The disappearance of Juliet Mitchell from Littlebourne Lock the second time did not surprise or frighten her relations nearly so much as her flight had done on the first occasion.
"Oh, she'll come home," said Mrs. Rowles; "never fear. When she is hungry she'll turn up, or someone will bring her."
But as the evening closed in, and neither meal-time nor bed-time brought the wanderer home, some alarm began to spread through the house. Philip had taken his boat to the place where he had left Juliet, but she was not there. He went again and shouted for her, but there was no reply. Then Mr. Rowles shouted from the lock in a voice that must have been heard at half a mile's distance. Still no sign of Juliet.
"You should not have left her there, Phil," said Mrs. Rowles.
"I've often set Emily down at the same place," was Phil's defence, "to gather king-cups or forget-me-nots."
"Yes, I know; but Juliet is not Emily."
This could not be denied. It accounted for Juliet's absence, but it did not bring her home.
Dozens of boats went up the river, and dozens went down. Rowles said to the occupants of each of them, "If you should see a girl of thirteen what has got lost, be so good as to tell her to come home double-quick, or it will be worse for her."
Some of the people laughed, and some said "Very well;" but evening deepened into night without bringing Juliet.
The last boat was that of the old gentleman's butler, or valet, or whatever he liked to call himself. When Rowles made his speech about the missing girl, the man replied, "I know; that is the child whose father is a printer. Mr. Burnet takes an interest in that child, being himself a master-printer, and the son of a journeyman printer."
"The son of a journeyman printer!" Rowles repeated. "You don't say so, Mr. Robert?"
"Yes, I do say it. My Mr. Burnet's father began life at the bottom of the ladder, and ended it near the top; and my Mr. Burnet began life near the top, and is ending it quite at the top. Hard work, Mr. Rowles, hard work, perseverance, honesty, and temperance; that's what does it. Your little girl's father may get to the top of the tree yet."
"Not with his bad health," replied Rowles, shaking his head; "and not without his proper night's sleep."
"They make up their sleep in the daytime," said the other, beginning to push his boat out of the lock which was now full. "I've got relations of my own in the same line, so I know they can make up their sleep in the daytime. Well, good-night; if I see the girl I'll hurry her home."
"Good—night, Mr. Robert. I'm glad you've learnt to manage your boat."
As Roberts went off his voice was heard saying, "It is hard work, and perseverance, and honesty, and temperance that does it." And he was not wrong.
Ten o'clock came. The lock-house was closed, and all its inmates went to bed. Mrs. Rowles had little sleep, watching all night for Juliet's knock. But it did not come.
At six o'clock next morning Mr. Rowles went out to look up and down the river, and to prophesy the weather. It was still and cloudless and warm. While he was standing idly beside the running water, listening to the twitter of birds and the lowing of cows, he heard yet another cry, that of a man; and presently he saw on the far-off bank the figure of a big, burly man with a bushy beard.
"I do believe it's Mrs. Bosher's brother!"
"Over! over!" bawled the man, as if hailing a ferry-boat.
"Well, if that ain't a joke! I ain't the ferry. Here you, Phil, jump into theFairyand go and see what that man wants."
So Phil played the part of the ferry and brought Mrs. Bosher's brother to the lock-eyot.
He told his story. The previous evening he had met a young girl in the wood, and as it was private property, he had warned her out of it. Afterwards he found that she had gone to his sister's house, evidently a runaway, and had engaged herself as a general servant. But Mrs. Bosher, who was one that never took no rest, never even took off her bonnet, saw through that girl, and knew right well that she had come from the Littlebourne side of the river; and perhaps Mrs. Rowles could state what family had lost a little maid-servant.
Yes, Mrs. Rowles could tell him all about Juliet; and after giving him some breakfast sent him back in theFairyto his own side of the river, with a request that Mrs. Bosher would take Juliet to the station, where someone would meet the tiresome girl and convey her to her home in London.
The big man promised to do all this, and went out with Rowles intending to have a pipe and a gossip with him, when down came a boat rowedby Leonard Burnet, and steered by the old master-printer; and so the gossip was cut short, though not the pipe.
"I am not going through," said Mr. Burnet from the boat. "Help me to land, Rowles; I want to have a talk with you. Who is that man?" looking at the big person who had just gone off in the littleFairy.
"Oh, that is Mrs. Bosher's brother. I hope you are well, sir, and the young gentleman; likewise Mr. Robert."
"Yes, thanks, Leonard and I are very well; but Roberts has a smart touch of rheumatism, and will not come on the river to-day. May I sit here, Rowles?" added Mr. Burnet, pointing to a seat under some small trees.
"If you please, sir. Why, Emma, where areyoua-going?"
Mrs. Rowles curtsied to Mr. Burnet. "I am going, Ned, to the vicarage. I heard say that Mr. and Mrs. Webster are going to London to-day, and if they would take charge of Juliet it would save my time and money."
Mrs. Rowles hurried off, and caught Mrs. Webster, who most kindly undertook the charge of Juliet if Mrs. Bosher should bring her to the station, and to see her safe to her own home in London.
