave, perhaps you may
come too.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked eager and excited. He had a good
deal of innate daring and love of adventure, little
though some of his companions guessed it, and a
hunt about those grim, rocky cliffs seemed to him
the most attractive of schemes.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, shouldn’t I like that!” he cried. “I’ll practise
climbing every day till the spring comes. I’d
<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>like to catch a pair of gulls for the Squire too. I
heard him say once that he wanted some, to eat the
snails in the kitchen garden. Can’t we find some,
to-day, Queenie? Why must we wait till the
spring?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Phil says there are no young birds now; they’ve
all got big and flown away. We must wait till some
more are hatched—that will be in the spring. I’m
glad you’re not afraid, Bertie. You shall come with
us, and perhaps David too; but you mustn’t say anything
to the rest. We want it to be a secret, and if
they know they’ll tell everybody, or let it out by
accident, and then”—she stopped suddenly and
added, with a little laugh, “then it would all be
spoiled, and they would get all the fun; but it’s
Phil’s secret and mine, and you must promise not to
tell anybody.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Of course not,” answered Bertie, promptly; “I
won’t say a word to anybody.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And then Phil came back, and led the way down
to the sandy bay beneath by means of a steep narrow
path not known to many save the fisher-people of
that coast.</p>
<p class='c015'>The boat came in a little while after they had
reached the shore, and the hampers of good things
<span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>were landed; and a capital picnic they all had sitting
on the smooth white sand beneath the shadow of the
jagged cliffs.</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred was a capital companion for children,
and was coaxed into telling stories of his adventures
by land and sea, to which they all listened with undivided
attention, although many of them had heard
the best stories again and again. Time sped away
“twice too fast,” as Phil declared, and it was time to
go long before anybody wanted to move.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil, however, had made good use of his time, and
had found out from David a good deal about sea-gulls
and their habits. The fisherman’s boy knew a
great deal about the ways of the wild creatures of
the coast, and could answer all Phil’s questions in a
very satisfactory way.</p>
<p class='c015'>When the boat had started off, Phil turned to
Queenie and said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“We needn’t go for half an hour yet. I want to
try my hand at climbing.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“So do I!” cried Bertie, eagerly; and Queenie
told how Bertie had been let into the plan and had
promised to keep the secret.</p>
<p class='c015'>“All right!” cried Phil; “I think Bertie’s safe
enough. Now for a little practice.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>The boys threw off their jackets and began climbing
the craggy face of the cliff. It was hard work,
and it cut their hands a little; but they found it quite
possible, with pains and caution, to mount from one
ledge to another, and also to descend again, though
this was by no means so easy. Queenie watched
them eagerly and approvingly, and was obliged to
admit that Bertie was not at all nervous or timid
in climbing, and was quite as clever and agile
as Phil.</p>
<p class='c015'>They had not time to do much climbing to-day,
however, but they satisfied themselves that the face
of the cliff did not present any very terrible difficulties,
and they determined to ride over by themselves
soon and have another preparatory scramble.</p>
<p class='c015'>“The worst thing is, though,” said Phil, when at
last they had turned their backs on the coast and
were trotting quietly along in the direction of home,
“that David says the birds always choose the most
difficult places possible for their nests. Most of them
build in places we couldn’t get at anyhow without
ropes and all kinds of things; but some aren’t so bad,
and there always are young birds hatched among
those ledges every year, only the old birds are very
fierce, and it isn’t always easy to rob them.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>Nevertheless, and in spite of all difficulties, the
three children were quite determined that, when the
right season came on, they would visit together one
of those craggy coves, and not return without a prize
of eggs and young birds from the nests of the
sea-gulls.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>AUTUMN DAYS.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-s.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
SUMMER merged into autumn almost before
any one was aware of the change,
and with the advance of the season came
changes in the life of little Bertie.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Arbuthnot boys went back to school, and Sir
Walter took his wife and little daughter away to
Scotland, where he possessed a shooting-box, and
Queenie told her playfellow that she did not know
when they would be back, for her mother had talked
of paying a round of visits during the winter months,
and, unless they came home for the boys’ Christmas
holidays, it was quite possible they might remain
away in one place or another until the spring came
round again.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was pleased and excited at the thought
of all the changes and amusements in store for her.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>She had been used to a London life, and had thought
the country just a little dull. She liked the idea
of going about with her parents and paying visits
at country houses, for she always made her way
wherever she went, and was quite a pet and plaything
to grown-up people, to whose company she
was well used.</p>
<p class='c015'>So she talked a good deal of anticipated delights,
and pitied “poor Bertie” a good deal, wondering
whatever he would find to do all through the long
winter months, with nobody to play with “except
that fisher-boy, David.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie, however, did not seem at all put out by the
prospect of his loneliness, as depicted by Queenie.
He smiled when she pitied him, and said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, never mind me; I shall be quite happy. I
don’t mind being alone. Besides, there is always the
Squire, you know.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“But he doesn’t play with you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No,” answered Bertie, with his grave smile, “he
doesn’t play;” and then the little boy smiled again,
as if such an idea amused him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“And he doesn’t talk much either, does he?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, not much.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“And you don’t see him often?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>“Not very often, perhaps; but I can always sit in
his library when I like.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well,” remarked Queenie, tossing back her curly
head, “I can’t quite see what good the Squire can
be to you, if he doesn’t play, and doesn’t talk, and
only lets you sit in his library.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie smiled again in the way that Queenie never
quite understood.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I like him to be just as he is,” answered the little
boy. “I shouldn’t like him to be a bit different.
He is just right, I think.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie looked puzzled.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You’re a very odd child, Bertie. I often say so,
and so do other people.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Am I?” he answered, meekly. “I don’t know
why.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I can’t explain quite,” returned Queenie, nodding
her head, “but you <i>are</i>.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie, however, was not at all disturbed by this
opinion, nor did he consider himself such an object
of compassion as Queenie evidently did. He certainly
missed his little companion when she was really
gone, but he did not fret or worry himself over his
loneliness, but quietly resumed the solitary habits that
he had fallen into before he had found his new friends.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>His mind was much clearer and more active now
than when he had first recovered from his long sleep
of unconsciousness, and, although his memory had
not returned, he had lost for the most part that
aching sense of loss and blankness that had weighed
upon him like a leaden weight at first.</p>
<p class='c015'>He was beginning to have a little past of his own,
on which his thoughts could dwell. He had friends
amongst the animals upon the place. A big black
Newfoundland dog called Samson was a great source
of delight to him, and an Alderney cow, and the
Squire’s great bay horse were alike objects of deep
interest and affection.</p>
<p class='c015'>But the child’s love and admiration, as well as his
imagination, were chiefly and mainly occupied with
the Squire himself. Bertie’s was one of those natures
that seem to require a central interest and object in
life. He wanted something to think about, something
to dream about, somebody to love in his
quiet, undemonstrative fashion, somebody who would
satisfy the imaginative and poetical side of his temperament.
And this object,—strange as it might
appear to some, he found in the quiet and matter-of-fact
Squire of Arlingham.</p>
<p class='c015'>During the lengthening autumn evenings, when
<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>the lamp in the nursery was lighted early, and the
fire attracted Bertie to a cosey position upon the rug,
when the kettle sang cheerily upon the hob, and the
cat purred contentedly upon the child’s lap, and
Mrs. Pritchard’s busy needles clicked together with
the pleasant regularity of the practised knitter, then
would come a time of deep enjoyment for Bertie,
when his kind friend the housekeeper would tell him
long stories of the Squire’s boyhood and youth, of
his happy married life, and the deep sorrow that had
fallen upon him and changed the proud and loving
husband and father into the grave, stern, silent man,
widowed and childless, that Arlingham knew so well
now.</p>
<p class='c015'>And Bertie listened to this story again and again,
until it seemed absolutely to belong to his own past.
It seemed to him as if he had always known the
Squire. He studied the portraits in the long gallery
until he knew each one by heart. He could see the
Squire as a curly-headed boy, with his pony and his
dog, as a tall, handsome man in his scarlet hunting-coat,
with his great whip in his hand; he could see
him a year or two later with a pair of fine lads beside
him; and, best of all, he knew him as he now was, a
white-headed, keen-eyed, silent man, very grave and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>rather severe, despite his kindness of heart, a man to
be reverenced and perhaps a little feared, as well as
loved, towards whom the child felt an increasing
sense of attraction.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire fascinated his imagination as much as
he won his heart, and the central thought in his mind
each day was how much he should see of his benefactor,
how much he could talk to him, and what he
would say when he did talk.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was very shy of showing his feelings. He
had that innate tact and sensibility not uncommon
with children, that told him exactly how to speak and
act in presence of his elders. He felt by instinct
that any open demonstrations of affection would be
unwelcome, that he must copy in his childish way
the Squire’s quietness and reserve; but he could
make little quiet, timid advances from time to time,
and these were never repulsed, and the tacit way in
which they were accepted often brought a pleasant
sense of warmth to the child’s heart, taking away for
the moment all his loneliness and isolation.</p>
<p class='c015'>Then, too, he knew all about the little children who
once had made the silent house ring with their merry
voices and laughter, who had just begun to develop
into big, handsome lads and winning maidens when
<span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>the call home had come and laid them sleeping side
by side in the quiet churchyard. Bertie often felt as
if he had actually played with Tom and Charley, had
heard Mary and Violet practising their music on the
schoolroom piano, and had petted the “baby” of the
house, little Donald, as every else petted him, according
to Mrs. Pritchard. He knew every event of their
lives as detailed to him by the fond old nurse. He
studied the crayon heads upon the walls, until each
face was like that of some familiar friend and playfellow.
He kept their toy cupboards in perfect order,
never mixing Charley’s things with Tom’s, or Mary’s
with Violet’s; and their story-books, battered and
torn as they were, attracted him more than any of
the bright new volumes of boys’ tales that arrived for
him from time to time from the bookseller’s shop in
the town.</p>
<p class='c015'>Then, too, the “children’s gardens,” away behind
the kitchen garden wall, attracted him at this time
more than any other part of the garden.</p>
<p class='c015'>Once they had been neat little plots enough, tended
with care, watered and watched over with loving
solicitude; but fifteen years of partial neglect had
wrought a sad change, and although the gardeners
kept the weeds from becoming rampant, and maintained
<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>a certain brightness in the little sunny garden,
yet it was evidently “nobody’s business” to look after
the little plot; and it wore—or so Bertie fancied—a
forlorn and desolate look.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Would the Squire let me keep it in order, do you
think?” he asked of Mrs. Pritchard one day, as they
stood together beside the attractive spot.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, yes, for sure, dearie,” answered the old
housekeeper. “He would as soon your little fingers
did the work as the men’s every bit, not to say more.
But autumn’s a poor kind of time for garden work?
there’s nothing to show for it till the spring comes.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“There are some chrysanthemums to come on
still,” answered Bertie, gravely; “and the verbenas
are blooming still, and the marguerites too, and the
rose-bushes would look nice if the dead leaves and
flowers were picked off. William says we get no
frost here till December. I think I could make the
gardens look quite nice. Tell me which was whose,
if you remember. I should like to keep them all
clear.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Pritchard soon managed to recall all that was
needful for the identification of each garden. There
were four little plots, for the baby of the house had
not been promoted to the honor of a garden of his
<span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>own; but the rest were soon made out clearly enough,
and on the very next day Bertie set about his task.
He hoed up all the weeds and raked the brown earth
nicely over; he trimmed the box edging, and thinned
it out a little, so as to have enough to make a
division between each separate garden; and he
collected a number of white smooth stones from the
shore in order to write the name of each proprietor
in the dark soil.</p>
<p class='c015'>It took him some days to get all to his liking; but
he worked with a will, and was never wearied of his
self-imposed task.</p>
<p class='c015'>The gardener, who watched him at his toil; helped
him with advice and occasional assistance, and gave
him some hardy flowering plants from pots, to lend
a temporary brightness to his plot.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was very proud of his handiwork by the
week’s end; and his final triumph was the writing of
the names in white stones along the edge of each
little garden. David had been very zealous in
collecting pebbles of suitable size and color, and
Bertie set about this final work with great good will.
When all was done he brought Mrs. Pritchard to see,
and was much edified by her praise of his care and
neatness.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>“Why, it looks like old times, so it do, for sure,”
she exclaimed, as she saw the neatly-weeded plots,
each with its own well-trimmed plants still bearing
the last of its blooms; but the good woman’s face
looked a little grave as she saw the names traced
there. “And for what did you do that, dearie?”
she asked, a little uneasily.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked up quickly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why shouldn’t I?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Pritchard hesitated for a reply.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, I don’t just know why you shouldn’t; only
it struck me as perhaps the Squire would not be best
pleased. You see, he never names them now, nor
never has done. It seems to hurt him like.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked down at his letters and then up at
Mrs. Pritchard.</p>
<p class='c015'>“But he can’t have forgotten,” he said,—“I’m sure
he hasn’t forgotten.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Bless your little heart! it isn’t that he forgets,
but that he thinks too much.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Thinks of them, you mean?” questioned Bertie,
indicating the four names he had written.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, of them as have gone before. Poor man, I
doubt if they’re ever long out of his thoughts.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked up very gravely.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>“And if he is always thinking of them, he can’t
mind seeing their names written. Perhaps he would
like it; perhaps he would be pleased that somebody
else thought of them and loved them too.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Pritchard wiped her eyes with the corner of
her pocket-handkerchief.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, for sure, a child knows best sometimes, as
I do always say. We’ll let them stay any way, dearie.
I doubt if the poor master ever so much as walks this
way now.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie did not know. He had never seen the Squire
in this part of the garden. Perhaps he avoided the
plot of ground which his dead children had once
frequented so much.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was Saturday when the gardens were finally put
to rights, and Bertie’s week of toil had done him
good, and made him feel more of a man. The
weather had been bright and fine, and he had been
able to be out most of the daylight hours, so he had
seen less of the Squire than usual.</p>
<p class='c015'>But Sunday was Bertie’s best time for making way
in that quarter. The Squire was at leisure, for one
thing; then he always took the child to church in
the morning, and the two dined together after service,
as Bertie had once petitioned to do. Not much conversation
<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>went on as a rule between this oddly-assorted
couple; but Bertie enjoyed his Sundays immensely,
and looked forward to them all through the week.</p>
<p class='c015'>As they sat at table together on this particular
day, Bertie asked a question.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Didn’t the clergyman say that there would be
service in the afternoon now, instead of in the
evening?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes; it changes in winter months always.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Because the evenings are so dark, and the poor
people from the farms, who have a long way to come,
can hardly find their way.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do you always go in the afternoon the same as
in the evening?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, certainly.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“May I go with you, please?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire hesitated.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think not to-day—not until I have asked Dr.
