CHAPTER XV."WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT."Fortunately for Jim's peace of mind the next day was not a particularly busy one at the police court. He and Dick sat with Mr. Broad and the tobacconist in the space reserved for witnesses, while in the public portion of the building only a few people besides his mother and Mrs. Boden had assembled.Presently a small side-door was opened, and the two youthful prisoners took their places in the dock. Curly was still smiling and cheerful, but his companion in misfortune looked even more miserable than on the preceding night.When the charge had been read over, Mr. Broad proceeded to make his statement, describing how he had marked the coins and placed them in the till, and how, on returning to the shop, he had found they were gone.Then Jim went into the witness-box, feeling horribly uncomfortable. He thought the two magistrates regarded him contemptuously, and as if they thought his proper place was in the dock with the prisoners. However, he managed to give a connected account of what had passed, and was stepping down again when one of the magistrates observed, "If this witness speaks the truth, it is clear that the prisoner Peters could not have been in the shop.""I wasn't, sir," spoke up Curly. "I never put my foot inside it.""We suggest that he was acting as a blind," said the inspector—"that he engaged the shop-boy's attention while the other prisoner stole the money. I think the next witness will make that clear.""Very well," said the magistrate; "let him he called.""Richard Boden!"Dick stepped into the box, took the oath, and began his story without the least hesitation. As he proceeded Curly's confident smile began to fade: the witness was not leaving him a single loophole for escape. The evidence was so clear and simple and yet so conclusive that, as one constable remarked in a whisper, the prisoners had not "the ghost of a chance.""Uncommon smart boy that," he added graciously. "Ought to join the force when he's old enough."When Dick had finished, Sir Thomas Arkell, the senior magistrate, a tall, stout man with bristling moustache, leaning forward, said, "I congratulate you on the way in which you have given your evidence, my lad." And the compliment was well deserved.Martin, the tobacconist, then identified Bryant as the boy who had paid him the marked shilling, and the officers deposed to searching the prisoners and finding the florin on Peters. No one had any doubt of their guilt, but several people thought Jim very lucky in not having been placed with them.However, Curly did not quite despair of getting off. Certainly he would leave his accomplice in the lurch, but that misfortune he was prepared to bear philosophically."I didn't steal the money!" he protested energetically, "and I didn't know it was stole. It will teach me a lesson, though, to mind who I takes up with another time. This all comes of being pals with Sam Bryant. Last night I met him in West Street. He said he had won some money on a race, and asked me to mind a two-shilling piece. He said he durstn't take it home for fear his father would nab it. And that's the solemn truth, gentlemen! Why, I'd no more think of stealing a penny than of swallowing it!"Now, fortunately for Jim, Curly's frantic effort to save himself roused Bryant from his stupor. Hitherto he had displayed no interest in the proceedings, but now, glaring savagely at his companion, he exclaimed in a shrill voice, "Oh, that's it, is it? I am to bear all the blame, am I? Well, then, I'll just tell the truth. Curly made friends with Jim Hartland on purpose to get him to rob the till. Curly sounded him several times, but could make nothing of him, so we agreed to do it ourselves. We went in two or three times before, but didn't get much. Last night seemed a good chance, and Curly agreed to get Hartland out of the way. I got three and ninepence altogether, and out of that Curly gave Hartland sixpence that he owed him. I ain't going to prison by myself, when Curly Peters had more to do with it than me!""I told you it would come out!" whispered Dick to his chum.The magistrates consulted together for a few minutes, and then the two prisoners were remanded, with a view to being sent to a reformatory.As this was the last case set down for hearing, the people began to leave the court; and Mr. Broad, turning to Jim with a smiling face, said,—"I am glad you have come out of it so well, Hartland. I am sorry I suspected you at all, but at one time things looked rather black against you, eh? However, you've had your lesson, and I hope you will profit by it. By the way, I shall be glad if you can come an hour earlier this afternoon. This wretched business has thrown the work back a good deal.""Are you going to keep me on, sir?" asked Jim, who could scarcely believe his own ears."Keep you on? Of course! Why not? You've been a pretty silly chap in choosing your friends, but that won't happen again. There, there; don't thank me." And the worthy stationer bustled away, leaving Jim with flushed face and sparkling eyes. This was a greater piece of good fortune than he had dared hope for.In the corridor he found his mother with Mrs. Boden; and