While Mrs. Rowles was absent on this errand,her husband was having a very important conversation with Mr. Burnet under the small trees. Neither Leonard nor Phil heard what passed, as they were not within earshot; but when they presently came near their fathers they caught these words from Mr. Burnet:
"I hope that he will consent to do as we suggest. It was really my boy who first thought that it would be a good move. These young people sometimes get hold of ideas which are worth carrying out. And then Roberts took it up, knowing as he does from his relations the difficulties of that kind of life in London."
"I'm sure, sir," said Rowles doubtfully, "it is very kind of you to think of doing such kindness to a stranger. But I'm much afeard that Thomas Mitchell is so used to his topsy-turvy way of living, that he will not fit in with the morning for getting up and the night for going to bed."
"I will endeavour to get him to try it, at all events. I have taken a lease of the Bourne House; very likely you know it."
"I should think I did! A good old gentleman used to live there when I was a boy, as like to you, sir, as one pea is to another; and, what is more, Mrs. Bosher's brother farms all the arable land belonging to it."
"Does he? Of course I know all about my futuretenant, but I did not know he was Mrs. Bosher's brother. Well, Rowles, there is a nice little cottage on the property which your brother-in-law can rent cheap from me; and I will put him on theThames Valley Times and Post, which only comes out once a week, and does not keep the men up at night. We also do a good deal of handbill printing, and catalogues for sales, and that kind of work, which is easy enough. And I hope to see your friends settled down here by the beginning of the week after next."
Rowles shook his head, feeling certain that the arrangement would not answer. But Mr. Burnet was determined to try it, and Leonard was delighted with the project.
"Your cousins," said Leonard to Philip, "will have to learn all about country things. I don't suppose they know a garden when they see one."
"No, they don't," was Phil's answer. "When Juliet saw the first of the country from the train window, she says to mother, 'It's a pretty churchyard!' says she."
Mr. Burnet looked very sad for a few moments, then he stood up and said that he must be going back, as he had to meet Mrs. Bosher's brother and talk over the barns and the stables and the farm-buildings. "And on Monday," he added, "I think I shall go to town and see your brother-in-law, and offer him a place at my printing-office. Ihave already inquired his character of his present employers."
Rowles's head was shaking again; but he only held the boat for Mr. Burnet and Leonard to step into it, and his forebodings of failure on Mitchell's part were for the moment kept to himself.
There were also forebodings of failure in the mind of Roberts, when his master talked so hopefully of what was going to happen to Juliet's father.
"Don't make too sure, Mr. Leonard, of anything. I daresay that Juliet's father will have better health living in the country, but as for his getting to be foreman of your printing-office, I have my doubts."
Perhaps Roberts's doubts were due to his attack of rheumatism. He was at this time suffering so much from it that he was almost cross. He was laid up the very day that Mr. Burnet took possession of the Bourne House, and sat wrapped in flannel, though the weather was very warm.
"Don't talk to me any more," he said savagely when a tremendous twinge seemed to be piercing between his bones, "about your Juliet's father and your Mrs. Bosher's brother. If people have not got names of their own I don't want to hear about such people."
The housekeeper who was waiting on him began to say, "The name of Mrs. Bosher's brother—"
"Hold your tongue, do! How this arm does ache, to be sure!"
Leonard was in the room. He got as far as, "The name of Juliet's father—"
"I won't hear it!" cried poor Roberts, kicking out his right foot, in which the pain was steely cold.
"We want you to go and see him on Monday," said Leonard.
"Then you may want!" and he flung out the left foot in which the pain was red-hot.
The housekeeper signed to Leonard to leave the invalid to himself. When this attack was over Roberts would be himself again—kind and gentle and polite.
But there was no chance of his being able to go to London to make arrangements for the move of the Mitchell family. Mr. Burnet was in the habit of leaving a great deal to Roberts, being himself old and ailing, and easily upset. On the Sunday, a lovely, sweet, clear day, it was plain that Roberts would not be of any use for another week or more.
Mr. Burnet and his son were walking back from evening service, and enjoying the calm of Sunday evening. Everything had been beautiful; the hymns, the sermon in church; the hymns of the birds and the sermons of the harvest, in the fields.
"Delicious!" said Mr. Burnet, pausing as he entered his own large grounds. "How I wish poor Roberts was well enough to enjoy it all. I am afraid his exertions at the oar, and his exposure to the evening damps, have brought on this painful attack. The only thing I can do is to go to town myself to see this Thomas Mitchell, and I really do not feel up to it."
The father and son walked on side by side. Presently Leonard said, "Do you think I could go and make the arrangements with Mitchell?"
Mr. Burnet stopped in his walk, and leaning on his stick said, "Upon my word, Leonard, I do not see why you could not."
"Then let me do it, father; and if you give me a note to the head of the press where Mitchell works, perhaps he would let me look round, and take a practical lesson in the business."
"A good idea!" exclaimed Mr. Burnet.
It was settled in that way; and on the Monday, Mr. Burnet being very gouty, and Roberts very rheumatic, there was no one who could possibly go to town except Leonard. He went off, armed with directions and papers from his father.
Arrived in London he presented himself at the great printing-office where Mitchell worked; was courteously received by one of the heads of it, and was shown some of the type, the presses, the paper, and other things used for printing thatmorning journal which deprived Thomas Mitchell and many others of almost every night's rest. Having seen as much as he could remember, he said to the gentleman who was explaining matters, "I think I must now speak to Mitchell, who is to leave you on Saturday, and to begin work with us on Monday next."