Lighton what he thinks.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked surprised.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’m not ill,” he said.</p>
<p class='c015'>“No; but Dr. Lighton has his own ideas about
you. I cannot take you with me this afternoon.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie never disputed the Squire’s final verdict;
<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>he accepted it as an oracle. But he looked a little
disappointed, and sat very still, with his eyes upon
his plate. Suddenly a bright thought seemed to
strike him, and he looked up eagerly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well?” asked the Squire, seeing that a request
was trembling on the child’s lips.</p>
<p class='c015'>“May I come to the church in time to walk home
with you afterwards?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Again Bertie fancied that there was a pause of
hesitation before the answer came.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do you wish it very much?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, please.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Very well. I shall be out of church by soon after
four; but I am often detained a little. You may
meet me by the gate of the path through the wood
at twenty minutes past four. Wait for me there if I
do not come at once, and we will take a walk together
then.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s face flushed with pleasure.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, thank you, grandpa! That will be <i>very</i> nice
indeed!”</p>
<p class='c015'>A walk with the Squire was a rare treat; and
Bertie looked forward to it with a pleasure he could
not have explained. He knew beforehand that there
would be no conversation. They would walk side by
<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>side, he trying hard to emulate the long strides of
his big companion. Most children would have done
much to avoid so dreary a promenade; but Bertie
was delighted at the prospect, and wished he could
hurry on the time.</p>
<p class='c015'>He watched from the staircase window whilst the
Squire strode off towards the church; and then he
hurried up-stairs to ask Mrs. Pritchard to let him
have his overcoat and cap, for he had a plan in his
head that he wished to carry out before his appointment
with the Squire.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XV.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>THE GRAVE IN THE CHURCHYARD.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-b.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
BERTIE set out upon his ramble that Sunday
afternoon with a definite plan in his
head.</p>
<p class='c015'>Although it was now November, the air
was mild and sunny, and the tints upon the oak trees
still glowed golden and almost scarlet as the light
touched them and brought out all their varying hues.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked about him as he moved with a sense
of keen enjoyment. He had grown to love very
dearly the home that had been his in the new life,—the
only one he had ever known, as it seemed to him
now,—and he did not hurry through the park, for
he had plenty of time before him.</p>
<p class='c015'>He took a quiet, rarely traversed pathway that cut
diagonally across the Squire’s estate and led towards
<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>the village and the church. The rabbits, startled at
the sound of his footsteps, scuttled away or darted
across his path as he moved, and the child smiled as
he watched their little white scuts vanishing down a
friendly hole. But the rabbits and he were very good
friends on the whole, and many amongst them did
not condescend to fly from him, but sat up at a little
distance and stared at him with their round, black,
bead-like eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>The dead leaves rustled and crackled pleasantly
beneath the child’s feet as he moved. The birds had
begun to sing again, after their long summer silence.
The rooks were noisy in the tree-tops above him,
and the sound of the church bells were musical in
the soft air.</p>
<p class='c015'>The bells soon stopped ringing, however, but there
were other pleasant sounds telling of Nature’s peaceful
life all round.</p>
<p class='c015'>Sheep bleated and cattle lowed in the level fields
lying westward, whilst from the east came the soft,
ceaseless murmur of the ocean, that mysterious,
inexplicable voice that is never silent, and yet whose
secret language no man has ever yet been able to
interpret.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie walked onwards in a state of dreamy contentment.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>The air was very clear and blue and
sunny, the sky overhead was free from all cloud, but
in the west there was vapor enough to give to the
slowly-declining sun a new glory of form and color,
which would increase as the day drew to its close.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was repeating to himself some words that
had haunted him with greater or less persistence ever
since he had heard them many months ago now.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I will be with thee: I will not fail thee, nor forsake
thee. Be strong and of a good courage; be
not afraid, neither be dismayed: for the Lord thy
God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie said those words over two or three times to
himself, and a smile suddenly shone over his face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I do think He is,” he said, half aloud. “If he
hasn’t done quite what I asked, He’s been very, very
kind to me. He’s sent me to people who are good
and who love me, and I might have been so miserable.
He is good and kind; He doesn’t ever forget us
quite. I’ll try always to be strong and of a good
courage, and not to be afraid of anything. I think
He’s sure to go on taking care of me, as He’s always
been so kind.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And Bertie went on his way with a contented
smile, feeling very safe and happy in the sense of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>the loving protection of the great Father in heaven.
His destination was the churchyard, and as he
approached he glanced up at the clock in the tower,
and saw that he had plenty of time at his disposal
before he should have to meet the Squire at the gate
he had mentioned as the trysting-place.</p>
<p class='c015'>He heard the muffled sound of the organ and voices
from within the ancient building, but all without was
still and deserted, and he could prosecute his search
unseen.</p>
<p class='c015'>What was it in that quiet graveyard that the child
had come to see?</p>
<p class='c015'>Nothing more or less than the grave of which Mrs.
Pritchard sometimes spoke with tears, where the
mother and five children lay sleeping, all laid to rest
together within the space of one short week.</p>
<p class='c015'>With quiet, reverent steps Bertie picked his way
among the silent graves. A strange sense of loneliness
had fallen upon him, and yet he was not afraid.
He felt as if he were quite alone in this great Sabbath
calm and stillness, with only the graves of those who
had gone to keep him company.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Under the great yew tree at the south corner.”
These had been Mrs. Pritchard’s words when Bertie
had asked her where the grave stood that held the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>Squire’s dear ones, and by this description he guided
his steps.</p>
<p class='c015'>Yes, there it was, just as Mrs. Pritchard had described—a
simple slab of marble beneath the protecting
shape of the ancient yew tree. There were
all the familiar names—names that were now as
those of familiar comrades. Bertie read them one by
one with an odd dreaminess stealing over him. He
sat down upon a low bough of the great tree and
gazed at the marble slab with wide-open, abstracted
eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>Where were they all now, those children who had
laughed and played up and down the corridors of
his present home, and had made the silent house
ring again with their merry romps and happy voices?
They had been children once just his age, perhaps
they too had known just such thoughts as so often
crowded into his busy brain. They had seen the
same things that he looked on day by day; surely
they must once have been very like him, and known
just those very same feelings and longings as he
experienced.</p>
<p class='c015'>And where were they all now? What did they
think of the bright world they had left behind? Was
all forgotten as if it never had existed? or did the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>children who had never lived to grow old look down
sometimes with smiling eyes upon the happy home
they had left, and perhaps spare a loving glance for
the little boy who loved them all without ever having
seen them?</p>
<p class='c015'>These thoughts crowded fast upon Bertie as he
sat still in the dark yew tree. What was death? he
asked himself again and again—the death that had
come so very near him once, and had almost grasped
its prey. What was it? What became of those who
were taken away from this world! Where did they
go, the children who never grew up?</p>
<p class='c015'>And a voice in his own heart answered so clearly
and softly, that the child was quite startled.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Suffer the little children to come unto Me: for
of such is the kingdom of heaven.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie lifted his head and looked round; but there
was no one near, and he smiled at his passing fear.</p>
<p class='c015'>“They are in heaven,” he said softly to himself,
“with Jesus—I suppose it is always heaven where
He is. They must be very happy. I hope I shall
go there some day. I wonder if I shall know them
when I do. I feel as if I should.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The thought of having in heaven some children
who seemed almost like living friends was a strange
<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>and rather solemn one to the little boy. It filled him
with a sense of mingled happiness and awe, and he
looked again at the names upon the tombstone, and
read them slowly one by one.</p>
<p class='c015'>And then his eye was caught by four words, standing
quite alone at the foot of the stone:</p>
<p class='c015'>“Thy will be done.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie covered his face with his hands and sank
into a sort of dream, which he could not possibly
have put into words. Strange thoughts and flitting
memories crowded in upon his brain, and he shut
out all outward sights, and was deaf to all outward
sounds, and knew nothing more until he was suddenly
aroused by feeling himself touched very gently, and
his own hands taken away from his face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What is the matter, my little man?”</p>
<p class='c015'>It was the Squire’s voice that spoke, and it was the
Squire himself who was now standing before him,
beside the quiet grave.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked up with bewildered eyes and said
nothing.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why are you here, my child?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The voice was so gentle that it helped Bertie to
recover himself. He shook off the curious feeling
that had oppressed him, and answered, slowly,—</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>“I came here to see the grave.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What made you come?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child looked at the names upon the stone, and
sudden tears sprang to his eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Because I love them all,” he answered, simply,
and with quivering lips. “I love them so very much,
and I wanted to see—where they—”</p>
<p class='c015'>He could not get on any further; but suddenly he
found himself lifted up in a pair of strong arms and
kissed as he had never been kissed in his life before,
so far as he could remember.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire had taken Bertie’s seat upon the strong
arm of the yew tree, and the child was pressed very
closely to his heart.</p>
<p class='c015'>“And so you love them all, do you, my child?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie nodded vehemently.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Don’t cry, my little man,” said the Squire, kindly.
“What is it that troubles you?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked up, his soft eyes swimming in tears.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I love you too,” he said, tremulously, “and you
are all alone—” There was a break in the child’s
voice, and then he added, “It does seem—as if—God
might—have left you—<i>one</i>.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire bent his head lower over the child’s.</p>
<p class='c015'>“My little boy,” he said, very gravely and impressively,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>“I once said that myself; but I have been
sorry ever since, for the good God knows best; and
what He wills always must be right. Do you see
those four words underneath the names? They were
not put there at first; at first I could not say them;
but they were added later, when I had learned the
lesson that all this was sent to teach me; and since I
have learned it I have not been alone.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie held his breath to catch the low-toned words
that hardly seemed to be spoken to him, but rather
as if the strong man were communing with his own
soul. Bertie’s was a nature that could apprehend
much more than it could actually understand, and he
seemed to gain a strange and wonderful insight into
the nature of this self-contained man. It was as if
he knew by instinct something of what he had passed
through.</p>
<p class='c015'>He did not speak for some time, and when he did,
it was with a certain curious assurance.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You were strong and of a good courage, I suppose,”
he said, “so of course He did not forsake
you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire looked down at the little boy.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What do you mean, Bertie?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“It’s what God said to Joshua, I think. He says
<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>it to us all: He won’t forget us if we trust in Him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Did you think He had forgotten you, Bertie?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child hung his head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think I did once. It was naughty, I know, but
it did seem rather like it, didn’t it? But I know now
that He hasn’t.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child looked up suddenly with one of his rare
and peculiarly sweet smiles.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think partly because He sent me here to you;
and you are so very, very kind to me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire looked into the child’s face, a strange
softening coming into his own. Then he bent his
head and kissed Bertie’s brow.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Perhaps He has given us to each other to make
both our lives more bright and less empty.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child looked up quickly, his face flushing with
keen pleasure.</p>
<p class='c015'>“But—but,”—he said, tremulously—“how can I
do anything for you?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire’s face was very tender in its expression.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Never mind the how or the why, my little man;
let it be enough that it is so. Say, are you willing to
help to fill the blank that has been left so long in
my life?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>Bertie’s eyes were full of astonishment. Even now
he half fancied himself dreaming.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What can I do?” he asked.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You can be a little son to me, if you will. You
have no parents, and I have no children. Are you
willing to call yourself my little boy?”</p>
<p class='c015'>A great light came into Bertie’s face. He put his
arms suddenly about the Squire’s neck and laid his
cheek against that of his adopted father.</p>
<p class='c015'>No more words were spoken, and none were
needed. The compact was sealed without that.
The strong man and the little child understood each
other as by instinct, and the bond between them was
metaphorically signed and sealed by the eloquent
language of a few caresses.</p>
<p class='c015'>Then the Squire stood up and took the child by
the hand to lead him home.</p>
<p class='c015'>They did not go for their walk after all. Time had
run on, and the short daylight was beginning to
wane. They took the nearest path home across the
park, and, although hardly a word was spoken, Bertie
felt as if a sudden new warmth and happiness had
come into his life; his little heart was filled to overflowing
with love and gratitude.</p>
<p class='c015'>As they reached the garden, the Squire turned
<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>aside, and, still holding Bertie by the hand, led him
to the well-known spot where the “children’s gardens”
stood beneath the shelter of the sunny wall.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was plain that he had heard of Bertie’s labors
over this patch of land. Perhaps, unknown to all,
he often visited the gardens that had once been the
pride and pleasure of his children, as he visited
Sunday by Sunday, unknown to all, the grave that
hid his loved ones away from him. Perhaps he had
watched the child at his labor of love during the
past week; at least he expressed no surprise when
he stood beside the trim enclosure and looked at the
carefully-tended plots.</p>
<p class='c015'>But he pointed to the white stones and asked,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why the names?”</p>
<p class='c015'>And Bertie could explain now, as he could not
perhaps have done an hour ago. He looked up
into the Squire’s face and said, in his earnest way,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I was afraid perhaps—some day—that they
would get forgotten; when you are dead, you know,
and I have gone away. I thought somebody else
might come who wouldn’t know, and who would dig
up the gardens and take them right away. I didn’t
want them to do that, so I thought if I put the names
there, that perhaps people would wonder, and ask
<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>whose gardens they were, and then they would hunt
about and see the names in the churchyard, and
then they would know that they belonged to the
children who had all died together long ago, and
that would make them feel sorry and they would
tell the gardeners not to disturb these gardens, but
to keep them nice always, and so Tom and Charley,
Mary and Violet, would never be quite forgotten.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire made no reply; he started a little as
the long unheard names of his children fell upon
his ear, but he did not speak, and only took Bertie’s
hand again and led him towards the house.</p>
<p class='c015'>And on the threshold he paused, bent his head
and kissed him, saying softly and gently,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“My little boy now.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XVI.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>WHAT BERTIE DID.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-a.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
A NEW life began from that day forward
for little Bertie. He could hardly have
defined the change that had passed over
his head, but he was keenly alive to it
day by day, and as grateful as he was happy at the
thing that had come to him.</p>
<p class='c015'>He was no longer the lonely little outcast he once
had been. He was no longer a chance guest in this
hospitable house, entertained there simply because
no other home opened to him, and the master was
too kind-hearted to turn him out upon the mercy of
a cold world.</p>
<p class='c015'>No, he was no longer a desolate little waif and
stray cast up homeless and desolate by the cold sea-waves;
he was now the child of the house, tended
<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>and loved as if he had been born to the position he
occupied, and the cloud of depression that had long
weighed more or less upon him during his sojourn
there now melted away in the sunshine of the happy
present.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was not that Bertie understood, as some others
about him did, the great change in his position now
that he had been adopted by the Squire of Arlingham,
a man of considerable means, and with no near
kindred to call his own. There were many discussions
in the neighborhood as to the probability of Bertie’s
becoming his heir, and inheriting eventually such
property as he had to leave, and succeeding to the
title of Squire, which had so long been held from
father to son by the family who dwelt in the Manor
House; but the little boy knew nothing of all this,
he was too young to be troubled by thoughts of such
a nature. All he knew or cared to know was that he
was loved by the Squire, whom he had long secretly
idolized in his heart of hearts, and that he had been
adopted as a little son, instead of being kindly tolerated
as a nameless stranger.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was very happy.</p>
<p class='c015'>He was not demonstrative in his joy; his temperament
was of a quiet and contemplative kind, more
<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>prone to silent than noisy indications of happiness;
but his face showed plainly the entire contentment
of his heart, and those who watched him from day
to day could see how his nature expanded and
unfolded in the warm atmosphere of “home.”</p>
<p class='c015'>His outer life was but little changed in its quiet
course. He still breakfasted in his nursery, and took
his early walk either alone or with Mrs. Pritchard.
He still made his way, on his return, to the Squire’s
library, as he had been wont to do, to pass an hour
or two in that quiet retreat.</p>
<p class='c015'>But there was a little difference now in the line of
conduct he adopted when there. He used to enter
the room very quietly, and pause for a moment
beside the door, to see if any notice was taken of
his appearance. Sometimes the Squire would give
him a smile and a nod, and thus dismiss him to his
nook, sometimes he would hold out his hand and say
a kind word or two or ask a few questions as to his
well-being; whilst upon other days he would take
no notice at all of the child’s entrance, but continue
his writing without so much as looking up, and then
Bertie would creep on tip-toe to his window-seat and
remain there as still as a mouse so long as this mood
of absorption lasted.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>That had been what passed in old days; but now
all was changed.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie entered the library each day with a beaming
face and shining eyes. He walked straight up to
the Squire and put his little arms about his neck,
and books and papers were all pushed to one side
for a happy ten minutes, whilst the newly-found
father took his little adopted son upon his knees,
and talked to him as only fathers can.</p>
<p class='c015'>And then came the business of the morning.</p>
<p class='c015'>“We must try and make up for lost time now,
Bertie,” said the Squire one day, very soon after this
change in their relations to one another. “We must
not be idle any longer, or we shall be growing up a
little dunce.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked up quickly and smiled.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I write copies every day for Mrs. Pritchard,” he
said, “and I read to her in the evenings, and she
takes the book when I’ve done, and makes me spell
the hard words. I’ve done some sums, too, out of
Charley’s book. I’d like to do more lessons. I
don’t want to be a dunce!”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire patted his head.</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, no, I’m sure we don’t; and Dr. Lighton
has no objection to short hours and easy tasks. We
<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>will leave the reading and writing and spelling to
Mrs. Pritchard, but I will take the arithmetic and
Latin. Do you think you have ever learnt any
Latin?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Hic—hæc—hoc!” said Bertie, suddenly, and as
suddenly stopped short.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire smiled.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Perhaps it will come back to you; you did not
forget your reading and writing, and Dr. Lighton
tells me you can speak French.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie nodded.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I could talk to that funny old sailor who came
here last month; I understood him quite well. I
think I must have lived once in France. Do they
wear red caps there and blue jerseys, and sing when
they take their boats down the river? I feel as if I’d
dreamed something like that once.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Or seen it, perhaps,” answered the Squire. “I
think you know more about France than I do.