directly afterwards Dick, who had suddenly disappeared, ran up waving his cap and hardly able to keep from hurrahing."O my aunt!" cried he; "here's a stroke of good luck! Let's go outside, where I can tell you all about it. You'll never guess where I've been.""You had better tell us, then," said his mother."So I will. Don't get too excited, now. What do you think of an interview with Sir Thomas Arkell in the magistrates' room? I thought you'd open your eyes. O my—""Never mind your aunt," said Jim, laughing; "we're dying to hear about the interview.""Well, while you were talking to Mr. Broad, a policeman came up and asked if I was Richard Boden. When I told him I was, he said, 'Come this way. Sir Thomas wishes to speak to you.' He was a solemn old chap, and marched along like a mute at a funeral. I began to feel frightened.""I wish I'd been there to see you, Dicky," said Mrs. Hartland."Well, it really was enough to make me nervous," declared Dick. "However, at last he knocked at a door; some one said, 'Come in,' and there was Sir Thomas standing with his back to the fire."'Ah,' said he—and he isn't half as fierce as he looks—'are you Richard Boden?'"'Yes, sir.'"'Well, I wanted to say I was very pleased with you this morning. Where do you go to school?' And when I told him, he said, 'I suppose your master can give you a good character?'"'I think he will, sir,' I answered; and then he wrote down my name and the name of the school in a notebook."'I will see Mr. Holmore,' he said; 'and should the result be satisfactory, as I have no doubt it will, I shall find a berth for you in my business.'""O Dick!" exclaimed his mother, "it sounds too good to be true!""It's true enough," cried Dick gaily, throwing his cap into the air. "Don't you hear the bells, 'Turn again, Richard, Lord Mayor of Beauleigh'? Why, it's as simple as anything: just like going upstairs. Office-boy, clerk, confidential clerk, manager, partner—Arkell and Boden! We'll hang out a big signboard when that time comes. Hurrah! Trot along, Jimmy!""You might both run on," suggested Mrs. Hartland, "and get a cup of tea ready for us.""Rather a drop from the Lord-Mayor business, isn't it?" laughed Dick good-humouredly. "Still, it's as well to make use of me while you can."That afternoon has often been talked of since. Every one was in good spirits, and Dick rattled on like a merry madcap, building, half in jest, half in earnest, golden castles in the air. To judge by his remarks when Mrs. Hartland began talking of his kindness to Jim, the whole affair had been got up specially for his benefit."It's I who have to thank Jim," he laughed. "But for him I shouldn't have had an interview with Sir Thomas!" adding solemnly, "I won't forget you, Jim; you shall have a ticket for my mayoral banquet, and shall sit near me.""Thanks," replied Jim humbly; "I shall be satisfied with a seat at the bottom of the table.""What a rattle-pate you are, Dick!" laughed Mrs. Hartland. "How poor Susie would enjoy being here now!""Is the doctor really doing her good?" asked Dick's mother."He thinks so. He is trying a wonderful new discovery of some foreign doctor, and the nurse told me on Sunday he's more than satisfied with the result.""Hurrah for Dr. Stewart!" cried Dick; "he's a fine fellow. I'll keep a place for him on my visiting-list."Thus they laughed and chattered, enjoying themselves in an innocent way, and endeavouring to banish the disagreeable incidents of the morning, until it was time for Jim to start for work."I may as well walk with you as far as the shop," said Dick, going out with him; "I feel like a fish out of water, not being at school to-day. Won't there be a buzz when the fellows hear the news?""Too much for me. I don't think I shall go back.""What?" Dicky turned and looked his chum full in the face. "Surely you aren't going to show the white feather, old man. Why, that would be just giving the fellows a stick to beat you with.""It is easy to talk," said Jim, "but I don't want to see sour looks and hear sneering remarks every day. I know what chaps like Simpson will say.""And I know what they'll say if you don't turn up."For some distance the two boys walked in silence. Jim was thinking. His chum was right, of course. It would be much braver and more manly to "face the music;" but he shrank, and perhaps naturally, from the ordeal. Besides, he would be leaving in any case at the end of a few weeks, and why should he go out of his way to suffer misery for the sake of a fad?"Here we are nearly at the shop," cried Dick, stopping suddenly. "You will come in the morning, won't you?""I won't promise," said Jim slowly.I think that at this juncture it was the boy's master who proved his guardian angel. He greeted him cheerily, and showed by every means in his power that he had confidence in his honesty. This absolute trust brought back Jim's self-respect. If his employer believed in his innocence, why should he trouble himself about the sneers of others? His courage gradually rose; he threw off the gloom that hung about him. He determined to hold up his head and bear himself bravely, whatever happened."'Twill be jolly hard, I know," he said to himself; "but I'll live it down." And