"I will send for him," replied the gentleman. "He is a good, steady fellow, and if his health becomes stronger will deserve your confidence and regard."
Then, speaking down a telephone, "Send Thomas Mitchell to me."
The answer came back: "Mitchell has this moment knocked off work and gone."
"Provoking!" said the gentleman.
"It does not matter," said Leonard. "I know his address, and I can go there and speak to him."
He set off, having a vague notion of the neighbourhood in which the Mitchells lived. Leonard was not much used to London, especially that part of it, and as he went he saw many things to interest him. The day was hot and close, and the narrower streets were far from pleasant. He was struck by the number of small grocers' shops, and the smell of paraffin which pervaded this part of London. He also noticed how dry the vegetables appeared, and how moist the fruits which were exposed for sale; further, howshabby and threadbare were the carpets floating at the pawnbrokers' doors, and how fusty the odour from them. In a word, Leonard could not help seeing that this was a very poor region.
It didnotstrike him that poverty and crime are near neighbours; that the circumstances which make the honest man poor, make the lazy man a thief. Leonard was too young to be suspicious. He scarcely saw a shambling poorly-dressed rather wasted man whom he passed, and who afterwards stumbled along a very little way behind him. Nor did he specially notice two rather well-dressed but coarse-looking men who kept just ahead of him.
But when these two began to talk loud he did notice them. When they stood in the middle of the narrow pavement, quarrelling, Leonard paused and looked on.
"You did!" said the one.
"I did not!" said the other.
"I'll make you confess it on your marrow-bones!"
"You shall have every bone in your body broke first!"
By this time a crowd had begun to collect. The two men seemed preparing for a fight.
"Part them, someone!" cried Leonard.
"Let them fight it out!" cried a costermonger, seating himself on his barrow.
"I'll see fair play!" roared a great unwashed man.
A voice behind Leonard said in his ear, "You come out of this, young fellow!" and looking round the lad saw the shabby, sickly man who had been following him.
The crowd hemmed them all four in the midst of it.
"Hallo! The bobbies!" was whispered.
The crowd opened a way through which one of the disputants rushed, all eyes fixed upon him.
An arm came over Leonard's shoulder, and a dirty hand clutched his turquoise breast-pin; another arm came over the other shoulder and another hand clutched the first one. At the same moment two policemen's helmets peered over the crowd, and a stern voice said, "What's up? What's your game?"
Then in some mysterious way the first hand and arm vanished, and only the second remained, and Leonard found himself thus hugged by a stranger, and confronted by two stalwart policemen.
When an English man or boy finds himself in the hands (or, as in this case, in the arms) of a stranger, his first impulse is to show fight. Naturally Leonard began to plunge and to double his fists. But he could not keep this up, for the man whose arm was round him quickly retiredand stood a few paces off, looking wan and haggard, and very unlike a thief or ruffian.
The crowd had melted away. The two policemen stood with faces fixed in something between a grin and a scowl.
"What are you all up to?" said Leonard, in astonishment at the suddenness of the whole affair.
"Just this, young man," replied one of the policemen, "that if you want to walk about in this part of London you had better not wear such an enticing pin in your scarf."
Leonard put up his hand, and found that his turquoise pin was pulled half-way out of his scarf. He said angrily, "Then why don't you take the thief in charge?" And he pointed at the sickly-looking man who stood close by.
"Because he was too quick for us. He's on the other side of the river long before this."
"Why, there he stands!" cried Leonard, pointing again at the shabby figure.
"Begging your pardon, young sir, this is him that has saved your pin from them two thieves. You owe him many thanks, and something more substantial, in my humble opinion."
Then Leonard understood the affair, and how the poor delicate man had prevented the smart colleagues from making off with the valuable pin given him by his late mother, and thereforevery greatly precious to him. He turned to his defender with warm thanks.
The two policemen sauntered away.
"I am awfully obliged to you, I'm sure," said Leonard. "You don't look well."
"No," replied the poor man; "I have had sickness and sorrow lately, and a little thing upsets me. I shall be better in a few minutes. You put your pin in your pocket, sir; and do not show any jewellery when you come through these shady slums."
"I think I must have come wrong."
"What street do you want?"
Leonard named it.
"Well, you have not come wrong exactly; but you had better have stuck to the main thoroughfares, and not have taken these short cuts, which are all very well for some of us, but not for young gents with 'turkeys' breast-pins. If you are not ashamed of my company I can take you straight to the street you've named."
After his late escape Leonard felt suspicious of every stranger in London; but as he really had reason to feel obliged to this man, he put aside that feeling and walked on for some time with his new acquaintance.
"I am afraid," Leonard said presently, "that I am taking you out of your way."
"Not at all, sir; I live in that same street. There's a good many of us live there. It is like a rabbit-warren."
"Really!" said Leonard.
"It swarms with old and young—young ones mostly. Too many of 'em. We ought not to grieve too much when they are taken from this hard world to rest and safety. But the mothers do grieve, poor things!—and the fathers too."
"Perhaps you have lost a child lately," said Leonard, very gently.
"He was buried yesterday."