Well, we must keep up the French as best we can,
and see how far the Latin goes. I daresay you can
find a grammar amongst the books up-stairs you
seem to know so well.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie darted away, and soon returned with the
desired book.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>“It’s Tom’s!” he cried, displaying it eagerly; “I
always know Tom’s books from Charley’s, because
they’re so much more untidy. See, he’s burnt his
name on this one with the poker. I wonder if anybody
scolded him for spoiling the cover?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire sat quite still for a few minutes, with
his eyes upon the book. His mind was far away in
the past. He was unconscious for a short time of
all outward impressions. It was so many, many
years since he had looked upon or handled any of
the possessions of his lost children. An odd thrill
ran through him, and yet it was not all pain. Indeed,
there seemed something soothing and healing in the
sense that he was about to use one of the familiar
books that had belonged to the buried past. That
battered Latin grammar brought back a host of memories
to the mind that for fifteen long years had striven
to banish them, and yet these memories brought with
them now almost as much of pleasure as of pain.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie did not disturb the Squire’s reverie by one
word. He seemed to know by intuition that he was
thinking of his dead son; and by and by, in token
of his unspoken sympathy, the child bent his head
and pressed his soft cheek against the hand that still
held the old book.</p>
<div class='figcenter id002'>
<img src='images/i231.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' />
</div>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>Then the Squire awoke from his dream, and put
his arm about the little boy.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Now let us see how much you know,” he said,
in his usual quiet way; “let us see if you ever
learned anything like this before.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And after this fashion Bertie’s education began.</p>
<p class='c015'>Every morning brought its hours of study in the
library, and as Bertie loved his books, and was bent
above all things on pleasing the Squire, he progressed
rapidly, having evidently been well grounded before,
and being able to push on at a great rate.</p>
<p class='c015'>Then there were other pleasures in store for
him too, for one day the Squire said, quite
suddenly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“You must begin to learn something of farming,
if you are to be my little boy, Bertie. Can you be
ready every fine morning at nine o’clock to come
round the place with me when I go to see after
things?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s face glowed with pleasure as he gave a
glad assent; and behold, upon the very next morning
he found himself arrayed in extra strong boots
and tanned leather leggings up to his knees, “just
like papa’s” as he proudly remarked to Pritchard in
the hall, and with his top-coat buttoned well up and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>his dog-whip in his hand, he awaited the Squire in a
a state of joyous impatience.</p>
<p class='c015'>Just as the clock struck nine, the dining-room
door opened, and out he came, and Bertie’s kiss and
greeting that morning were more joyously childlike
than perhaps they had ever been before.</p>
<p class='c015'>The great dog Sam was as pleased as anybody at
an arrangement that did not divide his allegiance,
and hand in hand, with the dog at their heels, the
Squire and his little adopted son commenced their
round of the farm and stables.</p>
<p class='c015'>This part of the premises was quite new to Bertie.
He had had leave to ramble anywhere about the
garden, but he had never been told that he might
visit the yard or the farm; and, with his ingrained
sense of obedience, he had never allowed himself to
trespass without leave, although he had many times
wished he might investigate the mysteries of those
many long sheds and high brick walls.</p>
<p class='c015'>But this way of doing things was better than any
dream.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire was careful to explain as much to the
child as he could take in at first. He let him count
the cows in their stalls, and gave him material for
many sums to be worked out afterwards as to the
<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>quantities of milk and butter. He let him watch
whilst they were loosed and turned out to graze in
the rich meadows below, and encouraged him to
caress the pretty Alderney whose acquaintance he
had made in the fields.</p>
<p class='c015'>He showed him the different pigs, and explained
their “points” to him; he let him look at the horses,
and told anecdotes about several of them that were
listened to with deep attention.</p>
<p class='c015'>When the more serious business of the day began,
and orders were given to the different men, and consultations
held with the bailiff as to the disposal of
cattle or the rotation of crops, Bertie listened with
all his ears, trying to look as much like the Squire
as possible, secretly imitating his attitudes, and repeating
to himself some phrase that struck him as
particularly fine.</p>
<p class='c015'>He was dismissed presently to the garden and
the park, as the Squire had to prolong his inspection
by a trudge over some ploughed land, too
heavy for Bertie to traverse: but the little boy
went happily away, much delighted by his morning’s
work, and quite convinced that there was nobody
in the whole world half so wise or so kind as
the Squire.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>And a few days later there was a new surprise for
Bertie.</p>
<p class='c015'>He dined every day now at the Squire’s luncheon
hour, not only on Sundays, as in old times; and one
day, as they rose from table, they heard the sound
of horses’ feet upon the gravel drive outside, and the
Squire looked at the clock and said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, it is later than I thought. Run and get
your hat and coat, Bertie. We ought to be off almost
at once, or we shall be benighted.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie ran off in a great state of delight, not quite
knowing what was in store, but certain that it would
be something very nice. Nor was he disappointed,
for when he came down there was the Squire’s own
bay standing ready saddled at the door, and beside
it a smaller and slighter horse, very gracefully made
and very pretty, also a bay, at whom the master was
looking very critically as the groom led him up and
down before him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Now, Bertie,” he said, facing round as the child
approached, “I have got you something to ride, and
as no pony could keep up with Castor, I have had
to get you something bigger than I meant at first.
He is very fast, but at the same time quite gentle,
and his mouth is very good. Do you think you can
<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>manage him? If you feel at all afraid, say so, for
it is not the least use mounting a thoroughbred horse
unless you mean to be master.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked at the horse and then up into the
Squire’s face; he was flushed with excitement, but
his mouth was firmly set.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’m not a bit afraid,” he answered, quietly. “I
should like to ride him very much.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Very good; you shall.”</p>
<p class='c015'>So Bertie was lifted into the saddle, and he gathered
up his reins and settled himself in his seat in a
way that showed him no novice in the art of horsemanship.
The little horse stepped daintily back and
forth, as if longing to be off; but Bertie’s gentle
voice and hands controlled him, and he stood still,
arching his neck and pawing the ground with his
foot, until the Squire was mounted and gave the
word to start.</p>
<p class='c015'>How Bertie enjoyed that ride he never could
afterwards express. It seemed like the realization
of his brightest dream to be galloping along the
soft slushy roads beside the Squire, mounted on
a horse who seemed ready to fly, yet who was
so gentle that the child had no real trouble in
controlling him.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>There is something infectious in the utter gladness
of heart with which childhood can enter into
new pleasures. The sight of Bertie’s happy face and
shining eyes brought many a smile to the grave
countenance of the Squire, and he looked down with
much tenderness at the little boy at his side, and
once it seemed almost as if an unwonted tear stood
in his eye. Bertie, at least, glancing up at the
moment, almost fancied that he had seen it, and
wondered what it meant.</p>
<p class='c015'>When they drew rein by and by, and walked their
horses quietly along the lonely road, Bertie looked
up once again into the Squire’s face and asked with
great interest,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Used you to take Tom and Charley out with
you when you rode, like you are taking me to-day?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, they very often came with me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I wonder if they liked it as much as I do.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You like it so very much, then?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh yes, don’t I! I think it’s splendid!” cried
Bertie, with a burst of enthusiasm unusual with him.
“I don’t think anything could be nicer in all the
world than to go riding with you!”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire smiled, rather a sad smile perhaps, but
once he had rarely smiled at all.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>“Please tell me about Tom and Charley,” went on
Bertie, with eager interest. “Mrs. Pritchard can tell
me all about what they did at home; but she can’t
tell me about other things, because she didn’t see.
I want to know about them when they went riding
with you. What did they do? and where did you
go? and what did they like best to talk about when
you went out? And did Mary and Violet ever come
too?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie forgot in his eagerness and excitement that
he had never heard from the Squire’s lips a single
word about the sons and daughters he had lost; and
he did not know that for fifteen long years their
names had never even passed his lips. He asked
his questions in absolute ignorance or oblivion of all
these facts, and when the father began to tell little
anecdotes of the rides he and his children had taken
together long, long ago, Bertie listened with undivided
interest and pleasure, not in the least realizing—how
should he?—that this moment was almost as great a
turning-point in his benefactor’s life as the one when
he took the child in his arms in the lonely churchyard
and called him his adopted son.</p>
<p class='c015'>But so it was. The barrier of reserve that had
locked itself like an icy wall about his heart had
<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>melted beneath the warm sunshine of a little child’s
love. The silence of fifteen long, dreary years had
been broken at last, and a load like a leaden weight
had rolled away with it.</p>
<p class='c015'>That night the faithful Pritchard remarked to his
wife,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ve never seen the master look so like himself
since last summer fifteen years.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And Mrs. Pritchard wiped her eyes and answered,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“’Tis the child as has done it, for sure, bless his
little heart! Wasn’t I always sure as he would bring
a blessing with him when he came?”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XVII.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>CHRISTMAS-TIDE.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-b.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
BUT in the midst of all his newly-found happiness
Bertie did not forget his old friends.</p>
<p class='c015'>He had told the Squire all about his
affection for David, and had been encouraged
to show all the kindness in his power to the
fisher lad, who had been kind to him when he was a
lonely little outcast.</p>
<p class='c015'>So almost every day he visited the humble cabin,
and wandered with David among the sandhills, and
found in him as sympathetic a confident, now that
he had happy secrets to tell, as in the old days when
these had all been sad.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I do be glad, that I be,” said David again and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>again, when Bertie told him of his happiness. “I
just knew the Lord couldn’t forget thee—didn’t I
always tell thee so?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, you did, and you were quite right. He
didn’t ever forget me, though He didn’t remember
me in the way I expected quite.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Maybe He does things in His own way,” remarked
David, simply. “My teacher says as He
knows best.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes,” answered Bertie, softly, and with childish
reverence. “You know I always tried to say ‘Thy
will be done’ too. I’m so glad I did; for I’m sure
His will is best.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Sometimes David would look earnestly at his little
companion and ask,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Don’t thou want to remember what thy name is
or who thou really be?”</p>
<p class='c015'>And Bertie’s face would put on a grave, far-away
look as he would answer,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I want Him to do just what He thinks best.
He’s given me such a lot of things that I know He’s
not forgotten me; and I’d like to leave it all to
Him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Maybe that’s best,” David would say. “I do be
glad He’s made thee so happy.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>The Squire, who took an interest in everything
and everybody that made a part of Bertie’s life,
began to take notice of David now, and found out
from his mother that he did not seem physically
adapted for the seafaring life that would naturally
fall to his lot.</p>
<p class='c015'>He loved his home near the sea, and the sea itself,
but he had no taste for the career of fisherman or
sailor, and when the Squire asked the good dame if
she would like to see him employed about the garden
or farm connected with the Manor House her eyes
brightened with pleasure, and she answered, that
there was nothing in all the world he would like so
well; it would keep him at home, and yet near
Master Bertie.</p>
<p class='c015'>Every one round and about Arlingham knew the
substantial advantage of entering the Squire’s service.
None of his laborers or workpeople were ever “turned
off” when work was slack, none were dismissed when
old age robbed them of their former powers. If
they behaved themselves well, they might stay upon
the place from early youth to hoary old age. Such
had been the traditions of the house for many
generations, and many were the men who had grown
grey-headed in the service of the Squires of Arlingham,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>and who had learned to love and revere the
masters who were always just, yet always generous,
and who looked after them in sickness and in health
with a quiet, kindly sovereignty that never became
tyrannical and never degenerated into undue familiarity.
The master was always the master, and yet
each one of his servants, even if they feared him a
little, knew that he was at heart the staunchest friend
they need wish to have, so long as they earned his
good-will by quiet attention to duty.</p>
<p class='c015'>So David’s mother was deeply delighted at the
prospect of seeing her son enter the Squire’s service,
knowing well that an opening in life would be thus
secured which would afford him a means of livelihood
for as long as he cared to remain.</p>
<p class='c015'>The next step was to speak to the lad himself and
discover the bent of his tastes. It would be hard to
say which of the boys was most pleased at the prospect
thus held out—David or Bertie. The Squire
was a good deal amused by the animation of his little
adopted son, and was pleased at David’s visible
gratitude and eagerness. A few questions soon
elicited the fact that the farm attracted him more
than the garden. He had a great love for all live
animals, and had been more or less used to cows
<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>and pigs all his life, having often been employed
by one or another of the village folks to look after
their beasts when they themselves were too busy
to do so.</p>
<p class='c015'>So David was promoted to be a cow-boy at the
Manor Farm, and greatly did both he and Bertie
rejoice in the new dignity thus conferred upon him.
He had a certain number of cows to milk and look
after, and the favorite Alderney was amongst these.
Bertie began now to haunt the farm like a little
“Squire born,” as the men used to say among themselves:
“For all the world like poor Master Tom,”
the elder laborers would add. And they all looked
kindly upon the little boy, who on his side always
spoke nicely and courteously to every one of the
people, and they sometimes said amongst themselves
that if Master Bertie succeeded in his day as Squire
of Arlingham, there would be no fear but that the old
traditions would be kept up. He was not the sort to
let them die out.</p>
<p class='c015'>So Bertie went about very much as if he had been
born and bred upon the place. He learned to milk
the cows and to understand their ways. He had his
own chickens and turkeys, and was fattening one of
the latter with untiring assiduity for the Squire’s
<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>Christmas dinner. He could talk quite gravely and
knowingly about the price of corn or the quality of
hay, and modelled himself in all things upon the
Squire in a way that often provoked a smile.</p>
<p class='c015'>He was very happy in those days—happier than
he had once believed it possible for him to be. The
forgotten past did not haunt him with vague, fleeting
images and illusive dreams. The present was full
of satisfaction and pleasure, and amid its many
and vivid interests he never felt that blank sense
of emptiness that had once so weighed upon his
spirit.</p>
<p class='c015'>Dr. Lighton began to shake his head when questioned
now as to the probability of the vanished past
ever returning to him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It may do still,” he would say: “the sight of a
familiar face or a place that he has known might
bring it all back in a flood; but he is so young that
a few years of this life may cause actual forgetfulness,
irrespective of the original injury, and he may never
be able to recall the past at all. If he were older,
the chances would be much greater; as things stand
now, I confess I am doubtful.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire showed no uneasiness at hearing this.
People were beginning to say that he looked ten
<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>years younger already than when Bertie had first
come; and the young doctor, who was on more
intimate terms with him than anybody else in the
neighborhood, was much impressed by the change
in him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“To tell the truth, doctor,” said the Squire, smiling,
“I am in no wise anxious to discover the child’s
parents. I did my best at first, but quite failed in
tracing them. I have grown fond of him. He is
like my own child now; and, without wishing to be
selfish, I shall be personally glad if he is never
claimed. He has settled down very comfortably
here, and I think I can make him happy.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“There is no doubt as to that, I think. I incline
to hope, for both your sakes, that he never will be
claimed.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Christmas-time came round in due course; but it
did not bring back Bertie’s little playfellows to the
empty house behind the trees. He had a letter from
Queenie saying that they were all going to spend the
holidays at the house of an uncle and aunt; but that
she thought they would come home again in March
or April, and she hoped it would not be too late to
get the young sea-gulls.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire was afraid Bertie might be disappointed
<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>at not seeing his young friends and sharing
together the Christmas festivities; but the child
was quite content that it should be so, and, putting
his arms about his so-called father’s neck, he whispered,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ve got you, papa. I don’t want anybody else.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The lonely man and the lonely child had grown
very dear to one another during these past weeks.
