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"Where have you been, Tom?" exclaimed Elsie.
Tea was nearly over, and Mrs. Winn had gone back to the work-room, so she did not see Tom as he came home. But the bruises and scratches could not be washed off with water; and the jacket was sadly dilapidated.
"Look at you's jacket," said Bobbie to his brother.
Tom turned the sleeve round, and Elsie looked at it too. "Oh, Tom! It is too bad of you to go and tear your clothes like that," she said.
She felt almost ready to cry; for Tom's jacket would take an hour to mend at least, and she would have no time to read the book a friend had lent her. She only had a little while after the children had gone to bed, for her mother insisted upon going herself in good time, and so the mending of this jacket would occupy all her spare time this evening.
She grumbled a good bit about this, and Tom turned sulky over being grumbled at by a girl, and would not say where he had been, except that he went home with one of the other boys to see his rabbits.
Mrs. Winn was vexed, and Elsie cross; but Tom went off to bed without saying where he had been. And he took care to go to school the next day without any fuss. Elsie had mended his jacket very neatly, and he felt half ashamed this morning that he had given her so much trouble; but all he said to show it, was to tell Bobbie that he would come straight home from school and play with him.
During the last few weeks, Tom had often come home from school very late, and Elsie felt sure he must often have been late for the scholarship class. But her mother had not noticed this, for she was so very busy with her dressmaking at Christmas time, and Elsie had not told her, because she did not wish to add to her worry, and also because she hoped that after Christmas Tom would turn over a new leaf, and come home at meal times more regularly.
And she ventured to say as much to him, now that she had had to mend his jacket, and before he could wear it again.
"Oh, all right," said Tom. "Don't you worry your curly head over me; I can take care of myself," said Tom, carelessly.
"It don't look much like it to see your face," said Elsie. "And I think you ought to consider mother, as well as taking care of yourself; and you seem to forget everything but running the streets with that hateful Jack Bond. Mother was cross last night when she came down, soon after tea, and found you had not come in, for she wanted you to go to the shops for her."
"Oh, well, you went instead, and the run did you good," said Tom, as he went off whistling, yet somehow feeling uncomfortable about what his sister had said as to considering his mother.
"I must turn over a new leaf," said Tom, little dreaming what a painful turning over it was to be. He had promised Elsie he would do this after Christmas, and had thought no more about the matter, and he went off now trying to forget it.
Poor, foolish Tom! It was not difficult to forget all his promises to Elsie, about turning over a new leaf by-and-bye. He little guessed that it would soon be uncertain whether he would ever again have the opportunity of turning over a new leaf. There seemed plenty of time now, and Tom quite intended to be a good boy, and help his mother and sister by-and-bye.
That thief of time and present opportunity, "by-and-bye," so easily persuaded the foolish boy that he need not think of these things just yet. That he could forget them, and enjoy himself, and leave the future to take care of itself, without thinking of other people, and their claims upon him.
TOM'S ILLNESS.
A FEW days after the incident of the torn jacket, Tom woke one morning feeling heavy and drowsy, and when he got downstairs, he complained of having a headache and sore throat. He could not eat his breakfast, and his mother told him he had better go back to bed again, as he had evidently caught a severe cold.
"You have got your feet wet, I expect, and not changed your boots as soon as you came home," said Mrs. Winn, "although I have often heard Elsie tell you to do it."
There had been a long continuance of wet weather, and Bobbie and baby had both been poorly from colds and coughs, and so Mrs. Winn was not in the least alarmed about Tom.
He was asleep at dinner time when his mother went to his room to see what he would have, but soon after she went back to her work, he called to Elsie to bring him some water.
"I am so thirsty," he said, when his sister took him some drink.
"How is your head now, Tom?" she asked, for she was very fond of her brother, although he did give her so much trouble sometimes.
"Feels like a pumpkin," said the boy as he nestled down in the pillow again.
"Shall I make you a cup of tea presently?" said Elsie. "Perhaps that will do you good."
"Perhaps it will," murmured the boy, in a sleepy tone, as he turned his head from the light.
Elsie generally took her mother a cup of tea to the work-room, about three o'clock, and when she had done this, she poured out a cup for Tom, and cut a thin slice of bread and butter, and took both up to him. He was asleep, but tossing his arms about restlessly, and rolling his head on the pillow, and moaning so dolefully, that as soon as he had drank the tea, Elsie went off in a fright to tell her mother that she thought Tom must be very ill.
"It is a feverish cold he has got, and he may have to lie in bed two or three days," said Mrs. Winn, who was not alarmed at trifles, and had often seen Tom suffering from a chill.
She was too busy to go and see Tom again at once, but at tea time, she took him a cup of tea and another slice of thin bread and butter.
Tom was moaning restlessly in his sleep.
"Tom, dear, wake up and have your tea," said his mother, laying her hand on his forehead to rouse him.
Tom opened his eyes, and seized eagerly upon the tea to drink, but he did not want anything to eat, and was soon as drowsy as ever.
Mrs. Winn went back to the work-room after she had had her own tea, feeling vaguely uneasy about Tom. It might be only a feverish cold, she argued with herself, but she wished he did not roll his head so much when he was asleep, for she began to fear that it might mean a more serious illness than a simple cold. If she did not have to practice such strict economy, she would have sent for a doctor at once; but doctors' bills were a terror to her, and she sent Elsie to the chemist's for some medicine, which she gave him in the course of the evening, hoping he would be a good deal better in the morning.
The medicine certainly seemed to relieve his head, after he had taken it a few hours, but instead of being able to get up the next morning, as his mother had hoped, Tom was most unmistakably very ill when she went to see him, and she decided to send for the doctor without further delay.
So when Jane Holmes came at nine o'clock, Mrs. Winn asked her to go and fetch Dr. Weston to see Tom as soon as he possibly could. And when she came back, she sent her to the work-room, to wait there until after the doctor had been.
Poor woman! She did not tell even Elsie what she feared was ailing Tom. She could only hope that the doctor would say she was quite mistaken, and that the symptoms were only those of a feverish cold.
But her heart almost died within her when the doctor, after examining Tom, turned to her and said, "Where has he been, Mrs. Winn?"
"He goes to school, doctor," she said in a faint voice.
"Has he been playing in Sadler Street? Do any of his friends or school-fellows live in that street?" asked the doctor.
"He has no business to go near the street, but I cannot say that he has not, for he has been rather late coming home from school lately."
"The reason I asked was this, they have scarlet fever in that neighbourhood rather badly just now, and this looks like another case, and I have heard of no other at this end of the town."
"Oh, sir!" was all the poor woman could utter for a minute or two. For scarlet fever would mean the ruin of her business, and might possibly bring them all to beggary before it had run its course.
The doctor understood the exclamation, and the look of dismay in the widow's face as she turned to look at Tom.