They went on in silence until they turned into a street which appeared to begin much better than it ended. Leonard's guide said, "Here we are; this is your street."
"Oh, thank you; but don't come any further." And Leonard began to fumble in his pocket for a half-crown.
"It is my street too," said the poor man.
"All right then. I want No. 103."
"I live at 103 myself."
"That is curious. Do you know a Mr. Mitchell in that house?"
"I know him pretty well; I am Thomas Mitchell."
Then Leonard shook hands heartily with his guide, and as they walked slowly along the cooler side of the street he unfolded all the plans which Mr. Burnet had made for the Mitchell family. They were already known in part to the father and mother, but the children had not been informed of what was in store for them. Mrs. Mitchell had thought that such a prospect would excite them greatly, and that their disappointment would be great if anything occurred at the last moment to upset the plan.
But now it must be declared.
All the children were at home, it being holiday-time. Juliet sat at needlework, Albert was carpentering an old wooden box and turning it into a cupboard; the younger ones were playing with some firewood, and building castles with it. Mrs. Mitchell was stitching at one more mantle, and thinking over every little incident of her baby's life and death.
Into the midst of this quiet scene came Leonard Burnet, full of life and vigour, and overflowingwith the happy message he had brought. He told them of the pretty cottage with honeysuckle on the porch, of the garden full of cauliflowers and scarlet-runners, of the clear bright river, of the open fields, of the shady woods, the winding lanes, and of all the pleasant things of rural life. Then he spoke of Mr. and Mrs. Rowles, and the lock, and the boats; of Philip and Emily; of the good vicar and Mrs. Webster; of Mrs. Bosher's brother, and the horses, cows, pigs, and poultry which he possessed.
How strange it all seemed to Juliet! How far away, and yet how well known! She was the only one of her family who had seen these places and persons, and the thought of them filled her with both sorrow and pleasure. Several times as Leonard talked he turned to her, saying, "You know the lock, Juliet?" or "You have seen Mrs. Bosher's brother, I think, Juliet?" or else "The fields and the river are very nice, are they not?" and to each of his appeals she had gravely bowed her head in assent.
In the end it was arranged that the following Monday should be spent by the Mitchell family in packing up the few goods which they possessed, and that on Tuesday they should send off those goods by the Littlebourne carrier, who would be directed by Mr. Burnet to call for them; and then they should all go by omnibus to Pa station, and be met at Littlebourne station by Mr. Burnet, or Leonard, or Mr. Burnet's butler, or Mrs. Bosher's brother.
"Or perhaps by all of us!" said Leonard laughing.
These plans and hours being clearly understood, and Leonard having advanced Mitchell a sovereign to help pay for the move, he took his leave, his scarf-pin safe in his waistcoat-pocket. He left the whole family in a state of wonder and delight, which would have been even greater had they guessed what further surprises were in store for them.
No week ever seemed so short and so long to people as that week appeared to the Mitchells. There was not time enough to finish up everything that ought to be finished, and to say good-bye to every one who had been kind and friendly to them in London. Then there were notices to be given the school, and to the society and the dispensary which had helped Thomas Mitchell in his trouble. The clergyman and the schoolmaster and schoolmistress came to say farewell; and as for the neighbours, poor as they all were, and rude as some were, they crowded with wishes and gifts.
"Two gallipots," said one old woman, "for you to put your black currant jam in."
"A few cuttings of geraniums," said a younggardener who worked in Victoria Park; "try if you can get them to take."
"My school-prize," said a big girl, putting a red-and-gold-covered book into the hands of little Amy; "I've grown too old for it, so you may have it."
And Miss Sutton came with the good news that one great West-end draper had promised to meet his workwomen face to face, and no longer to employ any middlemen. "For which you will be thankful," said Miss Sutton to Mrs. Mitchell, "though you will not yourself reap the benefit."
Yes, Mrs. Mitchell was very thankful for many things; but there was one which brought ever-fresh tears to her eyes as she left the swarming city. "I leave three little graves!"
And Juliet! She hardly knew how she ought to feel or how she did. Certainly there was a great deal of shame in her heart; and equally certainly there was a great deal of pride—not the old pride of self-conceit, but a reasonable pride in knowing so much about the things of the country. She had enough to do to explain to her brothers and sisters the many new things which they saw from the train, and to answer their hundreds of questions.
At Littlebourne there was quite a sensation on their arrival. Mr. Burnet was there in his pony-carriage, and Leonard, and Mrs. Bosher's brotherwith a donkey-cart. Mrs. Rowles and Emily laughed and cried over their relations; and poor Mitchell became so faint from fatigue and emotion that Mrs. Webster, who now arrived on the scene, hurried him and his wife and little ones into a "fly" to get them out of the hubbub.
The station-master and the porters were quite glad when this party moved off.
They went slowly along the roads, in the soft air sweetened by recent showers, talking all together, all at the same time. What did it matter? Nobody wanted to hear anybody's words except his own. At the cottage they ceased talking, and all ran about through the small garden, up and down the flight of stairs, in and out the rooms.