They were together during the greater part of the
day, and they shared each other’s confidence in a
way that was quite peculiar.</p>
<p class='c015'>They had a world of their own, too, other than
the material world around them, and one quite
unknown to any but themselves. It was the world
of the Squire’s buried past, that for many long years
he had shut away in his own heart and had striven
to forget. A long closed door had at last been
unlocked by a childish hand, and old memories
awakened into a new life that seemed to bring them
a strange sense of peace and consolation.</p>
<p class='c015'>Tom and Charley, Mary and Violet, the gentle
mother and the baby Donald, were now as household
words on the lips of one who had thought
never to speak their names again. To the little boy,
who was never tired of hearing stories of their brief
<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>lives, they were real and living friends, whose
personality was as vivid to him as if they still ran
races in the hall and flocked about their father at
dusk to beg for the stories he always kept for
them.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire was called upon as imperiously now
for stories as ever in the sweet days of the happy
past, and no stories were so eagerly welcomed as
those that told of the children whom he began to
look on as not lost, but only gone before.</p>
<p class='c015'>There was one story that Bertie longed to hear,
but that he had never asked for yet. Many times
the request had been on the tip of his tongue, but
had never actually passed his lips. He had heard a
part of the story from Mrs. Pritchard, he had imagined
it many times for himself, but he had never
heard it from the Squire, and he felt that until he
did so he should never be entirely satisfied.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was Christmas day, and the day had been full
of pleasure and interest to little Bertie. Upon the
previous afternoon the happy work had begun in the
distribution of Christmas dinners amongst the Squire’s
people and the poor folks of the place. Early in the
day there had been another distribution of warm
clothing and bright scarlet cloaks to the old people,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>and after morning service a great dinner in the
laundry for all the Squire’s laborers and workpeople
who were not married, and preferred this way of
dining to solitary meals or those taken with families
who perhaps preferred their room to their
company.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire and Bertie had visited them at dinner,
and enjoyed seeing their happy, jovial faces and the
gusto with which they fell to upon the good cheer
before them; but what had delighted the child most
was the big Christmas tree in the barn for the
youngsters of the place, where all kinds of things
were given away and nobody was forgotten.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was many, many years since the Squire had
shown himself as he did this year. Christmas at the
Manor House had always been kept with almost
feudal or mediæval liberality and hospitality, and
the tree, that had been inaugurated by the last lady
of the Manor only a year or two before her death,
had always been an institution since; but it was
fifteen years since the Squire had seen it or since he
had helped to give away its load of presents.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie had not been forgotten. He had come in
for a lion’s share of pretty things, trifles that children
prize so much. The old servants had each their
<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>little offering for the child they all loved. David’s
clever fingers had made a wonderful cap out of sea-gulls’
feathers, which Mrs. Pritchard had hung upon
the tree at his earnest request, and the Squire had
been represented by articles of a more costly and
serviceable kind. But Bertie’s pleasure had been
less for himself than in seeing so many other people
happy. He was learning in a very practical and
emphatic way that it is more blessed to give than to
receive.</p>
<p class='c015'>And now all the excitement of the day was over,
even the seven o’clock dinner with the Squire, when
they had both partaken of the fatted turkey, which
was said to have done credit to the care bestowed
on it. Eight o’clock had struck, and it was nearly
Bertie’s bed-time, but he fearlessly followed the
Squire into his library and climbed upon his knee as
he settled himself in his easy-chair.</p>
<p class='c015'>There had been a long silence between them, and
then Bertie asked, softly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Have you enjoyed your Christmas, papa?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The arm that encircled him pressed him a little
more closely.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, my little boy, I have enjoyed it this year.
And you?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>“Oh, I have been very, very happy!—I always
am now, you know.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You are content to be my little boy? You do
not want anybody else?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think I would rather be your little boy always
now,” answered Bertie; and then he looked up
into the face above him with a peculiar depth of
gravity, and added, “I feel as if God had given me
to you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think He has, my child; and I am grateful to
Him. He has given back to me a part of what He
saw fit to take away. He has given me one little son
to be with me in my old age.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie sat up and looked into the face above him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Papa,” he said, softly, “will you tell me one story
to-night? I want to know about—about it all—when
He took them all away.”</p>
<p class='c015'>There was a deep silence for a few minutes after
those words were spoken, and Bertie, gazing into the
father’s eyes, half repented of his question, and yet
did not repent. He could not read the look upon
that face, it awed him into unbroken silence; and
yet there was no anger there, no sternness even, only
a deep, far-off sadness, as if some picture were slowly
rising above the mental horizon that could only be
<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>looked upon with tear-dimmed eyes and with tender,
haunting regret.</p>
<p class='c015'>The moments seemed very long to Bertie, but he
did not speak again.</p>
<p class='c015'>“My child,” said the Squire at last, “why do you
ask for that story to-night?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie hardly knew himself.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You have never told it me,” he answered, shyly;
“and to-night—”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, to-night?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“To-night seems a happy time. It is Christmas,
you know, and the angels are always glad at Christmas.
I think they are always nearer us then, because,
you know, the shepherds saw them once, as if
they liked to fly nearer to us at Christmas-time—”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie paused again, hardly knowing how to frame
the thought, and again the Squire said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I thought, perhaps, they might be nearer to us
to-night—Tom and Charley and all of them, you
know. Perhaps they are helping the angels to sing;
and if they are, I’m sure they would try to come
near us to-night. I thought you would not mind
telling me about them, when perhaps they are not so
very far away. Don’t you think it is rather nice to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>think that they are up there—so happy helping
the angels to sing, ‘Peace on earth and glory to
God’?”</p>
<p class='c015'>There was another long silence, which again the
Squire broke.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I will tell you the story to-night, my child, if you
wish to hear it.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>THE SQUIRE’S STORY.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-s.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
“SO you want to know the story of that
summer fifteen years ago, do you?
I, I have never spoken of that time to any
living creature since, but, as you are to
be my little son, perhaps you ought to know the
story of those who went before you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire spoke in slow, measured tones. He
looked straight before him into the fire, and his voice
had a dreamy, far-away sound, as the voice of one
who is lost in the depths of his own thoughts and
memories.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie, sitting upon the Squire’s knee, drew the
encircling arm more closely about him, and rested
his head against the kindly shoulder that gave it
such comfortable support.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I like to know everything about you,” he said,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>softly, “and about all of them. I know a great deal,
but not quite all. I want to know why you wrote
‘Thy will be done.’”</p>
<p class='c015'>The subtle sympathy that existed between the
man and the child made Bertie’s thought clear to
the Squire. He understood the child’s meaning,
and saw that he had himself been understood.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You want to know how I learned my lesson,
Bertie? Very well, you shall hear.”</p>
<p class='c015'>He paused; but Bertie said nothing, and after a
long silence the Squire commenced his tale.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I was an only child, and my parents were all
that is kind and wise and judicious. I was not
spoiled, and yet I had every reasonable indulgence,
and I was very happy. I was brought up in the
fear and love of God, as well as in the earnest wish
to do my duty to my fellow-creatures, especially to
those who lived about me, and were, or would be,
in a measure dependent upon me for their daily
bread. I was never inclined to treat such matters
lightly, accepted the teaching my parents gave me
readily and sincerely, and I never felt tempted to
wander from the beaten track that my forefathers
had trodden. I had a very happy, untroubled youth,
and life was very bright before and around me. I
<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>was kind-hearted and generous, a favorite with our
people, and if I had ever been questioned upon the
subject, I suppose I should have said that I was
doing my best to live the life of a Christian gentleman.
I was not in the least aware that there was
nothing personal in my religion. I had accepted it
from my father and mother in just the same fashion
as I had accepted their politics and their teaching
upon a variety of subjects; only, whereas I interested
myself deeply in secular subjects, and verified
the wisdom of their views by practical experience of
my own, I was content in the matter of religion to
take all upon trust, and accept everything they said,
because I had no reason to doubt their wisdom, and
because it was much easier to let them do the thinking
for me than to do it for myself.</p>
<p class='c015'>“As years passed by, changes came into my life.
My parents died, and I married, and had children of
my own to care for. My life continued easy and
pleasant and prosperous, as it always had been. I
was very happy, and had never known what real
trouble was. The death of my parents had been
my only grief. I mourned sincerely for them, but
in the love of my wife and the caresses of my baby
boys I soon found comfort; and in this happy and
<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>quiet way my life flowed on from year to year, till,
like somebody else of whom we read, ‘I said in my
prosperity, I shall never be moved; Thou, Lord, of
Thy goodness hast made my hill so strong.’”</p>
<p class='c015'>There was a pause, which the quiet little listener
did not try to break. How much he understood of
all this, how much he entered into the frame of mind
described, the Squire did not pause to ask. It was
plain enough that he was deeply interested in any
story that dealt with the past life of one he loved
so well.</p>
<p class='c015'>“My wife, Bertie, was a very good woman. You
see her picture there. She brought up our children
to be like her—how like I did not know for many
years. I was very happy and very busy every day
of my life, from one year’s end to another. I loved
my wife, I loved my children very dearly. They
loved me in return, and it seemed as if no cloud ever
shadowed our peaceful home. Sickness never came
within our doors. We often laughed at our yearly
doctor’s bill, it was so very small. Everything
seemed to thrive with us. Trouble passed us by as
if it had no part or lot in our house. I began to
take our happiness and prosperity so much for
granted that I almost forgot to be grateful.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>“Not so my wife; her gentle voice was often
raised in thanksgiving for the brightness of our lot.
I always assented readily when she spoke of the
gratitude we owed to God. I did not know how
little my heart really responded to her words. I
was soon, however, to learn that my service had been
all this while little more than the service of self.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Fifteen years ago last summer, the cholera came
to this country on one of its periodical visits. It
attacked our village; but in the first instance the
nature of the malady was not detected. Our good
old doctor was himself ill, and away for his health,
whilst his young assistant was quite inexperienced,
and had never seen cholera in his life. We heard
that there were many cases of illness in the village,
and from what we heard we gathered that it was
caused by some impurity in the water supply. We
had never been in the least alarmed on our own
account when attacks of sickness had from time to
time taken place in the village. We had never
banished the children, nor had we ever had cause to
repent our temerity. My wife was assiduous as ever
in ministering to the wants of the sick. Nobody
called it cholera during the first week that it visited
us. Many people took it and died, and a sort of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>panic set in; but that made my wife only the more
anxious to encourage others by her own example.</p>
<p class='c015'>“The boys had just come home for their holidays,
and as they were very popular in the village, and had
a number of friends amongst the people, they were
continually running across; and if they heard of a
case of illness in any house they knew, they would
look in to say a cheery word to the sufferer and
ascertain if he had everything he wanted.</p>
<p class='c015'>“But at the end of a week the mortality became
so great that the gravest fears were excited. Medical
help from other places was called in, and we were
soon made aware that the scourge of cholera had
visited us. I took the alarm then. I said to my
wife that she must make instant arrangements to
leave, taking all the children with her, but that I
should remain to do what I could for the sufferers
and to help those who were working for them. My
wife would fain have stayed with me, but I would
not hear of it. For the sake of the children she
submitted to my verdict; and, with the heroism that
had always characterized her, she forbore to tempt
me away from the place where my duty bade me
stay.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It was on Saturday that we awoke to a sense of
<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>the peril of our position. On Monday morning we
had arranged that all for whom any anxiety was felt,
or who were at all afraid to remain, should leave the
house. All our plans were made—but they were
made too late.</p>
<p class='c015'>“On Sunday afternoon Mary came running to us
with a frightened face, saying that Tom had been
suddenly taken very ill whilst playing in the garden.
We hastened to him, and found him cold and blue
and almost pulseless. We saw at a glance that he
had been smitten by the relentless foe, and when
first I saw him my heart seemed to stand still, for I
felt certain that there was death in his face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“We knew by that time what measures to take,
and they were promptly taken. We had been two
hours with him, and still that state of rigid collapse
had not yielded, when Mary called us once again
to say that Charley was complaining of dreadful
pain, and looked almost as bad as Tom had done.</p>
<p class='c015'>“There were two beds in the boys’ room. Tom
occupied one now, and in another hour Charley was
lying still and rigid in his. The doctor came, and
looked very grave. From the character of the seizure
in both cases, he anticipated the worst from the
first moment.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>“That night both my boys died. They were conscious
towards the last, and they knew both their
mother and me. She told them they were going
home, and asked if they were afraid. They told her
no; because Jesus had died for them. I asked
them how they could be so sure of it; they looked
half surprised, and Tom answered, with a look I
shall never forget—it seemed so strange in the eyes
of laughter-loving, careless, merry Tom.</p>
<p class='c015'>“‘He said so, father; and besides, I feel it <i>here</i>’—laying
his hand on his heart. ‘He said, He died
for <i>all</i> of us. He said, He took away <i>all</i> sin with
His blood. I know He’s taken away mine. Mother
and I have asked Him so often.’</p>
<p class='c015'>“Charley’s testimony was more faintly spoken,—the
boy had suffered much and was sinking rapidly,—but
it was just as clear.</p>
<p class='c015'>“He’s coming for me, mother dear. Don’t cry,
sweet mother. I’d like to stay with you if I could;
but He knows best. He’s so good; and I am quite
happy. You will be—happy—too.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“And so they died—both in one night—brave
and steadfast and fearless, as young soldiers who have
known something of the battle, even if their fighting
days have been but brief. They were not unhappy
<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>or afraid. Dying for them was but leaving one
happy home to find another—a far brighter one
than this could ever be.</p>
<p class='c015'>“My wife was the next—she was only two days
behind her boys; and her little girls so closely followed
her that she could hardly have had time to
miss them before she found them again in the everlasting
home. For a very little while I hoped that
my last little boy, the pet and darling of the house,
was to be left to me. Each night, as I visited him
in his sleep, and marked the bloom on his cheek and
the healthy, natural slumber, I told myself that he
would surely be spared me; but there came one
morning when I saw, by the frightened and averted
glances of my servants, that some new calamity had
befallen me. I asked no question, but went straight
up to the nursery.</p>
<p class='c015'>“There he lay in his little bed, white and still as
marble; his little hands crossed upon his breast, and
fair white flowers around him. He had been found
dead in his bed in the morning, having evidently
passed away in his sleep. The poison had done its
work swiftly and well, and the child had not known
one struggle or one pang.</p>
<p class='c015'>“They were all laid in the quiet churchyard within
<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>a week of each other. The sickness declined amongst
us from that day; and only the many new mounds
in the graveyard and the empty chairs around many
hearths were left to tell the tale of that terrible time.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I was left alone in my home—quite alone; for
in my despair I found that what I had taken to be
my love of God and trust in Him was all an illusion,
a shadow that vanished away the moment my prosperity
was overthrown. God was showing me the
true worth of those things in which I had put my
trust. He was showing me that I had never known
Him truly all my life long. I was not quick to learn
the lesson He was teaching me. Trouble hardened
my heart, and in my thoughts I reviled the God who
had taken away all that made the happiness of my
life and had left me alone in misery and darkness.