"I am very sorry, Mrs. Winn, but I am afraid there is very little doubt that he has taken the disease from somebody. Now the question is, what are you to do about your work?"
For the doctor knew all about the dressmaking, and had recommended her to his wife.
"I must send and let the people know, of course," said the poor woman.
And then she burst into tears, for this would mean that she could not earn a penny for weeks, or possibly even months.
"Yes, the work you have in the house must be sent back at once," said the doctor; "but I should like you to find out, if you could, where he has been lately, for I have not heard of any other case of scarlet fever in this neighbourhood; and I think, if you are careful to follow my directions, we may keep it from spreading further; or would you like him sent to the hospital?" suddenly added the doctor.
"Oh, no, no! I must nurse him myself, and trust in God to provide for us afterwards," said Mrs. Winn, with another sob, and then she forced back her tears, and gave all her attention to the doctor's directions for isolating Tom from the rest, and what she was to do before she went to the work-room to send back the work she had in the house by Jane Holmes.
Tom's head was aching, and he still felt sleepy, but he could understand enough of what had been said by the doctor to know that in his folly and wilfulness, he had brought a great calamity upon his mother and sister. And he had promised his father a few days before he died, that he would do all he could to help them, and this was how he had fulfilled his promise.
He did not say a word to his mother, for as soon as the doctor had gone, she went to change her dress, that she might send the work back, and tell Jane Holmes that there would be nothing for her to do until Tom got better. But while his mother was away, Tom tried to control his thoughts that he might be able to tell her that he had been with Jack Bond to Sadler Street several times lately, although Mr. Potter had told them at the scholarship class to avoid going there, as he had heard that there were cases of scarlet fever in that neighbourhood.
But the very effort to think this out, so as to be able to tell his mother all about it, seemed to make his head ache and throb worse than ever, so that by the time she came back, he could only utter a wild cry of "Mother! Mother!" And then he muttered something about a man driving nails in his head, when he meant to say that he went to see Jack make a new hutch for his rabbits.
Mrs. Winn did what she could to soothe Tom's restlessness. But it soon became evident that he was growing rapidly worse, for during the afternoon, he became quite delirious, and the doctor had to be sent for again.
"What does he mean about the nails in his head making rabbit hutches?" asked the doctor, after listening to Tom's wild talk. "Has he been making a rabbit hutch lately, that it should seem to trouble him so much?"
"No; he has no rabbits to make a hutch for; but all his talk has been about that."
"Yes, it seems to be troubling him a good deal, too," said the doctor; "I wish you could find out all about it, and whether he has been to Sadler Street lately."
"Yes, I will," said Mrs. Winn, for she thought if she could only discover what was the cause of Tom's evident distress, she might be the better able to comfort him and relieve it.
So as soon as the doctor had gone she changed her dress, washed her face and hands in disinfectant, that she might not carry the disorder to anyone else, and then went to the school to see the master, and learn, if possible, what had caused Tom's illness.
Mr. Potter came forward as soon as he saw who his visitor was. "You have come to see me about your son, of course, Mrs. Winn, but I really cannot take him back into the scholarship class. He is doing no good to himself in it, but simply hindering the boys who want to—" then seeing the look of wondering surprise in his visitor's face, he said, "I understood it was Mrs. Winn who wished to see me."
"Yes, I am Mrs. Winn; but I do not understand—I have come to tell you that my eon is very ill—dangerously ill, I am afraid, and the doctor thought you might be able to enlighten us as to where he has caught it, for it seems to be scarlet fever. Have you heard of any other boys in the school having it?" asked the widow.
"Yes, there have been several cases among the boys who live in Sadler Street, so that for the sake of the other scholars, and under the advice of the doctor, I have sent to all the parents of children living there to say that they must not come to school until the sickness is over."
"Then Tom could not have caught it in that way," said the widow.
"Not unless he went to Sadler Street for anything, and then he might," said the master. "You see, he was very intimate with a boy who lived there, and he may have persuaded him to go home with him for something. I believe he went there to help him to make a rabbit hutch when he played truant from the class, for I have heard from another lad who met him that he was on his way here in the company of Bond, but he never appeared, and that was what decided me to take the step I did, and tell him that he could not come to the class again."
"When was he told that?" asked the widow, with a sigh. For this was a trouble she had not expected, and it did but increase her anxiety concerning Tom.
"I told him myself the last day he was at school. He was not here yesterday all day."
"No; he was taken ill yesterday morning, and could not get up. You think he may have gone to this Sadler Street?" she added.
"I think it is very possible he went there, although I warned all the school not to go through that street on their way home, if they could avoid it. A few months ago I should have said that Tom would not have disobeyed that order, but lately he has given us a good deal of trouble, and it is just possible that his companion Bond persuaded him to go there in spite of all I said. If you will wait a minute, I will ask some of the boys, before they leave, if they know anything about it;" and he went at once to the room where Tom's class was preparing to go home.
Up went half a dozen hands as he had asked the question.
"Please, sir, Winn and Bond were making a rabbit hutch together in Bond's yard. Tom told me, and asked me to go and see it."
"Did you go?" asked the master.
"No, sir. You had told us to keep away from Sadler Street, unless we wanted to be ill. Bond said you had a spite against Sadler Street, and him too, and that's why you had told us not to go!"
"Very well, that will do, Wicks. Winn believed Bond, it seems, and went there with him, and he is dangerously ill his mother tells me."
Silence fell upon the class as the boys looked one at the other, but they each mentally resolved to take the master's word for the future.
He went back and told Mrs. Winn that it was no secret in the school that Tom had been building a rabbit hutch with his friend, and the probability was that he had gone there frequently, and not simply once or twice. He said what he could to comfort the poor woman, for he could see she was terribly distressed over what she had heard concerning Tom.
On her way back, she called to tell the doctor what she had heard at the school, and how, in spite of the master's warning, Tom must have gone to the forbidden street.
"Ah! And it is this disobedience that is troubling him, and causing the brain mischief. I am glad you have found this out, Mrs. Winn, but I am afraid it will make our work the harder; and he will suffer a good deal more in his head from this cause than from the fever alone, for the one will complicate the other, and he will need the most careful nursing and watching."
The widow went home sadly depressed and disheartened. She did not mind how hard she worked for her children; but to work hard as she had done, and then learn that, through her boy's wilfulness and folly, she had laboured almost in vain, was bitter indeed, and she could not help telling Elsie something of what she felt.
Poor Elsie could not bear to feel angry with her brother, now he was so ill, but she turned her wrath upon Jack Bond. "It is that wicked boy, mother, not our Tom who is to blame," protested Elsie.
"But, my dear, Tom is to blame, for he ought to have known better than to go near the street after the master had warned the boys not to do so."