Then Mrs. Webster laid down on the dresser a parcel containing home-made bread and fresh butter. Next Mrs. Bosher's brother brought from the donkey-cart some bacon, eggs, and milk. The pony-carriage had concealed under the seat some soap, candles, and cheese. Mrs. Rowles had a bundle of blankets as a loan, for the present moment; and Mrs. Bosher came in with sheets and towels for Mrs. Mitchell to use until her own arrived. All these kindnesses overpowered the London people, and they knew not how to thank their new friends.
To avoid being thanked Mrs. Bosher noddedher bonnet at Juliet and went away. Mrs. Webster also departed. Mr. Burnet asked Mitchell to meet him at the works next morning, and then he and Leonard drove off. Mrs. Bosher's brother hauled in a half-sack of coals and two great faggots from the donkey-cart, and then he, too, said good-bye.
The Rowles party stayed longer.
"Ned will come to see you, I hope," said Mrs. Rowles to her brother-in-law. "But he says he is afraid he can't come in the middle of the night; but would half-past ten be late enough?"
"Dear, dear!" said Mrs. Mitchell, somewhat puzzled. "Well, we must sit up for him if necessary; but I did hope that Thomas would have his proper nights' rests here in the country. We ought all to be in bed by ten o'clock."
"You see, Rowles cannot leave the lock unless he gets a deputy. Philip is hardly strong enough by himself. And Ned says that of course Tom can't come to the lock, being at work all night and asleep all day."
"That will not be the case here," said Mitchell smiling. "Besides, there's one or two things that I may as well explain to Rowles. Seems to me he's got some ideas upside down in his head."
"Oh, I don't know!" cried Mrs. Rowles; "but my idea is that you had better have your suppersnow and go to bed as quick as you can. There'll be lots of new things to see to-morrow. And if Ned can't come you'll be sure to have Mr. Robert the butler at Bourne House, and the housekeeper. You see, they all know Juliet—" Here Mrs. Rowles broke off, and Juliet shrank away, feeling bitterly that they knew little that was good of her.
She was, however, able to eat her supper with the rest of her family, and to sleep on the shake-down of blankets, and to rise in the morning refreshed and happy and ready for the new life before her.
The carrier arrived about eleven o'clock that morning, and the few bits of furniture and so forth which had come from London were put, one by one, in new places. Mrs. Mitchell said that a pound of paint would touch them up quite smart-like.
Thomas Mitchell and Albert had not stayed at Honeysuckle Cottage to see the arrival of these goods, but had gone to the works to meet Mr. Burnet there at nine o'clock. They were told by the foreman to go into the office, and there they awaited the arrival of the master.
Mr. Burnet soon appeared, and after a few words of greeting took a key from his pocket and opened the letter-box. From it he took a large number of business letters. He laid theminto several separate heaps. Then he pressed the button of an electric-bell, and a lad came in from some other part of the buildings.
"Here, Willie, take these letters, if you please. One for Mr. Toop, one for Mr. Richard Macnunn, two for Mr. Plasket, and here is a very fat one for 'Arthur George Rayner, Esq., Foreman at the Works of theThames Valley Times and Post, Littlebourne, Berkshire, England.' It really looks like something important."
When the boy had gone off to deliver the letters, Mr. Burnet took Mitchell outside the office and pointed out to him the different parts of the building and the advantages of the position. One of these was that the Little Bourne, a small but rapid stream, flowed close by, supplying water. There were gas-works on the premises, and there was a small tramway for sending paper, &c., from one end to the other. There was handsome stabling, and there were lofty, airy work-rooms.
"Every appliance for making a good thing of it," said Mr. Burnet.
He held up his hand for silence as a strange, low sound rolled out from the works. Was it the roar of fire or an explosion of steam? But no sign of fire followed, and nothing shook or broke. Only there came a second roar, louder than the first, and then the great gates of thegreat yard burst open, and out poured a crowd of men, jumping, dancing, shouting, and apparently in great joy.
"A strike," said Mitchell, "or what?"
"I don't know," answered Mr. Burnet calmly but gravely; "I have no notion what can be the matter."
The men came nearer, some twenty in all, and in the midst of them was one man seated in a chair and carried by four others.
"What can they be doing with Rayner?" exclaimed Mr. Burnet. "Why are they chairing him?"
"Hurrah for Rayner! Hurrah for New Zealand! Hurrah for everybody! Half-time to-day and a sovereign apiece! Hurrah for Rayner and New Zealand!"
All this was most extraordinary; and yet even more extraordinary was the conduct and manner of Rayner. He laughed loudly, and then he plunged his face into his handkerchief and sobbed wildly. He shook hands with every one near, and then waved them away with a majestic air. In fact he seemed to have taken leave of his senses; the truth was, that his senses had taken leave of him for a season. And yet the sight of Mr. Burnet's perplexed face sobered him in a measure.
He swaggered up to his master, saying, "Shake hands, Burnet; I'm not too proud for that."
Mr. Burnet obeyed.
"Listen to me, I'll tell you something. Wonders will never cease. If you had a brother, Burnet, whom you had not seen for thirty-five years, would not your heart yearn towards him? Yes, even a letter from his lawyer would fill your heart with joy."
"No doubt," said Mr. Burnet.
"Here's a letter, come this minute; why, joy is nothing to it. I'm a made man, a rich man, snap my fingers at you all! Do you hear? My brother in New Zealand is dead. What do you say to that?"