For a long time I was very, very unhappy.</p>
<p class='c015'>“At last, in the days of my darkness and misery,
God sent me a message of comfort. He sent it me
by the hand of my dead wife—in a few words she
had pencilled on the fly-leaf of her Bible, only a few
hours before her death, and which it was months
before I found courage to read.</p>
<p class='c015'>“‘God will be with you always, my dear husband,’
she wrote. ‘His Holy Spirit will be your support
<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>and stay in all trials, and will lead you to the eternal
home in our Father’s own good time—’ The pencil
had evidently dropped from her fingers then; but
she had told me enough.</p>
<p class='c015'>“‘Lord, give to me the guidance of Thy Holy
Spirit,’ was my daily prayer, when once the hardness
of my heart was melted, and I had sought my Saviour’s
forgiveness and pardoning love. That prayer
was not uttered in vain. In His own good time God
sent His Comforter to me; and I trust that I have
learned the lesson He taught me during those dark
and desolate days. We are always failing, always
slipping, always needing new lessons and new strength
to learn them; but I think there is one great life-long
lesson that I shall not have to learn again.</p>
<p class='c015'>“When I had learned it first, I put upon the marble
slab over the grave that held my all the words I have
never since wished unsaid—‘Thy will be done.’”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XIX.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>COMING CHANGES.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-s.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
SO the winter days wore happily away,
the bond between the Squire and his
little adopted son growing ever stronger
and stronger; and by slow yet sure
degrees the sunshine began to take the golden radiance
of spring, the buds upon the bare trees swelled
with the stirring life within them, the hedges showed
a filmy network of tender green, and the shy wild
flowers began to peep out from sheltered sunny
corners, smiling up at the sunshine from beneath
the protecting roots of great trees, or nodding their
heads in friendly greeting to passers-by from cosey
nooks in the south slope of a sheltered bank.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie and his friend the Squire welcomed the
spring, as all the world does to a greater or less
extent. The winter had been a very happy time for
<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>them both; but the promise of spring seemed to
them to be charged with gladness and brightness
for all.</p>
<p class='c015'>Once when they were crossing the park together,
the Squire looked down at his little companion and
said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“This is the first time that spring has been spring
to me for fifteen long years.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie, who was hunting for primroses in a mossy
bank, looked up quickly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“The years were like one long winter to me,”
continued the Squire, looking out straight before
him; and then, lifting his hat for a moment, he
added, reverently, “But, thank God! that has all
passed now.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie came and took one of the hands of his so-called
father and laid his cheek against it.</p>
<p class='c015'>He knew quite well that this was the Squire’s way
of telling him that his coming there had been a
source of comfort and happiness.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I came here in the spring, didn’t I?” he asked. “I
think I’ve been here nearly a year—David says so.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, it is going on now for a year—a year in
April since you were washed ashore. Has it been
a happy year to you, my child?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>Bertie glanced up into the face above him with
eyes full of love.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Ever since you let me be your little boy,” he
answered, with emphasis, “I have been quite happy.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“And before?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Before I was happy sometimes—when I was
with you; but I was often very lonely. If I hadn’t
felt sure that God would take care of me, I think I
should have been miserable sometimes.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“But you were sure of that?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie paused and reflected.</p>
<p class='c015'>“By and by I was—not just at first—but by and
by. And then I found out something for me to do,
and then all the rest came easy.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What did you find to do?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I found out that you were lonely and unhappy,
and I wanted to comfort you,” answered the child,
very softly. “Because you had no little children of
your own left. I didn’t think at first that I could;
but by and by you said I did.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, my child. We were given to one another,
to fill, as it were, the blank that God had thought fit
to make in both of our lives. We must trust Him
now to leave us to one another, and not to part us
unless that too is a part of His holy will.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>Bertie looked up timidly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I could never leave you now, papa.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire looked down at him with a smile.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I hope not, my little son; but it is possible you
may some day remember your own parents, and
that they may want you back. But whatever
happens we know will be for the best, and we must
always be strong and of a good courage, and do
what is right. No happiness ever comes from
shirking duty.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked up wistfully.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You have not heard anything, have you, about
me?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire smiled reassuringly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, no, my little boy; I am only speaking of
a possible future, and one that we ought perhaps to
wish for. But I think it quite possible, under all the
circumstances of the case, that your parents, did we
succeed in tracing them, would allow you to remain
in my care as my little adopted son; and we do not
even know that they are living, for they might well
have been lost that stormy night when you were
washed ashore at the fisherman’s hut.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s face was very grave. He did not often
speculate now upon the past, and the Squire rarely
<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>alluded to the subject. He was quite content to
dwell in the present, and it seemed highly probable,
as Dr. Lighton had said, that he would never awake
to recollection, but that the oblivion of childhood
would sweep away the vanished past, even when the
physical injury had gradually cured itself.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was impossible for the child to wish for any
change. He was so entirely happy in his new
home, and loved his father so devotedly, that there
was no room in his heart for the vague yearnings
that had troubled him once, and he felt as if he
belonged by birthright to the place he now occupied.</p>
<p class='c015'>And new interests and pleasures were in store for
him now in the return of the Arbuthnots to their
long-deserted house.</p>
<p class='c015'>He did not know they were coming until they
had come, and he suddenly met Queenie in the park,
face to face, as she was running up to see him and
tell him all the news.</p>
<p class='c015'>He was so surprised that he only stood quite still,
staring hard at her, and exclaimed, “Queenie!” in
a very astonished voice.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Bertie!” she answered, mimicking him, and then
she began to laugh in her old merry way.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, Bertie, how astonished you look! Didn’t
<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>I say we should be home in the spring? Aren’t you
pleased to see me back?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, very pleased,” answered Bertie, recovering
himself. “Are the boys here yet?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Not yet. They will be back at Easter. Papa
and mamma and I have come home now. Bertie, is
it true that the Squire has adopted you properly?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I am his little boy now,” answered the child,
simply. “He says so.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“And do you like it?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, very much.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You like him?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I love him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“And you’re not dreadfully dull?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh no!”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie looked at him critically.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You don’t look as if you were unhappy. You’ve
grown, I’m sure. You look quite different from
what you did. Are you happy?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, very.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, I’m glad of that,” said Queenie. “I like
people to have nice times. I’ve had <i>such</i> fun
myself.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Have you? Where have you been?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, to lots of places. We stayed in ever so
<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>many houses, and it was great fun. Sometimes
there were other children, and sometimes there
weren’t. I liked both, but I think I liked it best
when there were no nurseries or schoolrooms; then
I was generally with the ladies. I liked to hear
them talk, and they gave me pretty things. I’m
never troublesome, you know, except to nurse,”
added Queenie, shaking her curly head with a merry
laugh; “so people like me, and say I’m no trouble,
and then I’m not turned out.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie laughed too, because Queenie’s mirth was
infectious.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do you know,” went on the little chatterbox, as
Bertie turned and walked beside her,—“do you
know we are not going to live here much longer?
only till midsummer, perhaps not so long?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I didn’t know,” answered Bertie. “Why are
you going away?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Mamma doesn’t like it, nor papa either; and I
don’t think <i>I</i> care for it so very much;” and the
little maiden put on her grand air, as if her wishes
had been of very great consequence in the decision
of her parents. “We always used to live in London
till papa had this place left to him, and then we
came here for a little while; but nobody cares very
<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>particular for it, and so they have decided to sell
it.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie opened his eyes wide.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Then will somebody else buy it, and come and
live here?” he asked.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie nodded her head mysteriously.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Somebody has bought it already.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, somebody you know. Guess who it is.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Somebody I know,” repeated Bertie, slowly;
“but I know so few people.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Then you will guess all the quicker!” answered
Queenie, with her merry laugh.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie considered a moment and then said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“The Squire?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, not the Squire; he only cares for his own
property. Papa says our land is nothing to his; he
wouldn’t care for it. Guess again.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was puzzled.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Dr. Lighton?” he asked, doubtfully; but Queenie’s
laugh was answer enough.</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, indeed! Where would he get the money
from? Guess again.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I can’t; there’s nobody else I know. Are you
sure I know him?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>“Of course you do! You must guess. You’ve
seen him at our house often and often.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie paused again, hesitated, and suggested,
timidly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Uncle Fred?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie clapped her hands.</p>
<p class='c015'>“There! I knew you could guess if you tried.
Yes, it’s Uncle Fred. He likes the place, and he
has plenty of money now, so he has bought it, and
he’s going to come and live here very soon, as soon
as he can get married and come over to England.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked mystified.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Isn’t he in England now?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, he’s in Australia. He likes travelling about,
and he went there almost as soon as he left us in
the summer, and now he’s going to get married.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie said these words in a voice that implied
a great deal. She tried to excite Bertie’s curiosity
by her manner, but he was too simple-minded to
understand her moods, and he only said, quite
quietly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Is he?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, he is; and if you like I’ll tell you all about
it. It’s very romantic.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What is?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>“Why, Uncle Fred’s marriage.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What is romantic?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie tossed her head, but to tell the plain
truth she did not exactly know herself.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, that’s what mamma says when she tells
people about Uncle Fred. She says it’s so romantic,
and everybody else says the same—so it must be
so, you know.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie had never dreamed of disputing this, so, as
he had no answer ready, he merely said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well,” returned Queenie, settling down to her
story with great animation, “this is what has happened.
You know, when Uncle Fred was quite a
young man, he was very fond of a lady he knew
very well, and he wanted to marry her; but he was
not very well off, and he did not like to ask her to
marry him till he got some money. So he went
away to sea to make his fortune, and when he came
back after a year or two with a good deal more
money, he found that the lady had married somebody
else,—he had never told her how fond he was
of her, which I think was silly,—and had gone away
to live in London. Well, poor Uncle Fred was very
sad, for he loved her very much, and he always had
<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>fancied that she liked him too. A friend of his
told him that people thought the lady had married
partly to please her father, for she was very fond of
him and very obedient; anyway she was married,
and Uncle Fred was too late, so he went back to
sea again and tried to forget all about her.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie paused here, and Bertie asked,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Is that all?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Of course it isn’t all!” cried Queenie; “all that
happened ten years ago.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh!” returned Bertie, who was getting a little
puzzled by Queenie’s romance.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, all that happened ever so long ago, when
Uncle Fred was quite young, and before he came
into his money. But he never married even when
he was quite rich, because he never had cared for
any lady except the one he wanted to marry long
ago. Well, last year he went out to Australia, as I
told you. He had made a good many friends there
before, and he thought he would like to go and see
them all again. And when he was at Sydney or
Melbourne, or one of those places, he went once to
a great party given by some rich man there, and
when he got there, who was it, do you think, that
he met?”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>Queenie’s face told its own tale. Bertie was not
very well read in romances, but he could guess the
sequel to this one. “I suppose you mean that he
met the lady that he wanted to marry once.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes,” answered Queenie, very impressively, “the
lady he is going to marry now—at least he has
married her, I suppose, already, and perhaps they
are on their way home now.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“But I thought she had married somebody else,”
objected Bertie.</p>
<p class='c015'>“She did years and years ago, but he died very
soon after they were married; only Uncle Fred had
never heard of it. Her old father died too, by and
by, and she was left all alone; and she had some
cousins in Australia who asked her to come and
live with them, and so she did. I don’t think she’s
been long in Australia; I don’t think her father
died till last year or something; anyhow, she was
there when Uncle Fred found her last Christmas,
and now they will be married and come and live
here.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s interest was now fully aroused.</p>
<p class='c015'>“That will be nice,” he said. “I’m glad nobody’s
coming that we don’t know. I like Uncle Fred; he
was always very kind to me.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>“He always liked you,” answered Queenie. “He
took a fancy to you from the first moment. He will
be a nice neighbor for the Squire too; they always
got on very well together. I hope he will have a
nice wife. He must be very fond of her, so I should
think she was nice.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was less interested upon this point than
upon others.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Will you ever come here after you go away?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, yes; we shall be sure to come and see Uncle
Fred sometimes.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked pleased.</p>
<p class='c015'>“That will be nice. We shall be able to play
together, and you won’t forget me. I don’t like
people to go right away and forget and get forgotten;
it seems rather sad, don’t you think?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know; I don’t think I ever thought about
it; but you won’t have a chance of forgetting us, any
way. And, Bertie, have you forgotten about the sea-gulls
in the Rocky Bay?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie shook his head and smiled.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’ve not forgotten a bit,” he answered, “and I
can climb very well now. I’m ready to go as soon
as ever the right time comes.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XX.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>THE ROCKY BAY.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-t.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
“TO-MORROW, Bertie, to-morrow!” whispered
Phil, in a sort of ecstatic excitement.
“Keep it dark; and be ready at
nine sharp. Do you think you could
get David to come too without the Squire’s knowing
it?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No; but if I ask him to let him come with me, I
know he will say yes. Of course I shall tell him
where I am going,—I always do.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil whistled a little.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Do you though? I hadn’t bargained for that;
but you won’t say anything about the young gulls.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No, that isn’t my secret; I promised not to tell;
but I shall have to ask leave to go to the Rocky Bay
<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>to-morrow. I know he’ll let me, and he’ll let David
come too if I ask, and then I can drive in my little
cart and bring something to eat, and you can go in
the boat or on your ponies, as you like best.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, we shall ride,” answered Phil. “The other
fellows would guess there was something up if we
wanted the boat out; and, besides, we could not pull
it all that way alone. If you have your cart it will
be jolly. We can take everything back in it, young
birds and all. Oh, yes; we’ll have a rare good day!
You’re sure the Squire will let you go?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh, yes; he is very kind. He always likes me
to ask him for things.”</p>
<p class='c015'>So Bertie made his proposition very boldly that
night, and received a ready assent.</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Pritchard was pleased to supply the party
with lunch, and, as David was going, she felt no
anxiety as to the safety of her pet. David was a
good, steady lad, and could be trusted to look after
Master Bertie as carefully as his own mother.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire came out to see the boy drive away.
He lifted him into the varnished cart, and as he gave
him the reins he said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“A nice day to you my boy. Take care of
yourself; but don’t go climbing about the rocks
<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>after sea-gulls’ eggs, or you’ll be getting into
danger.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The pony had started before his words were all
spoken, so that he could not see the sudden cloud
that fell upon Bertie’s face. The little boy drove
through the park with a keen sense of disappointment
weighing upon him. What had put it into the
Squire’s head to utter that prohibition just at the
last? Did he really mean what he said, or was it
only spoken in jest?</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie had half a mind to turn back and plead for
a reversal of the verdict; but he resisted the temptation,
and drove on in silence. He was afraid, for one
thing, of betraying the secret entrusted to him by his
companions; and, for another, he had not lived for a
year beneath the Squire’s roof without learning that,
however kind and considerate he might be, his will
was law to all about him, and that he never gave an
order, however trifling, without some good reason,
and always expected that order to be strictly
carried out.</p>
<p class='c015'>So Bertie knew that there would be no climbing
that day for him, and he was keenly disappointed;
for he was sure that Queenie would accuse him of
cowardice, and he was well aware that he had
<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>acquired, by practice in trees and crumbling walls,
and about the roof of the old Manor House, a skill
and agility in climbing with which he had quite
hoped to take his companions by storm.</p>
<p class='c015'>However, there was nothing for it now but to
obey,—for, to do the child justice, he never dreamed
of disobedience,—and it was with a heart a good
deal less light than he had expected that he joined
his companions at the place they had agreed
upon.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil had a good big basket with him, which was
transferred to the cart, and the little cavalcade set
forwards. Conversation was not altogether easy between
the riders and driver, so Bertie’s silence passed
unnoticed; but the faithful David felt certain his
little master was cast down about something, and,
making a shrewd guess, he whispered,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Don’t ’ee be sad about it, Master Bertie; I’ll get
thee the best eggs as can be had in the bay. I know
where them birds build, I do, and I’ll see thee has all
thee wants. I’ll get thee a pair of young uns too, if
so be as they’re hatched and fledged; but we’re full
early for birds yet.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, but Phil has to go back to school so soon
that we had to come to-day. Don’t you get into any
<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>danger, David. I don’t care about the eggs—at
least not so very much.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Bless thy heart! ’tis nothing to me. I’ve been
born and bred to it all my life long.”</p>
<p class='c015'>By the time the little party had reached the bay,
the sun was riding high in the sky, and the children
were hungry and thirsty as well as hot.</p>
<p class='c015'>David took the ponies away to the farm, and the
others carried the baskets down the rocky path into
the bay. Lunch was, of course, the first consideration,
and as Queenie set to work upon her sandwiches
and cake, she looked across at Phil and
said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, we haven’t told Bertie about Uncle Fred!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What about him?” asked Bertie.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, he’s landed in England—he and his wife,
you know. They came one steamer before we expected.
They’re in London now—at least they were
last night. They stayed a few days there, and to-day
they’re coming down to us. The house belongs
to Uncle Fred now, you know, and we shall soon
leave it. When we get home Uncle Fred will be
there.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, and a new aunt,” added Queenie, laughing;
“it will seem so funny to have a new aunt. What
<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>did mamma say her name was? Wasn’t it Aunt
Winifred?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie suddenly put up his hand to his head, as
he used sometimes to do when he first came, but
hardly ever now. Queenie noticed the movement,
and paused to ask,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“What is it?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I don’t know,” he answered. “What were you
saying? Go on, please.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Well, it is not our house any longer, and we
shall go very soon. Shall you mind?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I shall be sorry,” answered Bertie, slowly.