She did not say a word to Elsie about the other news she had heard at the school. She could not talk of Tom's disgrace even to Elsie just now; she felt it too keenly. That her boy should be expelled from a class they had all thought it an honour that he should enter, was a very great disgrace she thought, and at least she would spare Elsie the bitterness of this knowledge if she possibly could.
She went back to the sick-room, and found Tom moaning, and tossing, and crying out about the nails in his head; and the neighbour who had come in to stay with him while she went out, told her he had continued these moanings all the time she was gone.
"I tried to make him understand that we were not putting nails into his head," said the old lady.
But Mrs. Winn knew that all such efforts were useless just now, and that Tom would have to bear as best he could the terrible punishment his own folly and disobedience had brought upon him.
Poor Tom felt as though he was far away from everybody who could help him, and that the man with the nails would drive them into his head, do what he would to get away from him, while his heart-breaking cry of "Mother! Mother!" made his mother's heart ache. For when trying to soothe him, he would roughly push her away, and throw himself to the other side of the bed.
As the days went on, poor Tom grew worse, until his mother was almost worn out with sleeplessness and nursing, while Elsie downstairs was scarcely less anxious than her mother, for the isolation in which they had to live added to the distress and discomfort.
Elsie had always been very popular among her school-fellows, and the circumstances under which she had been compelled to give up her scholarship had rather added to her popularity, so that scarcely a day passed but one girl friend or the other came to see her, or bring her a book to read. But now, with the dreaded scarlet fever in the house, people were obliged to stay away, and no one but the old lady next door, who would not be kept out, ever came near them.
This was hard upon Elsie, and sometimes she thought this one or that might call and ask how Tom was getting on, for the bedroom where he lay was securely isolated from the rest of the house, lest she or the little ones should catch the infection. So that, as she reasoned, it was not likely any one would catch it standing at the street door for a minute.
But still they did not come, and Elsie, shut away from her mother and the sick-room, with no society but Bobbie and baby, found the days very long and dreary, and it was hardly surprising that she grew pale and peevish. For although she took the children out for a walk every fine day, friends were careful, if they met her, to nod, and, after asking how Tom was, hurry on as though she had got scarlet fever as well as her brother.
But for the neighbourly old lady next door, Mrs. Winn must have broken down under the strain, but she insisted upon coming to sit with Tom every afternoon, while his mother had an hour's rest, and went for ten minutes' walk in the open air. This old lady had been an hospital nurse, and insisted that some of these wise rules should be followed by the widow. And as Tom was always more quiet when she nursed him, Mrs. Winn could not but follow her advice, and was very thankful for her help.
But for her willingness to learn of one who knew more about sickness than she did, her strength would scarcely have held out, for Tom's illness was prolonged until the doctor feared that his strength would be exhausted before the rallying point was reached, and he said a word or two to Mrs. Winn, lest, if the disorder should take an unfavourable turn, it should prove too great a shock to her already over-strained nerves.
"Oh, doctor, save him!" she implored. "I know my poor boy has something on his mind he wants to tell me. Save him for this!" she added, with a burst of tears.
"You know I will do all that is possible," said the doctor; "and I hope his strength will yet hold out. We must hope for the best," he added, "and watch for the first chance he may have of being able to speak, and tell us what is troubling him."
"I am sure he wants to tell me something," said poor Mrs. Winn.
And in this, her mother's instinct was correct, for, in his delirium, Tom was trying, trying, always trying to tell his mother how sorry he was for vexing Elsie and disobeying his schoolmaster. But now, when "by-and-bye" had come, he could not speak, did not know what he wanted to say, or whether his mother was near to hear him.
Never trust the promises of "by-and-bye," boys. Seize the present moment to do your duty, whatever it may be, for fear you should never have a chance of doing it later on.
JACK BOND.
TOM grew perceptibly weaker as the days went on, but the anxiously looked-for sleep did not come so soon as it was expected. At last, however, the tired brain could hold out no longer, and, to the intense relief of his mother, he went to sleep one morning holding her hand, and when Mrs. May came in an hour later, he was still sleeping, though rather restlessly.
"I am afraid to take my hand away, for fear of disturbing him," whispered Mrs. Winn.
The old lady nodded; "sit still for a bit longer," she whispered. And she went down stairs and fetched some strong beef-tea for Mrs. Winn herself, for she could see she was growing faint from the long strain.
"Now, my dear," she said to Elsie, "you just go and bind a piece of cloth round that knocker, and keep the children as quiet as mice. We shall have Tom down stairs again as well as ever I hope."
"He is really asleep at last," said Elsie.
"Yes, my dear, he is asleep; but at present a very little noise will disturb him, and so the house and children must be kept quiet, for his life depends upon his getting a long, restful sleep. Make some more beef-tea for your mother and Tom too. I shall stay now I have come," concluded the old lady.
Elsie was tying up the knocker to muffle its sound, when a boy said, in an eager, anxious whisper, "How is he, Miss Elsie?"
Turning half round as she tied the last knot, she came face to face with Jack Bond. In a moment she darted indoors, and almost slammed the street door in his face, she was so angry at the sight of him.
But as she stood with the lock in her hand, to make sure that he did not get in, a whisper came through the keyhole, "Do, please, tell me how he is. You don't know how sorry I am, for I always liked Tom."
Then Elsie opened the door about an inch, and said, "Go away, Jack Bond. You have nearly killed our Tom; and if there is any noise to waken him now he has gone to sleep, it will kill him."
Poor Jack groaned, but moved a little way from the door. Elsie fetched baby to hold him at the parlour window for a little while; and just after she got there, she saw Jack dart down the street to where a man was calling vegetables in stentorian tones, that made her quake as she listened.
But a word from Jack brought an end to the shouting, and then she saw him point across to the house. The man nodded, left off calling his wares, and pushed his barrow quietly past the house, while Jack took up a position on the pavement to watch for other hawkers.
This touched Elsie, and quite subdued her anger. She felt sorry she had answered him so gruffly, and at last she tapped at the window, and then cautiously opened the street door, and thanked him for what he had done.
Jack looked very pleased to receive her thanks, and then he said, "I'm going to stop here and keep the street quiet for Tom. Put the baby into his go-cart, and I'll wheel him up and down for you."
But before Elsie could reply, or even make up her mind whether she ought to accept this offer, a cart dashed past making a considerable noise, because there was a patch of loose stones opposite the house, where the road had just been repaired.
Jack turned to look at the cart and the road, and Elsie murmured, "Oh, that dreadful noise! I wish they hadn't put those stones down."
"Wait a bit, Miss Elsie; I know what I'll do," he said, as he thrust his hand into his pocket, and brought out two or three pence.
He darted off down the street, and Elsie returned to the parlour window, and presently she saw him returning with a huge bundle of straw on his back. The straw was not clean, but there was a good heap when he untied it, and he scattered this over the loose stones.