"I am very sorry for you," said Mr. Burnet.
"Are you? You are that envious you don't know how to look me in the face! Thirty thousand pounds, Burnet! What do you say to that? Have you got thirty thousand pounds? I snap my fingers at you all!" And he did it.
"My poor brother died six months ago. Ah! sad, sad! Lonely old bachelor! Not a creature to weep for him but me. They have been six months finding out my address; and now I can go to New Zealand and live on my property worth thirty thousand pounds, or, the lawyer writes, the land can be sold and the cash sent over to me. I think I like cash better than land. Shake hands again, Burnet. I've told the men I'll give them a half-holiday, as there's not much doing, and a sovereign apiece, which youwill advance to them. I'll give a cheque for it, you know."
Mr. Burnet did not respond.
"Now, some men," Rayner went on, wiping the heat from his streaming face, "would have their heads turned by such luck as the death of a rich bachelor brother; but I'm as cool as a cucumber, only the weather is rather warm. Shake hands, Burnet; you'll never find a bit of pride in me. Cheer again, mates, and off to your homes, and may you all have rich brothers and end with thirty thousand pounds!"
It was evident that poor Rayner's head was completely turned by his sudden prosperity. Perhaps few men could have taken such a change without some excitement; probably few men would have become so insane on account of what only changed his fortunes, not himself, or, rather, had so far only changed himself for the worse. All this bluster and talk made no impression on either Mr. Burnet or Mitchell, who waited quietly until Rayner's extravagant delight should have spent itself.
The other men, too, began to see how ridiculous Rayner was making himself. They soon moved off, by twos and threes, back to their work; and presently Rayner found himself alone with his employer and the new man just come down from London.
"I suppose," said Mr. Burnet calmly, "that you will not wish to work any longer, Rayner, in my factory?"
"That for your factory!" said Rayner, snapping his fingers again; "I'll never do another day's work as long as I live. I'll pay you what you like instead of a week's notice, or you may fine me what you like. But I'm off to London by the next train to see my lawyer, and to enjoy myself a bit. I'll send for my wife and the children when I'm ready for them."
"Hear one word," said Mr. Burnet. "I have no wish to detain you an hour if you wish to go, nor will I take any payment or fine. The only thing that troubles me is that not one of the other men is capable of filling your place, not one of them could undertake the position of foreman, even if I were willing to offer it."
"No," replied Rayner, "you can't fill my place with one of those duffers. But, I say, what about this chap from London? Can't you make him foreman?"
Mr. Burnet and Mitchell looked at each other; then said the master, "What do you think, Mitchell?"
"Settle it between you," cried Rayner, "it is no business of mine. Good-bye, and good luck to you! I shall see no more of that oldTimes and Post, I'm thankful to say. New times and a new post for me! So I'm off!"
And away he went, down the private road and into the highroad, and to his cottage home, where he astounded his wife by his words and manner, and from whence he betook himself and was seen no more in Littlebourne. A fortnight later, Mrs. Rayner, a quiet, sensible woman, took herself and her children out of the place, and Rayner and his thirty thousand pounds were only remembered as something to laugh over and wonder at.
As for Thomas Mitchell—well, it was almost too good to be true. He looked over the works, saw the presses, talked with the men, and came to the conclusion that he could undertake the duties of foreman. It was a great rise for him.
"I never thought of such a thing, sir, when I came down here."
"Nor did I, Mitchell. I only thought of bringing you into good air, and setting you up in health. If Rayner had not made room for you, you could only have been one of the journeymen printers."
"Seems to me," said Mitchell huskily, "that a kind Hand has led me here in a wonderful way. I see quite plainly that it is not myself that has brought me here."
"I see that too," answered Mr. Burnet. "I little thought when I found a naughty girl astray on the river that such events would occur. Your Juliet did not seem of any consequence to me,but when Rowles told me of her father's bad health I just said to myself that he would have a better chance in the country. And the idea put itself into shape, and you were brought down here, and then exactly at the right moment Rayner's good fortune—if it really turns out to be good fortune—came to him, and the post was open for you, and I believe you will prove to be the right man in the right place."
There was one person who was much vexed that he could not have a hand in the late doings. This was Roberts, the butler, who still was far from well, and not allowed out except in the garden on dry days.
But he talked a good deal with the housekeeper; and one day, after one of these talks, she went to Mr. Burnet and said, "If you have no objection, sir, I should like to ask Mrs. Mitchell and Juliet to take tea with me some afternoon."
"By all means," replied Mr. Burnet. "You can give them some of your scones, Mrs. Johnson, and some of your new strawberry jam."
Accordingly a day was fixed for Mrs. Mitchell and Juliet to drink tea at Bourne House. They arrived at four o'clock, neatly dressed, and were taken by Mrs. Johnson into her own little room.
"You see," explained the housekeeper, "I am what is called cook-housekeeper; I do the cooking and manage the house. Then there is Mary the housemaid, under my orders; she is out this afte so you won't see her. And there is the butler, who is not under my orders; and you won't see him, because he has his meals in his room, being still an invalid. I daresay your Juliet will take his tea up to him."
"Oh, yes, I will," cried Juliet. "He has been very kind to me."