his heart grew lighter as he registered the resolve."By the way, Hartland," remarked his employer later in the evening, "I have been thinking we might make a fresh arrangement. I should like you to stay all day, and you might start on Monday.""I'd rather not begin till the holidays, sir," said Jim, with an effort."Why not?""Because, because—well, they might say I was afraid to go back to school.""Well, it won't be particularly pleasant," replied Mr. Broad, "and that is partly why I made the offer. But yours is the better plan, and I wish you luck, my boy.""Thank you, sir," returned Jim, brightly, though in his heart he could not help wishing that the next day was safely over.CHAPTER XVI.A FRESH START.The police-court proceedings created a great sensation at the Deanery, and were canvassed with characteristic schoolboy freedom. Dick, of course, received much praise; and on his arrival, just before opening time, he was surrounded by an admiring group. However, he bore his blushing honours meekly, remarking that he had done nothing in particular."Your being there was a lucky thing for Jim Hartland, though," observed Alec Macdonald."A good many people think there's more in it than came out!" sneered Simpson. "Ishouldn't like to be caught with a marked sixpence in my pocket!""You're just a cad!" cried Dick hotly, "and no one cares a brass button what you say. As to Hartland, he showed more grit in five minutes than you'd show in five centuries.""How's that?" cried several boys eagerly."That's part of what Simpson says didn't come out. Of course you know old Broad found the sixpence on him. Well, he's a good sort, though at first he did think Jim guilty. 'Look here, Hartland,' said he; 'you'd better own up. You're certain to be sent to prison, because, even if you're innocent, you can't prove it.' Well, what did Jim answer?""He wasn't likely to give the show away, anyhow!" said Simpson."Broad didn't ask him to. 'Just admit you stole the money, and you'll hear no more of it,' said he. 'I'll hush it up, and no one will be any the wiser.'""That was handsome," remarked several of the boys."Yes," agreed Dick, "but Jim wasn't taking any 'Send me to prison for life if you like,' said Jim; 'I shan't confess to what I didn't do!'""Good old Jim!" cried Alec Macdonald. "He always was a plucky beggar." And the others echoed his cry.Few of them believed he was mixed up in the robbery, and Dick's story was received with acclamation. A sudden revulsion of feeling took place, and those who had looked rather coldly on Jim since the fatal accident to Braithwaite now spoke loudly in his defence.Just as the bell rang he was seen coming in at the gate, and quite a number of boys ran across to meet him.Once more Alec Macdonald voiced the general sentiment."We're jolly glad you got out of that mess, Jim," he exclaimed, "and we know it wasn't your fault."Jim blushed like a peony; his eyes were suspiciously moist, and he felt a choking sensation in his throat. This reception differed altogether from what he had expected. He looked at the group of boys and tried to answer, but his words were very stammering."This is—very—kind—of you chaps," he managed to say, "and I didn't expect it.""Come on!" cried Dick; "there's Mr. Laythorne! He'll be giving us an extra half-hour's grind." And they scudded away to their places like so many rabbits into a warren.Jim's class-fellows were not alone in expressing their belief in his innocence. After prayers, and before beginning morning work, Mr. Laythorne, standing before his class, said, "I am glad to see you in your place again, Hartland. We have all heard of your trouble, and we all rejoice that you have come through it so triumphantly. I am speaking not only for myself and the boys, but for all the masters, including Mr. Holmore. Let me say for all of us that we are quite convinced of your honesty.""Yes, yes!" murmured the class approvingly."Thank you, sir," said Jim. "I'm—" But he got no farther. Cold looks he had steeled himself to meet, and angry words he would have thrown back with interest, but this kindness broke him down utterly. The tears would come into his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands. The young master said nothing further, thinking it best not to disturb him. He had always felt great interest in Jim, and no one had been more disappointed at his failure to gain a high place in the Gayton Scholarship list.Several times recently he had endeavoured to save him from drifting, but without success; now he resolved to make another effort."He is a clever boy, and ought to do well," he said to himself thoughtfully, "but lately he seems to have got into a set of cross currents. One would think he had thrown that Gayton Scholarship away deliberately."Mr. Laythorne was not aware how very severely Jim had been handicapped; but that same afternoon, during a talk with Dick Boden on quite another subject, he learned the truth. When school was dismissed, he called Dick to him and said, "By the way, Boden, I have to congratulate you. Sir Thomas Arkell has been to see the head-master, who referred him to me. I was glad to be able to report favourably on your conduct, and he has decided in