“But I suppose you will come there sometimes?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“To see Uncle Fred? Oh yes, of course. Uncle
Fred is sure to ask Phil and me every year. It will
be nice to come here sometimes and see you again.
I like this place, though perhaps it <i>is</i> a little dull
for living in always.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think it’s jolly!” cried Phil. “I like it heaps
better than London. However, as I’m at school
now, it doesn’t so very much matter to me. Eton
is out and out the best place in the world!”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You like it better than Dr. Steele’s?” said Bertie,
gravely; and Phil laughed uproariously at the
question, remembering old times there, and his half-triumphant,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>half-ignominious flight from his old
abode just about a year ago.</p>
<p class='c015'>After the children had satisfied their hunger, the
main business of the day began. Eager eyes were
fixed upon the rocky ledges of the perpendicular
cliff, and the movements of the sea-gulls who frequented
the spot were closely watched.</p>
<p class='c015'>David’s opinion was eagerly waited for. He did
not seem to think that there were as many birds as
usual building, or at least laying their eggs in this
place; but his practised eye discovered one or two
places where he felt certain, from the movements of
the parent birds, that the young were already
hatched; and there were sure to be other nooks
where eggs might be found, if a patient and careful
search were made.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil, who was ambitious, was bent on securing
some young birds, and he made David point out the
places where he thought these were to be found.
Phil made his selection from these, and, although
the elder lad shook his head and said he did not
think he would ever reach the place, the schoolboy
was in no wise daunted by difficulties.</p>
<p class='c015'>When Phil had begun his cautious climb, and
David had left them to hunt for eggs, Queenie, who
<span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>had been watching her brother’s movements with some
attention, turned suddenly upon Bertie, and asked,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“And what are you going to do?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie looked rather red, and answered,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Nothing.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie’s eyebrows went up.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What do you mean? You’ve been boasting all
this time about how you’ve been climbing and what
wonderful things you can do. It was all practising for
to-day. Why don’t you show us what you can do?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was more red than ever now. He had not
really boasted at all, but he had admitted to Phil
that he had been doing a good deal of climbing, and
hoped to be able to make good use of his agility
when the day came to visit the Rocky Bay. He
was intensely eager now to show his prowess and to
join the climbers in their ascent; but he stood quite
still, looking sheepish and disturbed.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie looked at him with a surprise that
changed to scorn.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You are afraid,” she said, disdainfully. “Why
could you not say so before?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I’m not afraid,” answered Bertie, rather hotly.
“I’m no more afraid than you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie tossed her head scornfully.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>“Then why on earth don’t you go? I know it’s
because you’re afraid. You always were a pitiful
little coward—all the boys say so.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie clenched his hands tightly, tears of anger
and mortification stood in his eyes. It was very
hard to be accused of cowardice when he felt himself
quite innocent of the charge; and the worst of it was
that Queenie would never understand his real motive.
Obedience was not a part of her moral code.</p>
<p class='c015'>With a great effort the little boy swallowed his
resentment, and said, quietly,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“The Squire told me this morning that I was not
to climb the rocks for eggs.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie only looked the more scornful.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Of course he did. They all do. Papa always
does whenever we come here. If he had known Phil
was going to-day, he would have forbidden him; but
nobody cares for that. Rules are only made to be
broken, you know. They must have exceptions, or
they wouldn’t be rules—everybody knows that. I
know now why you would tell the Squire. You
wanted him to forbid you because you were afraid.
I always thought you were a horrid little coward,
and now I know it!”</p>
<p class='c015'>When Queenie was vexed, she did not pause to
<span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>consider other people’s feelings, and she had grown
up with brothers who were used to her sharp
speeches and did not mind them much. They knew
that “her bark was worse than her bite,” as the
proverb says, and did not trouble themselves over
her angry words; but Bertie was not hardened like
this. He was not accustomed to be spoken to so
harshly, and his eyes filled again with tears of mortification
and distress.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie was something of a little tyrant. She
liked to feel her own power, and she was inclined to
use it rather mercilessly. Seeing that she had made
an impression upon her companion, she proceeded
to improve the occasion.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You who lectured Phil so about courage! It
is uncommonly easy to talk big, Master Bertie”
(Queenie evidently found it so, at any rate); “but
when it comes to <i>deeds</i> the case is very different.
The idea that <i>you</i> ever dared to talk to <i>him</i>
about courage! I wonder you’re not ashamed of
yourself!”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie attempted no defence: for one thing, talking
was not his strong point; and for another, he knew
that any words of his would be quite wasted on
Queenie, who was entirely impervious to reasonable
<span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>argument when she had once mounted her high horse.
So there was silence between them for a few moments;
and, before anybody had attempted to reopen
the conversation, the silence was broken by an alarming
sound, the cry of a boy in distress.</p>
<p class='c015'>For the last few minutes they had ceased to watch
Phil’s ascent of the cliff, being engrossed in their own
argument. Looking up quickly now with startled
eyes, they saw that his position had become sufficiently
perilous.</p>
<p class='c015'>He had clambered from ledge to ledge with great
skill and address; but he had not troubled himself
to make sure, in the excitement of the ascent, that it
was possible to descend in the same manner. He
had been tempted on to really difficult places, and
suddenly he had found himself upon a narrow rocky
ridge whence he could make no step either forward or
backward. His last step had been a fragment of
rock that had given way as he quitted it, and he had
narrowly escaped a fall that must have proved fatal.
But his present position was perilous enough to
threaten his safety, and, as is so often the case in the
presence of real danger, giddiness seized upon him,
and he clung to the hard rock with convulsive terror,
and called aloud in his fright.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>Queenie’s shriek of terror brought David quickly
to their side, and he at once realized the peril of
Phil’s position; but he knew better than the children
what to do, and the emergency seemed to give him
courage and presence of mind beyond his years.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Hold on! hold on, Master Phil!” he shouted.
“Shut your eyes and hold on for ten minutes.
There’s plenty of foothold there; and if you’ll just
keep quiet and not look up or down, we’ll do something
for you directly.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And then, calling the others to follow, he commenced
climbing the cliff path with the agility of
a goat.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was not much behind, and Queenie, to
whom terror lent wings, arrived closely in their
wake. In a basket left up at the top of the cliff was
a coil of rope of very fair strength.</p>
<p class='c015'>David had brought it in case it might be needed,
and it was well indeed that he had done so. In a
few words he explained his plan.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It’s no good Master Phil trying to catch the rope
if we let it down to him. He’s much too giddy for
one thing, and for another the edge overhangs a bit
here, and he never could reach it if he hadn’t all his
wits about him. I’m going to tie it round my waist
<span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>and clamber down to him. It’s not easy to get
down from the top, but it can be done with a rope
round one pretty safely. When I get to him I’ll put
the rope on him and you’ll draw him up between
you; he’ll climb too, of course, but the rope will
help him and keep him safe. Then you’ll let it
down for me, and make it swing backwards and forwards
till I can reach it. I shan’t be giddy, I’ll get
it right enough, and the three of you can help me
up, I know, and we’ll all be all right then.”</p>
<p class='c015'>David had spoken with a rapidity and energy
quite foreign to his ordinary nature, whilst the
pressure of excitement and responsibility was upon
him; and as he spoke he was unwinding the rope
and making a slip knot at one end; but before
he had tied it round himself Bertie had stopped
him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“David,” he said, with a little touch of authority
in his tone, not usual with the gentle little boy towards
one who was his companion and friend as
well as his servant, “you must let me go down to
Phil with the rope. I do not think Queenie and I
could pull him up by ourselves if he cannot help
himself much, and I do not think anybody but you
could swing the rope for the other one to catch by
<span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>and by. I can climb very well, and I am not giddy.
You must let me go.”</p>
<p class='c015'>For a few minutes there was a sort of argument
between the two boys: David reluctant to let Bertie
endanger himself ever so little, Bertie quite convinced
that the only way of securing the safety of
all was in his plan. Queenie took no part in the
talk, only standing by with clasped hands and dilated
eyes, wishing, even at this moment when she had
so much else upon her mind, that she had never
called Bertie a coward, for was he not going to risk
his own safety to secure that of Phil?</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s counsel prevailed. Indeed, it was evidently
sound, and his quiet determination carried
the day.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I am not going after sea-gulls’ eggs,” he said to
himself, as he commenced his perilous descent. “I
know the Squire would let me go to try and save
Phil.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XXI.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>THE MOTHER.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-w.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
WHILST the children away in the Rocky
Bay were in the midst of their perilous
enterprise, the Squire was sitting alone
in his library, quietly engrossed in his
books and papers.</p>
<p class='c015'>Visitors so very rarely disturbed him, visitors were
almost unknown at the Manor House, and therefore
it was with a good deal of surprise that he heard
that Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot were in the drawing-room,
anxious to speak to him at once.</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire was much perplexed for a moment
even to know who these people could be, but
Pritchard, who observed his master’s surprise, added,
respectfully,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Sir Walter’s brother, sir,—Mr. Frederick, as he
<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>is often called,—and the lady from Australia whom
he has lately married.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire remembered all about it then, for of
course he had heard from Bertie and from others of
Uncle Fred’s marriage and of his purchase of the
adjoining property. He had been pleased to hear
of the change, for he had always liked the baronet’s
brother; but he had not even heard of his arrival at
Arlingham, and he could not imagine what could
have brought him and his wife so quickly to the
Manor House.</p>
<p class='c015'>However, there they were, and he must go and
see them, so he crossed over to the drawing-room
without delay. Uncle Fred and his wife were standing
with their backs to the door, looking intently at
a crayon head of Bertie, that the Squire had lately
had taken by a clever young artist in the neighborhood.
They both turned round quickly when their
host entered, and he saw that the lady’s eyes were
full of tears, and that they were soft dark eyes very
like Bertie’s own.</p>
<p class='c015'>He greeted his guests courteously, and even in the
first moments of introduction he was struck by the
sweetness of the lady’s face. He almost fancied there
was something familiar in the cast of the features,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>but, however that might be, there was no doubt at
all as to the charm of her voice and manner,—a
charm which seemed to arise in part from the
shadow of some settled sadness bravely borne, that
had faded away in the sunshine of a present
happiness.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Squire,” said Uncle Fred (he may as well be called
Uncle Fred to the end of the chapter, to avoid confusion),
“we have brought you a piece of news that
will astonish you greatly. I have had my suspicions
for long, and my wife has been indulging hopes
that the sight of that picture there has completely
verified. The little waif you took in and befriended
so well is the only child of my wife. We have lost
no time in coming to tell you the news; more
especially as she could not rest one moment without
seeing the boy, and thanking you in person for your
great goodness to him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire sat perfectly still, not attempting a
reply. He looked like a man who has received a
blow, and requires time to recover from its effects.
The lady’s tears were falling fast, and Uncle Fred
had to continue his tale, as nobody else seemed
able to speak.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You will ask what made me guess the secret.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>The first clue was the child’s likeness to his mother,
whom I had known as a child and as a young girl.
It attracted me to Bertie from the first, but I only
looked upon it as an accidental circumstance, and
paid no serious heed to the matter. When, however,
some months ago, my wife and I met once again in
a far-off land, when I learned that she had lost her
only child, a boy of nine years of age, in a storm
that wrecked the little sailing-vessel she had elected
to cross in from Antwerp to Hull, at the very time
that Bertie had been drifted ashore here,—when I
heard this story, my suspicions were powerfully
awakened, and all that I heard tended to increase
my conviction. I learned that the child had divided
his time between London and Normandy, that he
had a grandfather, in whose library he continually
sat, learning lessons and turning over books. What
I heard of his disposition and habits coincided
entirely with Bertie’s ways; and the story of the
wreck seemed to make assurance doubly sure. I
heard how the water came suddenly pouring into
the cabin where the child lay, how she had only
time to wrap a rough pilot coat over his little nightdress
and tie a life-belt about him, whilst she bade
him be brave and try to say always, ‘Thy will be
<span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>done.’ The child had told me almost as much himself
in one of his moments of partial remembrance,
and I knew how he had been drifted ashore just in
these garments her child wore. The sea had overwhelmed
them all, almost as soon as they reached
the deck. My wife and two seamen were picked up
by a steamer bound for Holland, and when she did
return to England, no tidings reached her of the
child, and from that day till a month or two ago
she entertained no doubts of his death. My story
gave her hope, and the sight of that picture has put
away the last doubt. That is her little Ronald, the
child who has been dead and is alive again, has been
lost and is found.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred’s own voice quivered a little as he
concluded his tale, and his wife commanded hers
with difficulty.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Where is my boy?” she asked.</p>
<p class='c015'>“He is out with your little nephew and niece, Mrs.
Arbuthnot,” answered the Squire; “but he will be
home again in the course of an hour or two. You
will wait and see him of course. You will let my
housekeeper bring you some tea.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire spoke with some constraint of manner.
It was easy to see that he was a good deal moved.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>The mother seemed to divine his feelings by the
very depth of her own. He had risen whilst the
tale had been told, and was now standing with his
back towards them, looking out upon the sunny
garden, with eyes that saw nothing of its brightness.
He started when a soft touch was laid upon his arm.
He was confronted by a sweet face, tremulous with
tears.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I have not thanked you yet for all your goodness
to my boy.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No need, I assure you, my dear madam; he has
done a hundredfold more for me than I have done
for him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The tone was hoarse, and the words a little
abrupt; but the mother looked beneath the surface.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Does that mean that you would miss the child
if I were to take him away from you?”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire started at the question, and looked
keenly into the face before him. He forgot that the
situation so very new to him had been faced in all
its bearings for many long weeks by the two who
had pierced together the history of the lost child,
and who knew well the sad story of the Squire’s
lonely lot.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Miss him!” he ejaculated, almost harshly, as a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>strong man often does when under the influence of
some sudden emotion. “If you had known what it
was to lose five children and a wife within ten short
days, to live fifteen long years alone and desolate,
and then to adopt and make your own a child that
seemed given to you by a special providence, one
whom you had the right to make your own and love
as your own. If your old age had been cheered by
the presence of such a child, and then he too was
taken from you”—</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire stopped short abruptly, and then in
a gentler tone he added,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Forgive me, my dear madam; I have no right
to say all this. I have been taken by surprise, and
I live so much alone, that I fear I forget myself at
times. You must bear with an old man whom you
have taken unawares. I cannot rejoice at your news
for my own sake, but I will endeavor to do so for
yours and the child’s. I will not be more selfish
than nature and habit made me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Arbuthnot endeavored to speak, but her
voice failed her, and she looked towards her
husband.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Squire,” said the young man, stepping forward,
“my wife wishes me to explain to you that her
<span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>gratitude would be but ill-displayed were she, in
return for all your great goodness to her child, to
bring a cloud upon your later life. But for you, no
one can say what might by this time have befallen the
little waif; but for you, it would hardly have been
possible that mother and son could ever have met
again this side of the grave. Your goodness in
adopting him and in giving him a home has been,
under God’s guiding, the means of bringing them
together—the main link in the chain of circumstances
that has led to this goal. You have been a
father to him in his hour of extremest need. My
wife will never be willing to requite such goodness
by robbing you of what sunshine the child’s love
can bring.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire looked steadily at the speaker, as if in
doubt whither all this tended, and he glanced from
one to the other, his face expressing more emotion
than was its wont.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I do not quite grasp your meaning,” he said.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Our meaning is this,” said Uncle Fred, taking
his wife’s hand and drawing it within his arm. “We
both have known enough of loneliness and sorrow
to be very unwilling to inflict it upon another. God
in His great goodness has at length given us to one
<span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>another, and changed all that was dark in our lives
into light and joy. We have each other, and our
cup of happiness is very full. One more great mercy
has been vouchsafed us—restoring to my wife the
child she believed she had lost—giving it to her to
see him living in peace and happiness in a home
that was opened to him in his hour of sore need.