By great good fortune, a mud cart came past just as he had finished, and he persuaded the man to put a little of the half-liquid slush on the straw, so as to keep it from blowing away.
Elsie, watching from the window, thought he was very clever to think of such a device, and actually went to put baby's coat and hat on, that he might go out in charge of the boy she had almost hated during the last few weeks. If any one had told her a few days ago that she would have trusted their darling to that wicked boy Jack Bond, she would have said it was impossible. But now she wheeled him out at the side gate, with her own hat on, for baby was fractious this morning, and must go out, if the house was to be kept quiet, though she was not quite sure that she ought to let him go with this stranger.
"Won't you let me wheel him up and down, Miss Elsie? I will be very careful," said Jack, pleadingly, when he saw her come out.
Elsie hesitated for a moment, but the big overgrown schoolboy looked very good-natured and very unhappy. "You see, I've waited about here before, for a chance to do something for poor Tom—just to let you know I was sorry for making him ill."
"Well, if baby will let you wheel him, and you can keep any of the organ men away, I shall be glad," said Elsie; but she was careful not to resign the handle of the perambulator until they were a little way from the house, for fear baby should scream out his displeasure at the change of nurses.
But he graciously smiled at Jack, when he replaced Elsie, and did not seem to mind being left in his care, so that she was able to run home to look after Bobbie and the house-work with a light heart.
She went about her work of washing-up, sweeping, and dusting, almost without a sound, and noticed with satisfaction how quiet the street was that morning. Every hawker's cry was hushed before the house was reached, and the carts going over the padding of straw and mud made no grating noise now to disturb Tom.
The doctor, when he came, commended Elsie for muffling the knocker. "Your brother has gone to sleep at last, I suppose, and everything will depend upon him not being disturbed," he added, for he knew that Elsie would be able to secure quiet in the house better than any one else, as she had charge of the little ones.
That anxious day passed slowly enough to the watcher; but Tom slept on, and his breathing grew more regular as the hours went on.
At dinner time, Elsie took Jack some bread and cheese, and asked him to stay and watch for the organ men. "Mother has been downstairs, and she thinks Tom looks a little better already," said Elsie, "and she told me to thank you for the straw, and what you have done for us this morning."
"I only wish I could do ever so much more. No, thank you, I am not hungry, and I can't eat all that bread and cheese. I'll just have a little bit, to save me going home, for I daresay if I went, there'd be a jolly row in the street," said Jack, with a touch of pride, as he looked round.
"The organ men would be bad for Tom now," said Elsie.
"Yes, and there'd be one at each side of the house, if I was to go away," said Jack.
As he spoke, a party of boys, on their way from school, turned into the street, in the midst of a noisy argument, that seemed to involve a good deal of shouting.
Out darted Jack from the gateway, and between coaxing and threats, he managed to quiet the disputants, much to Elsie's delight and amusement.
"I don't know what we should do without you to-day," she said, when he came back to take the bread and cheese. "If you have done us a good deal of mischief, I believe you are sorry for it now," she added frankly.
"I am, I am!" said the boy; and he drew his coat sleeve across his eyes and turned aside his head, for he would not like to let a girl see him cry, and he could not keep the tears out of his eyes just then.
Elsie turned away, leaving the side gate open, that Jack might not feel himself shut out from them entirely now. Truly he was a curious lad, she thought, and if he had led Tom into mischief, he must care for him, or he would not wait and watch with such patience to quell every harsh-sound, lest he should be disturbed.
Not until dusk, when hawkers had given up the business of the day, and organ men had shouldered their instruments and were plodding homeward, did Jack resign his self-imposed task and go home.
At six o'clock the next morning, Elsie unbolted the street door, and there stood Jack close at hand. "Them milkmen will begin their noise soon," he said, in explanation of his early visit. "How is he now, Miss Elsie?" he asked anxiously.
"Still asleep, and mother feels sure the danger is almost over," said Elsie, cheerfully.
In the course of that day, Tom opened his eyes, and recognised his mother for the first time since he had been ill.
"My boy! My darling!" she said, kissing him tenderly.
"Oh, mother!" he gasped.
"You must not try to talk, my dear. Drink this, and we will make you comfortable." And while she raised him in her arms, and gave him what the doctor had left for him to take, Mrs. May shook up his pillows, and smoothed the bed, so that he might go to sleep again comfortably.
"Have I been asleep long?" asked Tom, in a feeble whisper.
"A few hours, dear," said his mother.
"I have had dreadful dreams," said Tom, drowsily. And as he spoke, his eyes closed, and his mother placed him in a more restful position, that he might sleep again.
When the doctor saw him, he said that, with care and patience, Tom would recover now; but they would have to bear in mind that the illness had been a severe one, and they must not expect him to get well and strong very quickly.
As soon as he was able to talk, he told his mother how grieved he felt that he had brought so much trouble upon her, for if he had only obeyed his schoolmaster, and kept away from Sadler Street and Jack Bond, he would never have been ill.
"My dear, Jack Bond is as sorry as you are for what he has done," said Mrs. Winn; and then she told Tom of the kind attentions of his school-fellow.
"Poor old Jack! So he has had a bad time too," remarked Tom. "Will you let him come and see me soon, mother?" he asked.
"When you get stronger, my boy," replied Mrs. Winn, with something like a sigh, for as the days went on she found the doctor's words all too true. At first Tom seemed to get on nicely, and each day he appeared a little stronger, and then he seemed to come to a standstill.
When all danger of infection was over, he was moved into another room, and it was hoped that this change would help him; but it made little difference, for he still continued weak and languid, in spite of everything that was done for him.
As soon as the house was thoroughly disinfected, and all fear of infection was at an end, Mrs. Winn sent to her friends and customers, telling them that Tom had recovered, and she would be glad of any work they might have for her. But the days passed and not a single dress was sent, and then she learned, to her dismay, that during her enforced idleness, two others had set up in the business of dressmaking close by, and one of these knew many of the people whom she had worked for.
As weeks went on, and so little work came in, that only half her time was employed, she began to think that she had better move to another part of the town.
Then a friend suggested that, as Tom was still so very delicate, it would be better perhaps to move a little further away from London, and go where the air was fresher and purer. In a country village, the rent would be less, and they might even get a garden large enough to grow their own vegetables.
"Oh, mother, I should soon get well if we had a garden like that," said Tom, who overheard the talk.
"Yes, you always liked a garden, I know, my dear," said his mother; "but there are other things to consider besides the garden,—my work to be thought of."
"Well, now, I think there is an opening for a dressmaker in Fairfield, Mrs. Winn, and you could not fail to get on if you went there," said her friend. "Why, two years ago, when I went to my mother's funeral, I could not get a dress made in the place for love or money; and a good many gentry live round, who would be glad enough to have a dressmaker at hand."