consequence to take you on at his place as soon as the holidays begin.""Thank you, sir," answered Dick gratefully. "Mother meant me to stay a little longer, but we can't afford to miss this chance, and I shall be able to attend the continuation school.""I hope you will. Well, it appears we shall both be leaving the dear old Deanery together."Dick glanced up hastily, saying, "Are you going away from Beauleigh, sir?""Yes. It will soon be known now. I have been appointed to a school in Portsmouth.""The boys will be sorry," exclaimed Dick, "and glad too—sorry on their own account, and glad on yours.""I think," said the master, smiling, "we have got on very comfortably together. By the way, I am sorry about your chum Hartland. I had hoped he would do better.""Jim's had very hard lines lately, sir. Things have all gone wrong, somehow, and he took the result of the 'Gayton' very much to heart.""So I should imagine," exclaimed the master dryly."It wasn't his fault coming out so low down," said Dick. "You can't sprint very fast with a heavy load on your shoulders, and Jim was carrying too much weight. A lot of his time was taken up at the shop, morning and evening; then his mother fell ill, and he had to work like a nigger keeping things straight at home. Why, for weeks he had hardly a minute to breathe in!""He did not mention this to me when I spoke to him about his position.""No," responded Dick with a twinkle; "Jim isn't built that way. He's too proud to let the world into his little secrets.""Oh!" said the master thoughtfully, "that puts a very different complexion on the case."That same evening Jim's mother was surprised by a visit from Mr. Laythorne, who, by a few skilful questions, soon discovered that Dick had not overstated the case. It was plain that, despite his folly elsewhere, Jim had behaved splendidly at home; and the class-master's good opinion of his scholar was more than restored."What are you going to make of the boy?" he asked."Well," replied Mrs. Hartland, "had his father lived we should have tried to start him as a pupil-teacher, but I fear he must give up that idea now. Mr. Broad has been very kind, and has offered to take him into the shop altogether.""And what does Jim think of the proposal?""He doesn't really like it, but he is a good boy, and raises no objection."Mr. Laythorne was more than ordinarily thoughtful that evening. For more than an hour he sat in his room, thinking deeply, too absorbed even to open one of his favourite books."It's a quixotic scheme," he muttered once, "but upon my word I've a good mind to try it. The lad has brains, and, properly trained, should do well. He'll do no good here if his heart isn't in the work and he may slip back. It would remove him from temptation, too. Well, I'll sleep on it, and ask Holmore's advice."The result of these cogitations, and of an interview with the head-master, became apparent at the end of the week, when he once more called at the house in Brook Street; but this time late in the evening, when Jim had returned from work.He was not a man given to much beating about the bush, and he introduced the object of his visit at once."Hartland," he began quietly, "I understand from your mother that you would like to be a pupil-teacher?""Yes, sir," answered Jim readily, "but," trying to smile, "that's out of the question now.""I'm not so sure of that. You know I am going to Portsmouth?""Yes, sir; Dick Boden told me, and very pleased I was to hear it.""How would you like to go with me?"Jim sprang to his feet, his cheeks flushed, his eyes sparkling, and every fibre of his body quivering with excitement. Then he shook his head mournfully, saying, "We can't afford it, sir.""Your mother and I will discuss that part of the business," remarked Mr. Laythorne quietly. "But if you go, I shall expect you to work hard, to pass your examinations high up, and, generally speaking, to do me credit.""I would do my very best!" exclaimed the lad earnestly."I believe you would. Well, now run away, while I have a talk with your mother."The boy went out to the front door, and stood looking into the dingy street. Now and again he turned toward the room, straining his ears, not to hear what was said, but just to make sure that Mr. Laythorne was really there. It seemed altogether too wonderful; he feared almost to dwell on it.Presently he heard the visitor stand up, and come into the passage. What had been decided? His heart beat fast at the question. Here was Mr. Laythorne shaking his hand. What did he say? What strange noises buzzed in his head! Ah, the words became plain."I hope, my boy, that this will be putting your foot on the first rung of the ladder."So the wonderful thing had come to pass, and he was really to go! I cannot write down Jim's answer because neither his mother nor Mr. Laythorne understood his broken words; but it is certain that he was extremely grateful and supremely happy."By the way," said their visitor, before taking leave, "it will not be necessary to inform the world of our private arrangement. It will be sufficient to say that Jim is coming with me." For Mr. Laythorne was a gentleman, and had no sympathy with the blowing of trumpets at street corners.Jim