"So have a good many people," said Mrs. Johnson. "Now, here you are. You'll find him in the first room on the right-hand side, at the top of the first flight of stairs."
As soon as Juliet had started with the tray on which Roberts's tea was arranged, Mrs. Johnson went on talking to Mrs. Mitchell.
"The house is not all furnished yet, and Roberts is not in the room which is really to be his. There are three reception rooms, a lovely drawing-room opening into the conservatory, good dining-room, and small study. Eight bed-rooms: Mr. Burnet's, Mr. Leonard's, the butler's, the housemaid's, mine, and there will be three spare rooms; so I suppose Mr. Burnet means to have a good deal of staying company."
"Eight bed-rooms!" repeated Mrs. Mitchell; "and only one housemaid for all of them! Why, however will she keep them all?"
"You may well ask that," said the housekeeper in a peculiar tone. "I'll show you over the house by and by, and you shall judge for yourself how Mary will manage it."
Juliet now returned.
"Well, how does he seem?"
"He seems pretty well," said Juliet; "and he was very kind."
"Ay, he's kind enough. Sugar, Mrs. Mitchell? Jam, Juliet? You are able to leave the little ones when you come out, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Mitchell answered. "My second girl, Amy, is almost as big as Juliet, and a handy girl too. And you know we have no baby now."
"I know, I know," said the housekeeper. "So you did not feel much put about when Juliet was away from you?"
"Oh, no, not in that way."
"No, to be sure. Scones, Mrs. Mitchell? Milk, Juliet?"
When tea was ended Mrs. Johnson took her visitors over the house. They saw the sitting-rooms, only partly furnished, and all the bed-rooms except that in which Roberts was reposing himself. Some of these chambers were furnished, others were quite empty. Mary's room had two beds in it, two chests of drawers, two washstands, and so forth.
"Ah!" and Mrs. Johnson nodded her head; "yes, you see I got everything double. Do you understand?"
"Everything double!" said Mrs. Mitchell.
"And only Mary in the room."
"Only Mary in the room!"
"Well, I see you don't take in what I mean. It is this. When we get settled and have a lot of visitors in the house I shall want help in the kitchen, and Mary will want help in the rooms. What would you say to letting Juliet come and try how she would like the place?"
There was no doubt that Juliet would like it; her face said so. And Mrs. Mitchell, after looking serious for a few minutes, brightened up and said, "Do you think she would do? You know, she was so tiresome that her aunt could not keep her."
"Yes, I know; but she has had a stern lesson, and if she will try to be a good girl I should like to give her the chance. What do you say yourself, Juliet?"
Instead of saying as she used, "I'm that stupid and awkward that I can't do nothing," or that still worse thing, "I suppose I can do anything I want to," Juliet replied modestly, "I will try to do what you tell me."
"That's all I want," cried Mrs. Johnson kindly; "no girl can do better than what she is told. And as soon as I can settle it with Mr. Burnet I will come and settle it with you. Now, we will go out and look at the gardens, which are pretty though not to say large."
When there came a pause in the conversation Juliet said to her mother, "Mr. Robert was very kind, and would like to take you and me andfather in a boat on the river some day soon. And he would like to go on Saturday afternoon if he is well enough. And he thinks Mrs. Bosher's brother would come too, and if Mr. Robert is not well enough to row, Mrs. Bosher's brother will row, and Mr. Robert will steer; and Mr. Robert says we are to meet him at the lock at three o'clock, which is between luncheon and dinner."
"And I hope you will have a nice trip," were Mrs. Johnson's last words as she said good-bye at the gate.
Juliet felt quite frightened at her good fortune; it seemed to make her want to cry more than poverty and trouble had done. And she said her prayers more earnestly than she had said them when she was naughty and unhappy. As the days went by and all was well, her father growing stronger, the children rosier, the house more comfortable, she did feel very deeply that the great blessings showered upon her had not been deserved, but were sent to make her better in the future than she had been in the past.
There was yet one more thing that she desired; that was to take her parents down the river to the place where she had been almost shipwrecked in theFairy. They, too, wished to see the spot where their daughter had narrowly escaped a terrible death, which they shuddered even to think of.
Three o'clock on the afternoon of Saturday sawthe whole Mitchell family at the lock. The children came to see their elders off, and to spend the afternoon with Philip and Emily.
"Glad to see you out in the daylight," said Mr. Rowles to Mr. Mitchell. "You are twice the man you were, now that you are keeping better hours."
Mitchell only smiled; he did not think it possible to quite overcome Rowles's prejudice.
"Here's the tub which Phil has brought up from the ferry. He thought you would like a flat-bottomed tub, Mary."
Mrs. Mitchell looked about, expecting to see a round thing similar to a washing-tub.
But her husband knew better. "Yes," said he, "when I was a young man I used to go to Battersea on holidays, I and some others, and nothing would suit us but outrigged gigs, randans, and such like; but now I'm growing old, and a flat-bottomed tub suits us better, my missus and me. Shall we get in, do you think, Ned?"
"Yes, get in. Here they come, four on 'em—two blue stripes, one red stripe, and one all gals. They can all go in together."
"In the water!" cried Mrs. Mitchell.
"No, Mary; in the lock. What a cockney you are!"