Elsie, seeing how ill her brother looked, and hearing him talk about the delight of having a garden, also begged her mother—if they must move—to go into the country, until at last Mrs. Winn arranged to go to Fairfield, and see if there was a house to be had likely to suit her. It was not an expensive railway journey, and Tom and Elsie were so anxious to move into the country, that she thought she would at least make the trial for their sakes.
Tom had not been able to return to school, but his friend Jack often came to see him, and went with him for short walks; for Tom could not walk far, and was often glad to take Jack's arm to help him home again.
Jack had grown wonderfully gentle and tender over Tom, and bore with his impatience and fractiousness with as much patience as Elsie herself. Jack had not returned to school, although the epidemic of scarlet fever was over now; for his father, who was a carpenter, had discovered that his son was beginning to learn the use of tools, from the way he had built the rabbit hutch. And finding he had grown so much more quiet and steady the last few months, he had decided to apprentice him to his own trade as soon as he could. But he, too, thought of moving, as there was a better opening for his trade in another town, and so the two boys, as they walked, discussed the question of who would move first.
"I hope you will, Tom," said his friend one day, "for I could help you, and there are plenty to do our packing; but you would be of very little use."
"Everybody seems to think I am useless now," said Tom, peevishly.
"No, no, Tom! It's only that you have not got your strength back yet; and every time I see you, old fellow, I blame myself for persuading you to come and help me with that rabbit hutch, my father says it's a decent bit of work for two boys to turn out, but he little knows what it cost."
"It's been pretty hard on my mother," said Tom with a sigh.
"Ah, it has that, and upon your sister too. I never see her but I think what a couple of idiots we were to go against the master's orders as we did."
"But you couldn't help going to Sadler Street," said Tom, quickly.
"No, but I might have known better than persuade you that Potter had a grudge against me and the street, as I was always driving into you. It's a lesson I shall never forget, Tom—never as long as I live—and I'll take care nobody ever fills my mind with such stuff as I crammed you with; and don't you ever let anybody do it to you again. If you had looked at the thing fairly and squarely all round, you might have known that Potter wouldn't do such a thing; and I'm heartily sorry I ever said he had a spite against me and Sadler Street, for that was the beginning of all the trouble."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Tom with a yawn, for although they had not walked far, he was too tired to talk, and was glad to lean his weight on Jack's arm, and return home to lie on the sofa and rest. During this resting, he had ample time to think over his folly. It was all very well for Jack to say he was most to blame, but Tom recalled, with bitterness, his broken promises to Elsie to turn over a new leaf, and how he had deliberately tried to forget it, that he might join in Jack's foolish fun.
Jack had a sister, it is true, but she was not like Elsie; and, besides, Jack had a father, and there was little need for him, perhaps, to stick to his lessons. But his neglect had well-nigh ruined his mother he knew. Bitter reflections these were, but Tom had no others just now.
CHANGES.
MRS. WINN was very well satisfied with all she saw at Fairfield. It was early spring, and everything was looking its best. It seemed a cosy little village. There were one or two shops, a tiny church, and village schools. She had little time to see more than this, for, of course, as the general appearance of the place pleased her, she went in search of a house, and was directed at the general shop where to find a vacant cottage that the man thought might suit her.
She found it was rather larger than most of those in the village, but it was a regular country cottage. It had five rooms, and a large garden at the back. There was a pretty little porch over the front door, and a tiny flower garden separating it from the road.
It had not been occupied for some time, and the garden, back and front, were weed-grown, and the house itself needed some repairs.
And after looking at it, she returned the key to the grocer, and then learned that he owned the cottage, and was not merely the agent as she supposed, and she found that he was willing to put the house into thorough repair, when he learned that Mrs. Winn wanted it for herself. The rent he asked was so much less than what she had ever paid before, that she could only wonder that it had stood empty a month instead of nearly a year.
The landlord agreed to have everything ready for them to come in by the end of March, and promised to have the garden dug and got ready for Tom to put in some vegetables.
So Mrs. Winn returned home with renewed hope, and a glowing account of the pretty cottage she had taken; and described the garden with its apple tree and currant bushes, until Tom and Elsie were almost wild with delight at the anticipation of living in the country.
Fortunately for Mrs. Winn, houses were in demand just now in this London suburb, and so the card bearing the announcement, "This house to let—" had not been in the window many hours before someone called to see the house. And in less than a week, the business was settled, and she was free to make arrangements for moving.
To the children, the whole business was a pleasure and novelty. And although Tom soon grew too tired to be of much service in the actual work, Jack Bond came to do his share, and was so strong and willing that nothing came amiss to him. He took up carpets and beat them; took down curtains and blinds and pictures, and helped to pack them. In fact he was so handy in getting the furniture ready for the railway men to fetch, that Mrs. Winn was spared a good many small expenses she must otherwise have incurred, and the whole business was a sort of indoor picnic to the young folks, who had never before known the bustle and excitement of a move.
Of course, to Mrs. Winn, who had spent a good many happy years in this house, there was pain as well as pleasure in the removal, but there was so much to done, and so little time to do it in, that there was no leisure for fretting, even if she had had the disposition to indulge in it.
To friends and neighbours, it seemed that the move was very sudden, and they wondered why Mrs. Winn should be in such a hurry to get away from the neighbourhood, for they thought she might have sent Tom to the seaside to recruit his health, and waited a little longer for work to come in. But the fact was, as one or two of her more intimate friends guessed, she had spent nearly all the little stock of money she had when her husband died, and if she had waited longer, she might not have had the means to move at all.
Everybody felt sorry for the Winns, and their hasty move gave rise to all sorts of surmises; and some even whispered that they might have got into debt during Tom's long illness, and it was because she could not pay her creditors that Mrs. Winn was going away.
Fortunately for her peace of mind, the widow knew nothing of these surmises, and she and her family went away in blissful ignorance that anyone supposed they had done a strange thing in going.
The cottage looked very charming the bright spring day when Tom and Elsie first saw it. They went into raptures over the woodbine-covered porch, and there never was such a garden and apple tree as the one they possessed now. Then there was all the delight of unpacking and arranging the furniture in the quaint old rooms, where they all agreed it looked much nicer than in their old house.
For the first few days, they were so busy doing this that they failed to notice that their own was almost the largest house in the village, and Elsie was the first to remark that the cottages about them were rather poor and small; and the women she saw standing about, when she went through the village street, did not look as though they would want much dressmaking done for them, and she ventured to say as much to her mother one evening.
"Their frocks are like sacks, with a couple of holes for their arms," said Tom, in a disparaging tone. "There certainly is not much more shape in them," laughed his mother.
"But I did not expect to find my customers among the village folk," she added.