and his mother had little to say when they were left alone. They were overwhelmed with surprise, and their happiness was too great for words. But when the boy had gone to his room, he knelt by his bedside and asked for strength to prove himself worthy of his benefactor's generosity; and many times over, before falling asleep, he said to himself, "I will not disappoint him!"Of course, Mr. Broad had to be told of the contemplated change, and he was really sorry to have to part with Jim."I should have liked to keep you, Hartland," he said, "but I mustn't stand in your light; and, by the way, don't buy any lesson-books. Ask your master to write out a list of what you will require for next two years, and I will get them.""Why," exclaimed the Angel delightedly, when he heard the news, "there's such a lot of silver lining that very soon you won't be able to see the black cloud at all!"Dick was prophesying better than he knew. But we must not anticipate.On Sunday Jim went with his mother to the Children's Hospital. Susie still kept her bed, and her back was encased in plaster of Paris; but she had grown decidedly stronger, and the nurse spoke most hopefully of her case."And if she does walk," said she, "you will have to thank Dr. Stewart. I have never known any one take such an interest in a case."Mrs. Hartland left Jim to reveal his great secret, and it was charming to observe the look of delighted surprise steal into the girl's face."Do you know," she said thoughtfully, after congratulating her brother on his good fortune, "I think people have been very kind to us.""Yes," exclaimed her mother, kissing her fondly; "and I hope we shall never forget it."CHAPTER XVII.A STARTLING SURPRISE.The next fortnight was about the happiest time Jim had passed since the news arrived of his father's death. Thanks in some part to his wages, they had tided over the worst of the crisis; and his mother, who was really a skilful needlewoman, had now no lack of employment.At the Deanery School he had quite recovered his popularity. The boys sought his advice as in the old days; and one half-holiday the Football Committee begged him to assist the team in an important match. Mr. Broad readily granted him an extra hour's leave, and much to the delight of his numerous admirers, he had the satisfaction of kicking the winning goal for the school."There's an end to my football in Beauleigh," he said, as he left the field with his chum."And a very good finish!" laughed the Angel. "The Deanery fellows will miss you at cricket next season.""I expect they'll miss us both. I hope, though, they'll keep the shield.""They're bound to!" said Dick, with a grin. "Haven't they got Simpson?""Of course; I'd forgotten him. Have you heard from Sir Thomas Arkell?""Yes; I'm to begin work on the morning they reopen after the holidays. I can hardly believe it now.""I understand the feeling. D'you know, I think we've been awfully lucky, Dick.""The reward of merit!" murmured the Angel; and a stranger, judging by the tone of his voice, would have thought he really meant it.Jim, however, knew him better, and greeted the remark with a laugh, saying, "Well, every one who deserves the reward doesn't get it, anyhow.""Only one week more," cried Dick, flying off at a tangent—a by no means unusual proceeding on his part. "I'm counting the days now."That week seemed a long time to the eager boys; but it came to an end at last, and the Deanery scholars assembled in the large hall for dismissal. It was the head-master's custom to speak a few words before they separated, and he did so now.That part of the speech which met with the greatest attention referred to Mr. Laythorne's approaching departure. The boys were sorry to lose him, as he was very popular, and they punctuated every sentence with ringing cheers. But the greatest applause was reserved for the unveiling of the handsome presents which boys and masters alike had subscribed for; and when Mr. Laythorne stepped forward to express his thanks, the cheering became deafening."Three cheers for Mr. Laythorne, and one cheer more!" yelled the Angel. "Hurrah!"It was a breaking-up scene such as had rarely occurred at the Deanery, and one to be long remembered. Mr. Laythorne made a modest little speech, and then, unchecked by the masters, the Angel led off with "For he's a jolly good fellow!" and was strenuously backed up by the vocal powers of three hundred enthusiastic boys. It was not, perhaps, strictly orthodox, but it was undoubtedly genuine; I fancy Mr. Laythorne, though not a demonstrative man himself, was rather pleased by the warmth of his reception. When the boys were dismissed, he called Jim, to give him his final instructions."My arrangements are quite complete," said he, "but I shall write in the course of a week or two. Most likely I shall want you to come over a few days before school begins.""I shall be ready, sir, whenever you send.""Well, good-bye! Have a good holiday, because there will be plenty of work when you get to Portsmouth."A good holiday! How surprised both would have been had they known the kind of holiday which was in store for Jim!Instead of going straight to work, the boy ran home with his bag of books, and