Squire,” concluded the young man, earnestly and
with great feeling, “the whole matter stands thus:
if the child has grown dear to you, if he is a comfort
to you in your declining years, if you love one another,
as we are told, like father and son, and you
would feel personal loss and grief at his departure,
he shall remain with you still. We are very near
neighbors now. The child can see his mother daily,
hourly, and yet be your boy, and live beneath your
roof. There shall be no mine or thine with regard
to him; if my wife is his mother, you at least have
a claim to be called his father. We have one
another, and our lives are bright; you are alone,
and the boy has cheered you by his presence. So
long as you need him, or wish for his companionship,
we will not take him away. Our home is always
open to him if ever you wish to be rid of your self-imposed
charge; but so long as you care to have
<span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>him with you, we will never claim him or take him
away. The only difference the child shall find will
be that he has two homes instead of one.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire listened to this speech in unbroken
silence, and not a muscle of his still face moved the
while; but yet it softened in a wonderful way as the
young man’s meaning became more and more clear,
and the expression in the deep-set eyes now fixed
upon her face touched Mrs. Arbuthnot to the quick.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Is this the expression of your thoughts, madam?”
he asked, very gently.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes; my husband has only explained to you
what has many times passed between us on the subject.
You know Dr. Lighton is his correspondent,
and from him we have heard much of your great
goodness to my little boy, and of the tie that seems
to exist between you. My gratitude would be but
ill-expressed were I to try and break that tie. The
child had never known a father’s love until he found
it in your home, for his father died when he was but
an infant. Let him continue to feel that love about
him, as well as that of the mother he has so strangely
forgotten, and whom even now he may not be able
to recall. Let us leave matters for the present as they
now stand, and in the future be guided by the course
<span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>of events and by the development of the boy’s character.
If he disappoints you, his mother’s home
will always be open to him. If he continues to
occupy the place of a son to you, I will not take him
away. He can be my boy as well as yours, and
there shall be no jealousy between us.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The words were spoken quietly, yet with much
feeling, and the Squire accepted the sacrifice in the
spirit in which it was made.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Let the boy’s good be our chief concern, my dear
madam,” he answered. “My gratitude to you is very
great, and shall be shown in care for the child over
whose future you still allow me to exercise some control.
Believe me, your goodness shall not be abused.
You will not find me exacting. If you will spare me
as much of his society as you can, and let me love
him as my own, I shall be satisfied and grateful, even
though you may wish to change your mind by and by
and receive him under your own roof.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The mother understood by instinct the nature of
the man with whom she had to deal. She smiled
very sweetly as she answered,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I see very plainly that there will be no jealousy
between us. For the present let all be as it is. If
the child knows me for his mother, he shall still remain
<span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>with you, unless—” She paused, and added,
quickly, “And if not, and I have to tell him all, he
is not likely to feel any wish to leave you for me.
It will be very strange to be as a stranger to my little
Ronald. I wonder—”</p>
<p class='c015'>But the sentence was not concluded. There was a
sudden stir in the hall without, and Dr. Lighton came
in hurriedly.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What is it?” he asked, quickly. “Where is the
child?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“What child?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Bertie. Has he not come yet? They tell me
there has been an accident on the cliffs.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Two faces blanched visibly at these words. The
Squire took a quick step forward, and asked hastily,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I hardly know myself yet. Little Miss Arbuthnot
came galloping up to my door ten minutes ago, to
say that Bertie had had a fall on the cliffs and was
being brought home in the pony cart. I came on at
once—luckily I had not started on my round—I
suppose I am here before them.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes,” said the Squire, absently, and went out into
the hall.</p>
<p class='c015'>Uncle Fred looked at the doctor and said,—</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>“I want to introduce you to my wife, Lighton.
We have put the matter beyond all doubt. She is
the boy’s mother.”</p>
<p class='c015'>It was no time for conventional greetings; anxiety
and fear filled all hearts. All the party followed the
Squire into the hall, where Queenie Arbuthnot was
now standing, her face very white, her whole frame
trembling with nervous excitement.</p>
<p class='c015'>They questioned her closely. She was incoherent
at first, but Mrs. Arbuthnot’s kind and motherly
sweetness did much to restore her self-command,
and they were able at length to elicit the following
facts.</p>
<p class='c015'>Phil had got himself into danger, and Bertie had
gone down to him with the rope, as described in the
last chapter. This errand had been successfully accomplished,
and Phil, by aid of the rope round his
waist, had been able to climb up in safety to the top
of the cliff.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie meantime had remained quietly upon the
ledge, not at all giddy or afraid, waiting for the rope
to be let down to him.</p>
<p class='c015'>David had not attempted to throw the end of the
rope to him, as he was afraid of his getting giddy
with attempts to catch at it, but had let it down its
<span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span>whole length and then swung it slowly backwards
and forwards until it came within the boy’s grasp.
When the right moment came, Bertie had seized it,
and that successfully; but then happened a catastrophe
they had not reckoned upon. The weight of
the swinging rope had jerked the child from his precarious
foothold, and although his fall had not been
unbroken, owing to his grasp upon the rope, yet he
had slipped down very fast, and when the rope
stopped he had fallen with some violence upon the
sand and stones beneath. Those above could not
judge how far he had fallen, but could see that he
lay still and motionless as if stunned or hurt; and,
whilst David and Phil hurried down to his assistance,
Queenie ran off to the farmhouse to give the alarm,
and then, with more forethought than might have
been expected from her years, she had had her
pony saddled and had ridden off to Dr. Lighton’s,
so that he might be there as soon as Bertie arrived.</p>
<p class='c015'>It was impossible to gather from the little girl’s
story what the amount of the injury was likely to be,
but they were not kept long in suspense, for Phil
came galloping up in a few minutes’ time, and,
flinging himself off the pony, he rushed up to the
Squire and cried,—</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span>“He’s coming directly. Farmer Bayliss says he
doesn’t think there’s much harm done, unless he’s
broken his arm. He’s not dead, though he hasn’t
opened his eyes yet, and he doesn’t seem much
hurt.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The next moment the pony cart turned in at the
gate. David was driving, and a burly, jovial-looking
farmer was sitting beside him, holding Bertie very
tenderly in his arms.</p>
<p class='c015'>“All right, I hope, Squire!” he called out, as
soon as he saw the anxious group at the door. “He
opened his eyes just now and spoke; but he seems
dazed-like still, and not quite himself. I’m half
afeared there’s a bone broke somewhere; but, considering
the distance he fell, we must thank God
things are no worse.”</p>
<p class='c015'>He gave over his burden into the Squire’s arms,
and Bertie was carried up-stairs and laid upon his
own bed. Dr. Lighton and Mrs. Arbuthnot followed,
and a look of keen interest was on the young doctor’s
face as he noted that the child’s mother was
beside him.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was not entirely unconscious, but in a dazed
state that made it an effort to open his eyes or to
rouse himself to a sense of his surroundings.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>“Let him see you when he opens his eyes,” said
Dr. Lighton to Mrs. Arbuthnot, and he signed to
the Squire to keep in the background.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie heaved a sigh, like a child just awaking
from sleep. The long eyelashes began to tremble
upon the white cheek.</p>
<p class='c015'>Dr. Lighton himself drew back then to where he
could not be seen.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Speak to him,” he said to the mother, in low
tones.</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Arbuthnot bent over her child.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Ronald?” she said; “my little Ronald!”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child’s eyes flashed open in an instant and
fastened upon her face. A curious struggle seemed
to go on within him. His great dilated eyes were
full of an intense bewilderment and wonder. A sort
of light seemed breaking in upon him, scattering
shadows and dazzling him with its sudden vivid
brightness. It was some seconds before he seemed
able to speak, and then the word that passed his lips
came almost like a cry, hoarse and choked, yet full
of bewildered joy.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Mother! Mother!”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XXII.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>THE NAME FOUND.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-w.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
WHEN Bertie found himself clasped in
his mother’s arms, and felt her warm
tears upon his face, and heard her soft
voice whispering tender, caressing
words in his ear, he felt as if he had just awoke from
a long bewildering dream, and such was the confusion
of his mind that he clung to her more in terror than in
joy; and his agitation was promptly checked by Dr.
Lighton, who administered a soothing draught, which
sent the child off into a sound sleep long before he
had unravelled the tangle of his own ideas. This
gave other people time to consider what steps had
better be taken for the preservation of needful repose
of body and mind after the double shock.</p>
<p class='c015'>The child had been a good deal bruised and shaken
<span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>by the fall, and his right arm was severely sprained,
although not broken, as the good farmer had believed,
Dr. Lighton attended to these injuries without rousing
him from the torpid condition induced by opiates,
and left with the injunction that he was to be kept
perfectly quiet in a darkened room, and not encouraged
to talk, or to do anything, in fact, but sleep.</p>
<p class='c015'>And by a little dexterous management on the
part of those about him, this health-restoring sleep
was made to extend for more than four-and-twenty
hours. When the child roused up, a little food was
given to him by Mrs. Pritchard, nothing that could
excite him was spoken, no face that might perplex
him showed itself, and he dropped back into slumber
almost at once.</p>
<p class='c015'>But upon the evening of the day following the
accident, Bertie woke up, his mind quite clear, and
his brain alive with all sorts of new ideas and impressions.
Mrs. Pritchard was sitting at work beside
him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Where is papa?” he asked.</p>
<p class='c015'>The good woman looked up at the sound of his
voice and approached the bedside. She saw that
the little boy’s eyes were open and that he looked
calm and collected.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>“The Squire is at his dinner; do you want to
see him?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, please,” answered Bertie whose eyes were
very bright and shone with a strange sort of exultation.
“I have something very particular I want
to tell him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The message did not take long to deliver to the
Squire, and in a very few moments he was standing
at the child’s bedside.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Papa,” said Bertie, taking one of the strong
man’s hands in his and holding it tightly, “I am
going to be always your little Bertie; but my real
name is Ronald Damer, and my mother’s name is
Winifred Damer, and we have a house in London,
No. 10 Grantham Square. When grandpapa died
we went away to France; but I think it is mother’s
house still, and perhaps she is there now. If you
write, I am sure she will get the letter. Somebody
there will know where she is.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie (as we must go on calling him now) said
all this very distinctly, holding fast by the Squire’s
hand and gazing up at him with very bright eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What has made you remember all this, my
child?” was the quiet question.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It was a dream,” answered Bertie, promptly.
<span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span>“Mother came and kissed me and called me her
little Ronald, and then I remembered. Please do
you think she could come soon if you telegraphed to
her? She is such a dear, sweet mother, and she
thinks she has no little boy left now.”</p>
<p class='c015'>He seemed inclined to grow excited again. The
Squire laid a firm, cool hand upon his hot brow.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You must keep still and be patient, Bertie, and I
will do what I can to bring your mother to you.
Will you promise me to be very quiet and good
whilst I go and see what I can do?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie folded his hands together with an air of
quiet determination.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I will try to be good, papa,” he answered, with a
confiding smile. “Come back very soon and tell me
what you have done.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The child lay back on his pillows after the Squire
had gone, and kept his promise literally so far as his
body was concerned, but his mind could not be controlled
in the same fashion. Strange thoughts and
memories were chasing each other through his brain
in so bewildering a phantasmagoria, that at last he
could only press his hand over his eyes, as if to shut
out the images that crowded themselves before his
mental vision, and wait with a beating heart and a
<span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span>sense of expectancy that he could not in the least
have explained for something, he knew not what,
that he was certain was about to happen.</p>
<p class='c015'>He heard steps approaching the door, the firm
footfall of the Squire, and another tread much more
light, accompanied by the rustle of a dress—but the
sort of rustle that no garments Mrs. Pritchard ever
wore could possible make.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s heart beat faster and faster; there was a
strange singing in his ears, as if water were surging
round him. He pressed his hand more tightly over
his eyes. It almost seemed as if he were afraid to
look up, or to see who was approaching, and yet in
his heart of hearts he knew.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Ronald!” said a very sweet and gentle voice.</p>
<p class='c015'>And then all the clouds seemed suddenly to roll
away and the confusion to melt away like summer
snow. The child looked up with a glad, sweet smile
and said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“Mother dear, you have come at last. I knew you
must be coming.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The mother bent and kissed her child, as she had
done so many times whilst he had lain asleep. He
seemed to know it now.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You used to kiss me like that in my dreams,” he
<span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span>said. “I did not want to wake because the dreams
were so nice.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire was about to withdraw and leave them
together, but Bertie saw the movement, and noted,
too, the expression on the face he loved so well.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Papa,” he said, holding out his hand,—“papa,
don’t go, please. We both want you. Nothing is
quite right without you now; and I know mother
will always let me be your little boy too.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Mother,” said Bertie, later on, in one of those
little confidences that they held from time to time
during the days of his convalescence, “I’ve learned
now what you used to tell me so often—about God’s
taking care of us always. I used not to care about
it much till I lost you and was so lonely. I thought
He’d forgotten me then; but I’m sure now He
hadn’t. He didn’t forget you either, did He, mother
dear?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“No indeed,” answered Mrs. Arbuthnot, gently.
“He has been very, very good to me. Once He
seemed to take away all that made my life glad; but
He has restored it all fourfold now.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s face expressed a vivid interest and animation.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I think He’s always very good to people when
<span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>they’re lonely. You see He gave me to the Squire
when I had nobody to love, and it was like having a
home of my own then, and a father too. And when
you had nobody He sent Uncle Fred to you. You
are quite happy now, aren’t you, mother dear?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, my little boy, I am very happy indeed.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie got fast hold of her hand and held it very
tight. His eyes were fixed very intently on her face.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Mother,” he said, “you are going to live quite
close to the Squire now, aren’t you?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, dear; we are living there already, and very
soon we shall have the house quite to ourselves.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“And where shall I live then? here or in Uncle
Fred’s house?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Mrs. Arbuthnot had been expecting this question
for some days, and was quite prepared to meet it.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You will have two homes then, my child. Which
do you think you would like to spend most of your
time in?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s eyes sought her face with great intentness.
He took the hand he held and carried it to his lips.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Mother dear,” he answered after a short silence,
“you have Uncle Fred now, and the Squire has
nobody but me. I shall see you every day. It
will be almost the same, you know—”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span>The child broke off suddenly, looking wistfully at
his mother.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You know I love you just the same,” he said,
simply; “but the Squire is so lonely, and he has
been so very good to me. They have all died and
left him alone, and he says I have been like one of
them—the child of his old age—I don’t know how
to go away and leave him.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s lip quivered, and the tears stood in Mrs.
Arbuthnot’s eyes, as she stooped to kiss him.</p>
<p class='c015'>“My dear little boy,” she said, very tenderly, “I
think you and I both feel alike about this. I did
not tell you what Uncle Fred and I have said,
because I wanted to learn your own feelings first.
We do not want you to do anything to darken the
life of one who has been like a father to you when
you were so sadly in need of love and care. My
darling, we think that your place is still here with
the Squire, if you are content to stay. We shall see
you every day; you will always be our little boy too.
You will have two homes instead of one, and loving
parents in both. But, as you say yourself, I have
Uncle Fred to take care of me now, and be my companion
always, whilst he has nobody but his little
Bertie.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span>Bertie kissed his mother’s hand again, and looked
at her with loving eyes.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You always understand, mother dear. Some day
I will tell you all about things—about the Squire, I
mean, and how they all died,—Tom and Charley,
and Mary and Violet, and even little Donald,—and
then you will understand better still. But please may
I see him now? I think he has been looking rather
sad these last few days. He has not talked to me
quite in the same way, quite as if I belonged to him
now. I should like to see him and tell him what we
have arranged. Please may I see him all by myself?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie’s quick instincts had not deceived him.