"But there don't seem to be any other people living here," said Tom, who had explored the neighbourhood as far as the end of the village street.
"Not close at hand, perhaps; but there are gentlemen's houses round the neighbourhood, and that is where I shall find my customers I hope. When we have got straight, and I am ready to begin, I shall have to go and see some of these ladies, and ask them to give me some work."
Tom did not like this suggestion. "You did not have to go and beg for work before," he said.
"No, my boy; I had friends all round me, and I just told them what I thought of doing, and they asked me to do their work. That is all the difference."
"It means that we haven't got any friends about here," said Elsie.
"Yes, that is it exactly; but we must make friends as fast as we can, you know."
Mrs. Winn soon found, however, that this was not so easy, even with the poorest of her neighbours. They were strangers—that was the only fault that could be brought against them. But it was sufficient to make them be regarded with suspicion, if not absolute dislike. For they could not understand why anybody should want to come and live in their village, unless it was to spy upon them, or take their work away from them in some way, or lower the wages that the farmers paid them.
Mrs. Winn smiled when she saw how the village folk avoided having anything to say to them; but Tom found it no smiling matter when the street boys called after him, or hung over the fence and laughed at his attempts to dig and rake over the garden.
Mrs. Winn found, too, that the village school was a long distance from their cottage; and she feared, from what she heard, that it was a very different school from the one Tom had been attending.
He was a fairly good scholar for his age, but she knew, if he was ever to push his way in the world, he would need to be at a good school for another year or two.
However, she comforted herself with the thought, that when she got plenty of work, as the rent was so low, she would be able to send Tom to some good private school; and in the meanwhile, he should go to the village school, as soon as he had got the front garden in order.
She and Elsie had made the inside of the house neat and comfortable; and her front parlour, which she decided she would keep to receive her customers, was quite ready; and so she thought she would go and make some calls, and leave her cards at the houses of some of the gentry near at hand.
She had so far prevailed upon some of her neighbours, as to get one of them to bring her some milk from the farm every morning, and she contrived to meet this woman one day, and ask her the nearest way to the Manor House, for that she had heard was one of the best houses in the neighbourhood.
"The Manor House," repeated Betsy Gunn, staring at Mrs. Winn; "and what may you be wanting at the Manor House?"
It was Mrs. Winn's turn to stare now, and she said rather stiffly, "That is my business, I think, I only want you to tell me the best way to get to it."
"Then I sha'n't tell you," said the woman defiantly. "The folks is all saying you ain't come to Fairfield for no good; and now I know you ain't."
"But what can you know about it, Betsy? I only want to go and see the ladies there."
"And tell 'em all that you sees goin' on here!"
"But what is there to tell?" said the widow, with widely-opened eyes. "You are all steady, hardworking people; and if you do gossip and quarrel, sometimes, that is nothing to anyone but yourselves."
"And you want to go and tell old madam that we gossip and quarrel, and so get our Christmas coals stopped! No! No! Betsy Gunn ain't goin' to help no such doings as that."
Mrs. Winn wondered for a minute whether the woman had lost her wits, but she saw plainly enough that she spoke in all earnestness. And she wondered what she had better do to disarm the suspicion that seemed to her so senseless, but was to these poor people real enough.
At last she decided that there was nothing like telling the truth, painful as it was, to make her affairs known to all the village. So she beckoned Betsy into the parlour, that she and Elsie had taken such pains to make neat and nice.
"Sit down a minute," she said, "and I will tell you why I have come here, and what I want to do. I am a widow, and my husband could leave me very little money when he died; so I am obliged to work for my children, or they would starve, and it is to get work I have come here."
"What work?" demanded Betsy.
"Dressmaking," said Mrs. Winn.
The woman's hard face relaxed a little. "Us don't do that,—the gentry and their fine servants send that to London."
"That is just what I was told," said the widow, "but now I am going to ask some of these ladies to send it to me, instead of sending it to London; and I want you to tell me the best way to go to Madam Kennaway lives there the Manor House. I understand, and if I can only see her, I may be able to get some work."
The woman nodded. "She ain't bad, but old madam is the best. You ask to see old madam."
"Very well; and you will tell me the way to go?"
Yes, Betsy was so far won over, that she was willing to do this now.
But Mrs. Winn was a little alarmed when she heard that the Manor House was nearly five miles from Fairfield. Five miles seemed a moderate distance to Betsy, but Mrs. Winn had not walked so far for many years, and there was no railway or other conveyance that she could ride back. Betsy told her which way to go, and Mrs. Winn set out on her walk early the next morning, resolving to call at other suitable houses on the way, but chiefly concerned to reach the Manor House and see Mrs. Kennaway.
She was tired and spent when she at last reached the imposing looking mansion. But the thought of her children made her overcome the faintness that crept over her, and she rang the bell, half hoping the servant would ask her inside the cool hall, to wait while he took her card and message to his mistress.
But this splendid footman looked at her almost as suspiciously as Betsy Gunn had done, and then told her to wait outside on the steps, if she could not leave her card and call again.
"Call again!" Why, it would take her all day to get home again she feared, tired as she was. So she stepped back to the top of the terrace steps and waited—waited until she thought the man must surely have forgotten her. And she was just going to ring the bell again, when the door was thrown open and her card handed back to her.
"Madam does not see strangers," he said pompously.
And then the door was closed, and the visit to the Manor House, upon which she had built so many hopes, was over. And she could only turn and walk down the smooth white marble steps, wondering how far she should be able to walk before she fell down utterly exhausted.
Presently she reached a shady knoll where she could sit down and rest; and while she rested, she wondered what she was to do now, for the reception she had received had never been expected.
That she might have some little difficulty at first, she had thought quite possible; but that rich and poor alike should refuse to have anything to do with her because she was a stranger, seemed almost too absurd to be believed. And she pinched herself to make sure that she was wide awake and not dreaming, as she sat there and recalled what had happened.
Her friend had advised that she should go to the Manor House first, for she knew Madam Kennaway, and spoke of her as being kind and considerate in her treatment of servants, and therefore likely to be the same to others whom she employed.
But it seemed as though there could be no consideration left for a mere stranger, such as she was, in the place. And her thoughts grew very bitter as she toiled along in the hot sun.
Still she would persevere; and she made up her mind to call at another house she had been told of by Betsy, and which lay only a little way out of her road homeward. This was not such a grand house as the other. It was not much more than an enlarged and improved edition of her own cottage; and the doctor for the district lived here.
She could not expect a doctor's wife to do for her what the great Madam Kennaway might have done; but she resolved to call and see the lady, unless she, too, would have nothing to say to a stranger.
A little maid-servant took her card and message, when she knocked at the door. And then she was ushered into a plainly furnished room at the side, to wait while the servant went in search of her mistress.