He went to work the paddles and the handles, and while he was so employed the others heard a tremendous halloo from the bank on the far sideof the river. Juliet looked slightly alarmed and said to her mother, "I think it is Mrs. Bosher's brother."
And so it was. He had come down through the wood and the fields by the same path which Juliet had gone up on the sad day when she ran away from Littlebourne Lock. But he was not frightened by the cows, nor caught by the brambles, and had he met himself with a gun he would not have been at all terrified.
As soon as his loud deep voice was heard, Philip got into theFairyand went across to fetch him. While this was doing the four boats got through the lock, and Rowles came back to talk to his friends.
"I suppose you can swim?" he said to Mitchell.
"Yes; and so can my boy Albert. Swimming-baths in London, you know, where you get clean and learn to swim all in one."
"A better bath here," returned Rowles, "and nothing to pay."
He looked lovingly at the beautiful river, rippled by the soft wind into a deeper blue than the clear blue overhead. Mitchell, too, was learning to love the Thames.
"And what are you waiting for now?" Mrs. Rowles asked.
"Why, for a friend; that is to say, Mr. Robert from the House."
"Ah, he can't get along very fast on account ofhis rheumatics. But he won't keep you standing about very long; and here's Mrs. Bosher's brother to fill up the time." And Rowles turned to greet the new arrival, who looked indeed big enough to fill up any amount of time or space, even had he been without the great yellow rose which he wore in his button-hole.
While they were in friendly talk with Mrs. Bosher's brother, the party on the eyot did not notice who was coming along the road from the village. It was a middle-aged man, who walked rather limpingly, and who made most extraordinary gestures as he approached the group. First he stood and stared, then he rubbed his eyes and stared again. Then he took out his spectacles and put them on, took them off, rubbed them, and put them on again.
He advanced a few steps, cast his hands up in the air, leaned heavily on his stick, and exclaimed under his breath, "I can't believe it! Who could have thought it? It is like a story-book!"
Then he went on a few steps further and came close behind the group, which was gathered round Mrs. Bosher's brother, listening to his loud, hearty remarks.
Rowles was the first who saw the new-comer. He looked over his shoulder and nodded. Then Mrs. Bosher's brother roared out, "Hullo! here you are at last! How do you feel?"
And before the new-comer could reply to thisgreeting all the other eyes were turned upon him, with expressions of surprise and bewilderment.
"You! What brings you here?"
"What bringsyouhere?"
Mrs. Bosher's brother was the only person who remained calm. "What's the matter?" said he. "Are you old friends or old enemies?"
"It is so odd," said Mitchell; "I can't make it out."
"Well, shake hands," cried Roberts; and he shook hands all round.
When that was over Mr. Rowles said he would like to know what it was all about, and so at last matters were explained.
"It is Daniel Roberts, who married my poor sister Nan, that died nine years come the 1st of November." While Mitchell said this he was gazing harder than ever at Roberts.
"Why did you never tell me his name?" Mrs. Mitchell asked of Juliet.
"I did," Juliet replied. "I always called him Mr. Robert."
"Ain't he Mr. Robert then?" asked Rowles, still perplexed.
"No," said the butler; "I am Daniel Roberts. Roberts is my surname, and Robert is not my Christian name. But some people have no ear for music, and can't hear an S when it is at the end of the word."
Mrs. Mitchell turned to her children. "It isyour Uncle Roberts. Iamsurprised at finding him here. Why, Daniel, Mrs. Johnson said she thought it was partly owing to you that Mr. Burnet had us brought down here."
"So it was, Mary. But, mind you, I did not know it was you. That girl there, they called her Juliet, and then they talked about Juliet's father being a printer and out of health, and all that; and I thinks to myself that there was Mitchell, poor Nan's brother, who was a printer, and I should not like to think that he was out of health and out of work, and that gave me a kind of feeling for all printers, and I put in a word for Juliet's father. But I little thought that Juliet's father was poor Nan's brother."
"Ain't you glad, man?" said Mrs. Bosher's brother, giving a squeeze to Roberts's rheumatic arm; "ain't you glad?"
"Glad—oh, it's agony!—yes, glad as I can be."
"Well, I can't make it out now!" said Mitchell, taking off his hat to cool his head. "Just to think that Mr. Robert the butler is my brother-in-law!"
"Are you sorry, man?" roared Mrs. Bosher's brother, putting his great rose into Mitchell's face; "are you sorry?"
"Sorry!—phew, it's delicious, but stifling—no, I'm certainly not sorry."
"Then get into the boat, and do the rest of your talking there."
They took the hint. Mrs. Bosher's brother rowed them gently down the stream to Banksome Weir, the scene of Juliet's escape, and afterwards he rowed them gently back again. He said he could do that kind of rowing in his sleep.
They were all very happy; a happy family party.
And not the least happy was Juliet Mitchell, who had put away from her all her former follies and ill-humours, and had begun a new life of gentleness, obedience, and industry.
Mr. Burnet and Leonard passed them in another boat, and smiled and nodded at them.
Mr. and Mrs. Webster passed them, walking on the towing-path, and nodded and smiled at them.
Mrs. Bosher's bonnet came to see them in the evening, and nodded more than ever.
And a very kind letter came from Miss Sutton, with a hymn-book as a special present to Juliet.