These last few days had been rather sad ones for the
good Squire. He had been trying to resign himself
to the loss of the child, feeling that it would be
ungenerous to take advantage of the mother’s concession,
made in a moment of deep emotion, and
being of opinion that the child would himself be
unwilling to remain beneath his roof when the
mother he evidently so truly loved had a home to
offer him herself.</p>
<p class='c015'>Trouble had so far weighed upon the Squire’s
mind, that he was inclined to expect more, and to
prepare himself for adverse fortune. It seemed more
<span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span>natural to him now to lose than to gain, and he had
no real hope of keeping the child beneath his own
roof much longer. Some compromise might possibly
be made for the present; but his sense of ownership,
of fatherhood, would be gone, and the sense of
warmth and light that had slowly crept into his
lonely life would be as slowly extinguished.</p>
<p class='c015'>When he came and stood beside Bertie’s couch,—the
child was up and dressed for the first time to-day,—his
face showed some faint reflection of the
trouble of his mind, and Bertie’s quick eyes detected
it instantly.</p>
<p class='c015'>The little boy got up and pushed him gently
towards Mrs. Pritchard’s great easy chair that stood
beside the fire. It was May, but the cold east winds
were blowing, and made fires very pleasant companions,
especially when the light began to wane in
the sky and the dusk crept into the corners of the
room, as it was doing now.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You are better to-day, Bertie,” said the Squire,
kindly. “Rather shaky on your legs still, eh?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“A little,” answered Bertie, laughing. “I feel
rather funny when I walk; and my arm is very stiff.
Take me on your knee, please, papa; I want to
talk to you.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_317'>317</span>The Squire lifted him up, and Bertie nestled
down comfortably in his accustomed resting-place,
drawing a long breath of satisfaction.</p>
<p class='c015'>“That is just nice!” he said.</p>
<p class='c015'>“What is nice?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Why, to know that I shall be your little boy
always now, and that nobody can ever want to take
me away so long as you want me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire held the child a little more closely in
his arms, but his voice was quite steady as he said,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“What makes you speak so, Bertie?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I have been talking to mother,” answered the
little boy. “We have arranged it all. I am to go
on living with you,—if you want me.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie felt a sort of tremor run through the Squire’s
strong frame, but his voice was as quiet and composed
as ever.</p>
<p class='c015'>“But what do you say yourself, Bertie? You
have found your mother now. Do you not wish to
go to her? You love her very much, I can see.
Would you not rather belong to her than stay here
to be my little boy?”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie raised his face a little, so that he could look
at the Squire. His eyes were full of gravity and a
certain fixity of purpose.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_318'>318</span>“I want to stay with you,” he answered, slowly
and steadily. “I do love mother very, very much;
but I shall see her every day. She has Uncle Fred
now; it is not quite as it used to be when she and
I were alone together. She is not lonely now, she
is very happy. I am going to be your little boy,
and stay with you.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire bent his head and touched the child’s
forehead with his lips.</p>
<p class='c015'>“You are sure this is your own wish?—you will
be content to stay with me?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Oh yes,” answered Bertie, quickly; and then,
stealing his uninjured arm about the Squire’s neck,
he added, with the quaint simplicity that seemed to
belong to him, “I feel as if you and I just understood
one another. I think we must have been meant for one
another when I got washed up here and you adopted
me. I don’t think anybody understands you as I do.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire smiled at these words, yet a suspicious
moisture stood upon his eyelashes, as he once more
kissed the child in his quiet fashion.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Yes, my little boy, I think you and I understand
one another; and if God has given us to each other,
we will try to show our gratitude to Him by loving
Him more and more all our lives.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_319'>319</span>“I should like that,” answered Bertie, reverently;
“because you know it was so kind of Him not to
forget me that time when I was quite alone.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And so, without any more discussion, the matter
was settled, and little Ronald Damer was known to
be still the Squire’s adopted son, notwithstanding
that his mother and her husband were living within
a stone’s throw of the Manor House, and that the
child was as much at home in one house as in the
other. He was still called by the name the Squire
had found for him when his own had been buried in
oblivion, and it seemed as if he would be always
Bertie to those who had known him when he had
had no other.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie and Phil came to say good-bye before
they left their home.</p>
<p class='c015'>They had been constant in their inquiries after
their little friend and companion; but Dr. Lighton
had wished Bertie to be kept quiet for quite a long
time, and they had not been allowed to see him.</p>
<p class='c015'>He had been a good deal shaken by his fall, and
did not get strong as fast as some children would have
done; so that it was not until Sir Walter Arbuthnot
and his family were just on the eve of departure that
Bertie was allowed to see Queenie and Phil.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_320'>320</span>Phil was as merry and gay as ever, although his
bright face grew grave for a few minutes whilst he
thanked Bertie in boyish fashion for having saved his
life on the cliffs that day; but Queenie was more
quiet and less imperious in her speech than was at
all usual, and Bertie, observing this, wondered what
was the matter, and if she were sorry about going
away.</p>
<p class='c015'>“It is not that exactly,” answered the little girl,
when questioned. “I think it is because I have
something on my mind.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Have you? What sort of thing?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Something I want to say, only it isn’t very easy,”
and Queenie got rather red, for she was a proud little
maiden, and found it rather hard to own herself in
the wrong. “I called you a coward, Bertie; I think
I called you so a great many times. I want to tell
you I’m sorry. I know now that you were just as
brave as Phil or any of the boys, and I want you to
say you forgive me for being so cross.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie was quite taken aback, and blushed as red
as Queenie.</p>
<p class='c015'>“Please don’t talk so. I was a coward about the
boat; and I’ve forgotten all about the rest. You
have always been very kind to me, Queenie. You
<span class='pageno' id='Page_321'>321</span>know you made friends with me when I had nobody
else.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie began to laugh now; she had got a weight
off her mind, and was her merry self again.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I was often very cross,” she said. “I sometimes
think I must have a very hasty temper. I do get so
cross if I have to do what I don’t like. You don’t
ever get cross, do you?”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I feel cross sometimes,” answered Bertie, truthfully;
“but you know, I like to do what the Squire
tells me; I like to keep his rules.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“I know you do,” answered Queenie, quickly.
“You are obedient. Nurse often tells me so; but I
like doing as <i>I</i> like, not as other people say.” She
sighed a little impatiently, and then added, half reluctantly,
“Sometimes I think I should like to be
obedient too; only it seems so tiresome.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“You would like it if you once began,” said Bertie,
quickly. “It’s nice to please people when we love
them.”</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie sighed again.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I like pleasing Uncle Fred and Aunt Winifred;
they are very nice and kind. When I come to stay
with them I shall try very hard to be good. Perhaps,
if I find it answers, I’ll try always.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_322'>322</span>“Do,” answered Bertie. “I think you will be happier
if you do.”</p>
<p class='c015'>“Phil has been more obedient since he went to
school,” said Queenie, reflectively; “and he is always
happy. Perhaps I’ll try.”</p>
<p class='c015'>And then they bade Bertie an affectionate farewell,
and made him promise to come very often to see
them whenever they came to stay with Uncle Fred.</p>
<p class='c015'>And so there were changes in that little circle.
Sir Walter Arbuthnot gave place to his brother, and
a very close bond of union existed between the two
households in the adjoining houses, the golden link
that joined them together being no other than little
Bertie, the child who had once been so lonely and
homeless, without even a name to call his own.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<div class='chapter'>
<span class='pageno' id='Page_323'>323</span>
<h2 class='c009'>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> <br /><span class='c013'>CONCLUSION.</span></h2>
</div>
<div class='c014'>
<img class='drop-capi' src='images/di-f.jpg' width='100' alt='' />
</div><p class='drop-capi1_1'>
FOUR years have come and gone, four
very bright and happy years; and the
good people of Arlingham are wont to
say that things have never gone so well
with them, that times have never seemed so smooth
and prosperous, since the Squire’s sweet lady and
her children lived at the Manor House and made the
place bright and homelike with their presence.</p>
<p class='c015'>Several minor changes have now taken place since
Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot came to take possession of
their house. Two little mites of children play now
in the nurseries where Queenie once ruled supreme;
and Bertie is never tired of watching the gambols and
the antics of his tiny brother and sister, and, as he
recounts to the Squire every detail of their wonderful
<span class='pageno' id='Page_324'>324</span>performances, it is quite evident that he considers
them the most remarkable children that ever lived.</p>
<p class='c015'>When little Frank first began to try to “walk on
his hind legs,” as the elder brother phrased it, Bertie’s
admiration knew no bounds; and now that Winnie is
beginning the same interesting process, his pride and
delight in her is intense, and it is a pretty sight to see
the boy out in the garden with the two little ones,
carrying them about in his strong arms, and playing
with them with a patience and good temper that never
seems exhausted.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie is still the Squire’s boy, and has never
wavered in his allegiance to his adopted father. He
follows him about like his shadow, is his companion
on his every expedition, and no father and son could
ever have been more deeply attached than is this
elderly man to the son of his adoption, who now
wears his name and is acknowledged as his heir.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie is growing a tall, strong lad now, and has
quite shaken off the childish delicacy that had given
some anxiety at first. His open-air life has done
wonders for him, and he is as active and agile as any
of the boys who have in old days climbed the trees
he climbs now, or jumped the hedges and ditches that
intersect the fields round his home.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_325'>325</span>Yet with all this new strength and health, Bertie
has never lost the reflective and thoughtful cast of
mind that characterized him as a child, and his
manner is always quiet and gentle, and marked,
when he and the Squire are alone together, with a
peculiar affection and respect.</p>
<p class='c015'>The tie that binds those two together is very close
and strong. It would be hard, perhaps, to define its
nature; but it had bound together two lonely hearts
in the days when each had been so desolate and
isolated; and as time passed on, and they grew
more and more to each other, the cord of love
seemed to wind more closely and firmly about each
heart.</p>
<p class='c015'>And Bertie’s mother rejoices to see that it is so.
No jealousy has power to disturb her sweet and noble
nature; nor, indeed, has she any cause to cherish it,
for her boy is loyal and true and loving towards her
always, and she knows by sweet experience that one
great love does not cast out another, but rather increases
the capacity for loving within the heart that
holds the two.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie is her boy, too, as well as the Squire’s; and
when love is the law of households there is no clashing
of interests and no divided duty. The Squire
<span class='pageno' id='Page_326'>326</span>walks into Uncle Fred’s study as freely as if it were
his own, or puts his head into Mrs. Arbuthnot’s
morning-room to nod “Good-morning,” or strays up
into the nursery to play with the babies, just as if
the house were his own; whilst Bertie’s mother is
as much at home in the Manor House as in her own
domain, and is Mrs. Pritchard’s general referee for
any little matter about which she feels any doubt.</p>
<p class='c015'>If the Squire grew old in a single week of his life
now nearly twenty years ago, it has certainly seemed
to the good people of Arlingham that he has grown
younger and more hale and hearty during the later
portion of that time.</p>
<p class='c015'>“He’s been a new man since Master Bertie came,”
is a common saying in the village; and certainly
they ought to know, since he has been born and
grown old amongst them.</p>
<p class='c015'>Certainly the grey-headed yet upright and vigorous
man so often to be seen riding through the
village with his son at his side, visiting those houses
he once thought never to enter again, and playing
in the garden with Mrs. Arbuthnot’s pretty curly-headed
babies, is strangely different from the heavy-browed,
bowed-down Squire of five years ago; and
the many tenants and servants who have loved him
<span class='pageno' id='Page_327'>327</span>and served him for so many years rejoice at the
change in one who has always been to them a true
friend as well as a just and watchful master.</p>
<p class='c015'>David has been promoted to the post of the
“young Squire’s groom.” For Bertie is often called
that now, and accepts a position he understands the
Squire wishes him to occupy with the ready willingness
and obedience that has characterized his conduct
throughout. David may be his groom, but he is
also his friend; for Bertie is tenacious of first impressions,
and never forgets that he owes to David
the first gleam of real happiness that seemed to gild
his once lonely lot.</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie has quite a circle of friends now, and he
studies regularly with his pastor, who takes pupils
from several of the houses round about; but he is
still quite as fond of a quiet chat with David by the
sea-shore, where they talk over old times together,
and lay plans for the future. A good many boyish
yet very earnest resolves are exchanged between
those two at such times, and they both find it helpful
to talk together of their faults and failures as well
as of their aspirations and hopes. They do not
kneel down at the turn of the tide to ask God’s
special blessing, or to call themselves to His remembrance,
<span class='pageno' id='Page_328'>328</span>for they know well now that He is always
watching over them, and that to Him all times and
seasons are alike; yet they often think of those days
when they were struggling out of the darkness into
the light, and I think nothing would ever make either
of these two lads ashamed to say his prayers.</p>
<p class='c015'>Queenie and Phil came every year to spend a
pleasant visit with Uncle Fred and Aunt Winifred;
and the little girl often remains for many weeks after
her brother returns to school; for there is something
in the atmosphere of her aunt’s house which, as she
expresses it, “does her good,” and she is always very
reluctant to leave.</p>
<p class='c015'>She and Bertie are great friends, even if they are
a little less outspoken than in old days. Now and
then she tells him, in moments of unusual confidence,
that she is trying to be more obedient, and does not
find it quite so tiresome as she expected. She has
learned, too, to believe in Bertie’s courage and high
principles, and she has a warm and increasing admiration
for him, and ranks him in her heart as her
favorite next to Phil, and in some ways more of a
hero, for Phil’s unbounded flow of spirits hinders
him from posing in any way that could well be called
heroic.</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_329'>329</span>I think it will be easy for anybody to believe that
Bertie’s life is a very happy one. Of course he has
his little trials and troubles and ups and downs, as
we all have, and without which we should be sadly
disposed to get careless and puffed up. He does not
expect to be exempt from these, and he tries to bear
them bravely and cheerfully. He is very grateful
and happy in his life, and thinks that he is the most
fortunate boy in the world.</p>
<p class='c015'>But, in spite of all this happiness, he has his moments
of sadness, moments when there comes over
him a sense that all things here fade and change, and
that life will not always flow for him quite in this
smooth channel. Such thoughts come over him not
unfrequently, and with no little significance. For
Sunday by Sunday he now stands for a few solemn
moments bareheaded by a quiet grave beneath the
yew tree, where the Squire has stood every Sunday
of his life ever since his dear ones lay below the sod;
and sometimes the lad will feel the pressure of a
hand upon his shoulder, and will hear a familiar
voice say, dreamily,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“When I am lying with them, my boy, at rest
after life’s long battle, you will not forget me, will
you?—nor the traditions of the old place that will
<span class='pageno' id='Page_330'>330</span>be yours after me? You will be a kind and a just
master, and keep up the honor of the old name?
You will not forget the widow or the fatherless
children, nor suffer the aged to want for daily bread?
You will do as those before you have done, and
more if the way opens before you? You will try to
be a credit to a name that I love and respect for the
sake of those who have borne it before me? When
you are Squire of Arlingham, Bertie, you will try to
be a good one?”</p>
<p class='c015'>It is hard for Bertie to answer questions like these, yet
he looks up, after a struggle with himself, and says,—</p>
<p class='c015'>“I will try, father, I will try my very best; but I
cannot bear to think of it. It is so hard to think of
being left alone again.”</p>
<p class='c015'>The Squire with his quiet smile points to the words
upon the marble slab.</p>
<p class='c015'>“My boy, when you lay me to rest beneath that
stone, you must learn, as I too had to learn, to say
from your heart of hearts, ‘Thy will be done.’”</p>
<p class='c015'>Bertie lifts his eyes, and although tears are in them
their expression is resolute and brave.</p>
<p class='c015'>“I will try, father, I will try. I will think of you
and your courage and resignation when you were left
all alone.”</p>
<p class='c015'><span class='pageno' id='Page_331'>331</span>“Not quite alone, my boy, not quite alone,” answers
the Squire, laying his hand upon the lad’s head
in a sort of benediction. “We have both learned by
personal experience that there is One who never
leaves us quite alone. In the fatherly care of that
One I can leave you when the time comes without
one doubt or one fear. Only be strong and of a
good courage—He will never fail thee nor forsake
thee.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c008' />
</div>
<p class='c015'> </p>
<div class='tnbox'>
<ul class='ul_1 c008'>
<li>Transcriber’s Notes:
<ul class='ul_2'>
<li>Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
</li>
<li>Typographical errors were silently corrected.
</li>
<li>Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant
form was found in this book.
</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<p class='c015'> </p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 70089 ***</div>
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