"I suppose you have heard that I have a large family of girls and boys, who are always tearing their clothes," said the lady, when she came in.
She spoke very pleasantly; and then, noticing how pale and tired Mrs. Winn looked, she asked if she would have a glass of milk and a piece of cake. And, scarcely waiting for the widow to say yes, she rang the bell, and told the maid who answered it, to bring the milk as quickly as she could.
While she rested, and drank her milk, the lady explained that she did not put out much of her dressmaking as a rule, but that as one of her girls was going away for several months, she should be very glad of her help just now. And, when she had recovered from her fatigue a little, she should be glad if she could take her daughter's pattern, so as to begin one of the dresses at once.
This chance of getting work seemed to put new life into Mrs. Winn, and she was able to talk quite freely to Mrs. Perceval, and tell her how it was she came to Fairfield.
The doctor's wife knew where she lived quite well—had seen the furniture carried in while she was sitting in her husband's gig, waiting while he visited a sick man a few doors further on.
"I asked some of the old goodies who was coming to live there, but they could only tell me they were 'Lunnon people,' and seemed rather aggrieved that London people should dare to come to their village."
Then Mrs. Winn told her of her encounter with Betsy Gunn, and the two ladies laughed over the villagers' suspicion and ignorance.
Before she left, she had told Mrs. Perceval of Elsie's scholarship; for she felt almost as proud of her resigning it, as she did of her gaining it.
Mrs. Perceval was evidently very favourably impressed with the new dressmaker. And when she went home, she carried a large parcel of work with her, the sight of which cheered Tom, who was at the end of the lane on the look-out for her.
Elsie had got the kettle boiling, ready to make a cup of tea for her mother, at least an hour before she returned. In fact, the girl had grown quite anxious over her mother's long absence, and wondered whether there were robbers in the woods about here now, such as there used to be years ago. For Betsy Gunn had told them a harrowing tale of what took place at the other end of the village in her grandmother's time. If it was not sufficient to frighten Elsie and Tom, it was enough to make them very glad when their mother got back.
And so, when Tom came rushing in, calling, "Here's mother! Here's mother!" Elsie, too, ran to the door to kiss and welcome her.
It was only a little thing, perhaps, but this warm, dutiful welcome from her children cheered and comforted poor Mrs. Winn as nothing else could have done just now. It is a pity when young people treat their parents slightingly. They often have to toil by day, and think half the night how things are to be made smooth and comfortable for their children. In these matters, perhaps, the children can do nothing to lighten the burden of life for them. But they could often cheer and comfort them with little kindly, affectionate attentions, instead of being rude and abrupt in their manners, as they too often are where father and mother are concerned.
JACK'S NEW HOME.
"I SAY, mother, what do you think?"
Jack Bond burst in at the back door of their new home one Saturday with this exclamation, threw down his carpenter's basket of tools on the floor, and his cap in the air, in joyful excitement over the news he had to tell.
"What do you think, mother?" he repeated.
"Why, that I shall box your ears, big as you are, if you throw down your tools on my new oil cloth. Take 'em away," called Mrs. Bond, raising her voice above the hissing of the frying-pan, where she was cooking steak and onions for the dinner.
Jack slowly picked up the tool-basket, and put it into the cupboard under the stairs. "The kitchen do look nice," he said, as he stepped back and surveyed it, as though he had never seen it before.
"I should think it did," said his mother, turning from her pan for a moment to admire it again. "Quite as nice as anything them stuck-up friends of yours, the Winns, have got; and I mean to have a best parlour too," added Mrs. Bond.
"But Tom Winn and his mother and sister ain't stuck-up," said Jack, still lost in admiration of the kitchen floor. "I don't think their kitchen ever looked so spick and span nice as this does, but everything about 'em was somehow different from us and our things," he added, but still looking with admiration at the new floor-cloth.
Her son's appreciation of her smart kitchen pleased Mrs. Bond, and she turned from her steaming, hissing, frying-pan to join in his admiration of her handy-work.
A change had come over the fortunes of the Bonds. Just before they left Sadler Street, a small legacy had been left them, and Jack's talk about Tom and Mrs. Winn, had given Mrs. Bond the notion that, when she got to her new home, she would turn over a new leaf, and have it neat and tidy—more like the home her son admired so much—for she was very fond of Jack, and felt half jealous of the Winns because he was so often talking about them.
So Jack's admiration, and his admission that her kitchen was now smarter than the Winns', was a gratification to her, and she was ready to hear what he had to say when he once more began.
"I haven't told you the news yet, mother."
"No; what is it, my boy?" said Mrs. Bond in a pleasant tone.
"Why, I've just found out that we ain't more than ten miles from Fairfield, the place where the Winns have gone to live."
"Ten miles is a long way, Jack," said his mother.
"Oh, but I thought it was nigh upon a hundred, and that I should never be able to see poor old Tom again. I say, mother, you would like little Tom Winn," he added.
Mrs. Bond sniffed. "They're a stuck-up lot," she said shortly.
"Who are a stuck-up lot?" asked Jack's younger sister, who came into the kitchen in time to hear these words.
"Why, Jack's fine friends, the Winns," said her mother.
"Well, you see they've got something to be stuck-up about. Look at Elsie's scholarship. Why, all the school was proud of Elsie Winn," said Annie Bond, in a tone of admiration. "I tell you, mother, now we have moved away from Sadler Street, and I'm going to a new school, I mean to try and be like Elsie, for all the girls liked her, and the teachers too."
Jack clapped his hands. "That's it, Annie; you try and be like Elsie, and I must try to go to see Tom; for if ever I get a chance to help him, I must, for the mischief I did for him."
"What could you do for people like the Winns?" said his sister. She had heard Elsie talked about, and admired at a distance, but the thought of emulating her, and giving more attention to her lessons, and the neatness of her appearance, had not entered her head until she heard her mother say she should try and make their new home as nice as the Winns'. And then the idea had occurred to Annie, that she might copy Elsie's example, now that she had got away from Sadler Street and her rude, rough companions.
When dinner was served, and they were all seated round the table, there were still scraps of talk about the Winns; but until he had satisfied his appetite, Mr. Bond, Jack's father, spoke no word beyond asking for more potatoes. But although he did not talk, he was listening, and at last he said, "I wish you had stuck to your lessons a bit closer, Jack; it would ha' been a deal better for yourself, and you wouldn't have led this little chap into mischief."
"That's true enough, dad; and if ever I get the chance to pick up what I lost last year in book learning, why, I'll do it," said Jack.
"Ah! If you get the chance. But will you get it now your school days are over? Boys are fools. I was, I know, and you haven't been much better, Jack, though you had better chances of getting a bit of good schooling than I had."
"Yes, I suppose I did; and I wish now I'd stuck to figures a bit more when I had the chance!" said Jack, with something like a sigh.
"Ah, you're beginning to find out already that a carpenter wants to have figures at his finger ends, if ever he is to be more than a drudge at his trade. That is where the shoe pinches for most of us, lad. We don't think of it when we are at school, and got the chance of learning, but when we leave and find out what we have lost, it is too late to pick up the wasted time. Look at me, now! I've got this bit of money your uncle left me, and if I was only a bit more of a scholard, why, I could take a building job for myself, and make it double itself in a year, but I can't figure it out for myself, and so—"
"Dad, I'll go to the evening school as soon as ever it opens," said Jack. "It ain't too late for me to learn; and I'll stick to the figures, that we may both have a better chance."
"Ah! If you only would," said his father. "Why, we might soon have a board out, 'Bond & Son, Carpenters and Builders.'"
And then Jack Bond burst into a hearty fit of laughing at the mere thought of such glory. Jack's face flushed with pride and pleasure at the thought of being their own masters by-and-bye, while mother and sister looked from one to the other, and wished they could help in the grand scheme.
"I wish Tom Winn lived close by us now; he'd help me pick up a bit, I know," said Jack, at last.
"Ah, he was a nice little chap; quick and handy, too," said Jack's father, who remembered him helping to build the rabbit hutch.
"I've found out to-day, dad, that Fairfield ain't so far off," said Jack, a little eagerly.
"Not so far! Why, it's close on twenty miles by the railway."
"Yes, because the line goes such a round-about way; but by road it ain't more than ten or eleven miles."
"Ten or eleven miles are more than a good walk, my lad."
"Yes, I know; but I'm learning to ride a bicycle," said Jack.
"What!" exclaimed father and mother in a breath.
"It's true enough," said Jack, laughing. "My foreman comes to work on a jigger, and he let me try it to-day, for he said I might find it handy."
"Well," said his father, "what then?"
"Why, I think he might lend it to me now and then to go and see Tom Winn, and I might get a hint or two from him how to begin the figuring out things."
"So you might, so you might; so you might, lad. Why, you might even buy it, perhaps, if it wasn't too dear, and you didn't mind sticking to a bit of work after hours, by way of overtime."
"Only give me the chance! See if I wouldn't stick to it," said Jack, eagerly.
"All right, we'll see, we'll see," said Bond, rubbing his hands, with a smile on his face. But beyond this, Jack could not get him to say a word just then, though it was evident that his father had some plan in view, or he would not have said so much.
Work was over for the day by dinner time on Saturday, and Jack went to wash himself and change his clothes after dinner, for he had promised to take his sister for a long walk to see some famous woods about a mile beyond the town. And as soon as the brother and sister were fairly started on their walk, the conversation, of course, turned upon what had been said at dinner time.
"Do you know what dad means, Annie?" asked Jack, eagerly.
"No, I don't; but I heard him say something last night to mother about having the first offer. I say, it would be fine if we could have a board like father says," she added.
"Aye! 'Bond & Son, Builders.' But we've got to earn the right to put it up first, Annie. The board won't do us any good, if we can't do the building, you see," he said, thoughtfully.
"Why, of course not! only I should like to tell you that I will help if I can. I can't get a scholarship like Elsie Winn did, but if I can help you and dad to get that board put up, you'll see if I won't do it."
"Bravo, Annie! But what do you think you could do? You're only a girl," said her brother, in rather a disparaging tone.
"Only a girl!" said Annie, with a little toss of the head. "If I am only a girl, I can do sums better than you can, and my new governess at this new school says I am very quick at arithmetic. There is a girl, too, in my class, who is learning arithmetic on purpose to keep her father's books when she leaves school, and so I don't see why I should not do the same."
The idea of a girl learning to keep accounts was altogether a new one to Jack, and he did not see at first how it was to be done, if she did not understand the use of plane, and saw, and hammer, and chisel, as well. But he was willing to admit that it was worth trying; and if she could only succeed in helping her father and himself, why, it would be quite as useful to them as if she had won a scholarship like Elsie Winn.
The talk with his sister strengthened Jack's resolution to join an evening class in the autumn, and do what he could to make up for the time he had wasted at school. And, perhaps, between them they might help his father sufficiently to enable him to make a beginning, and take small jobs for himself. For now the idea had been suggested to them, the brother and sister were both eager to do what they could to realise their father's ambition in this way.
"I'm pretty sure there is an evening school where I go, Jack," said his sister, after they had walked a little way in silence. "Of course it is only for the winter, not for the summer," she added.
"The winter is quite enough for me," said Jack, with a wry face at the prospect of going to school again, and adding up long rows of figures once more.
"But you will go, won't you?" said Annie, who saw the look.
"Oh, yes, I'll go for dad's sake; I must, I suppose, if we are ever to have that board out he was talking about at dinner time."
"It won't be a bit like Sadler Street then, will it, Jack?"
"It ain't like Sadler Street now, with our tidy kitchen; and perhaps I shall have a bicycle soon. I wonder what father meant when he said I might be able to buy it?"
Annie shook her head. She was not much interested in bicycles, and wondered what Jack could want one for, and said so.
"Oh, it's nice to have a bicycle, if it is a bit old-fashioned. I could go to Fairfield and see Tom Winn if I only had a bicycle."
"I thought Tom Winn was in it," said Annie, a little tartly.
"And why shouldn't he be? I tell you what, if we ever do get that board outside, it will be all Tom's doing. See what a fellow I was till I got pulled up short, and learned to know the Winns. I tell you what, Annie, poor Tom's illness did me a world of good. For it made me think, and a fellow ain't much use in the world till he does learn to think a bit. And so I feel as though I owe them a debt that I've got to pay somehow, for Tom being ill like that was awful hard on his mother; and it was more my fault than his that he caught the fever. So if ever I get the chance of doing any of 'em a good turn, I'll do it, you bet."
"But what can you do?" asked his sister.
"How can I tell? I shall try and get that bicycle, if Jackson will sell it, and go and see them sometimes, and then, perhaps, I may find out. There is no telling what may come in a fellow's way; and when he begins to think a bit, why, he may be able to put this and that together, and see how he can help a friend. Tom now wants to be a gardener, and where I'm at work, they teach chaps to be first-rate gardeners—real tip-toppers; that would be good enough for Tom Winn.
"Well, I mean to keep my eyes and ears open about how the fellows get in there. I know some of them have to pay a pile of money for the chance. Tom couldn't do that now his father's dead, but there might be some other way of getting in, you know; and if I could only find out, and get that bicycle to go and see Tom, why—"
"If ifs and ands were pots and pans," laughed Annie, "Jack Bond would soon have a bicycle."
Jack made a dash as though he would pull her hair, and then the brother and sister turned into the woods, and went hunting for wild flowers, and the talk about bicycles and Tom Winn was forgotten for a little while.