stayed a few minutes with his mother, chatting of the splendid send-off to Mr. Laythorne."Dick led the cheering," said he, "and we all sang, 'For he's a jolly good fellow!'""So he is," said Mrs. Hartland, smiling—"none better, as far as we are concerned.""Well, I must be off," remarked Jim, "or Mr. Broad will wonder if I'm lost."They were very busy at the shop, and the boy worked away with a will. Perhaps the breaking-up scene had put him in good spirits; at any rate, the stationer remarked on his cheerfulness. While they were waiting for the evening papers, Jim, anxious not to waste time, sat down in a recess and began addressing a pile of labels.Suddenly he saw a man pass the window, stop as if hesitating, and then enter the shop. Knowing his employer was at the counter, he went on with his work, not thinking he would be required."I can polish these things off to-night if I peg away at them," he said to himself. "Where's that other book of addresses, I wonder? Oh, I see!"He got up to fetch the volume. From where he stood he could just see the top of Mr. Broad's head, but nothing of the customer. He heard his employer say "Good-evening," to which the stranger replied in a tone that made Jim jump.He placed the book on the table, and sat down. It was no business of his, but he felt compelled to listen to the conversation. The first words brought the blood to his face with a rush."Have you a boy named Hartland employed here?" asked the stranger."I have.""James Hartland?""That is his name. Why?""I should like to speak to him for a minute, if I may.""Is it anything important? because he is busy at present."Jim thought the man laughed; but he said aloud, "I think it's important enough for me to see him.""Hartland!" cried his master, "here's a gentleman wishes to see you!" And Jim, half dazed by surprise and doubt and fear, moved slowly toward the counter.The man on the other side of the counter was of medium height, well proportioned on the whole, but with a great breadth of chest. He was dressed in heavy serge of a dark-blue colour, and wore a peaked cap. His hair was short and curly; a few silver threads sprinkled the tawny brown of an ample beard. His eyes were gray; his face was white, and rather drawn. An observant critic would probably have called him a strong man just recovered or recovering from a severe illness.For a moment he looked hard at the boy; then a tender smile overspread his face, his lips parted, and in a soft voice he whispered, "Jim!"I do not know that the stationer ever complained; he might have done so with reason. Jim was a good all-round athlete, who, on ordinary occasions, could vault over the counter with ease. Now, dizzy with excitement, he made an erratic kick, sweeping papers, books, and stationery to the floor. Neither did he stop to repair the mischief, but flung himself with a cry of joy into the man's outstretched arms.Presently the man looked round on the pile of wreckage, and smiled."Come, Jim," said he, "let us put this straight." And while Mr. Broad looked on in undisguised amazement, the pair proceeded to pick up the fallen articles."If," said the stationer, slowly rubbing his hands, "I were in the habit of guessing, I should say you are Mr. John Hartland, who was drowned off Cape Horn.""Right you are, sir!" returned the man, smiling pleasantly; "I am John Hartland, and this is my boy. I'm just down from London. I heard Jim was up here, and I've come to borrow him. You see, he has to tell his mother. I've kept it out of the papers, and no one but the owners of theMorning Starknow I'm still in the land of the living.""Take him, my good sir!" said the delighted stationer. "Take him, and good luck to you both! But come to see me, Jim; come to see me!""I'll tide you over the busy time, sir!" exclaimed Jim; "I won't leave you in the lurch. But I must go now. Oh,howshall I tell mother?"People stopped to look at them in the streets—they were so patently, so undeniably happy. John Hartland clutched his boy's arm tightly, and every now and then Jim smiled up into his father's face."We're living in Brook Street now, father," he remarked."Yes, I know. I've made inquiries," replied his father. "How is Susie?""She's in the Children's Hospital, and getting better. The doctor says she is going to walk in a few months. O father, I can hardly believe you are here!""Can't you? Just feel this!" And he squeezed the boy's arm. "How is mother living?""By her needle. She does beautiful needlework.""I know! I know!" said the man abruptly. "Isn't this Brook Street? You go on, and I'll wait here a bit. But don't be long, Jim, don't be long! My patience will soon bubble over. I've been burning to get a peep at her."Jim smiled brightly, ran a few yards, and then walked soberly to the house. His mother was busy with her work, and she looked up at him in surprise."What is it, my boy?" she asked. "Why aren't you at the shop?""It's all right, mother," answered the lad; "there's no bad news. Mr. Broad said I might come. I've something to tell you—something pleasant, that will make you very happy.""Yes?" she said wonderingly, and looking straight into his eyes."A marvellous thing, mother—more marvellous than you ever dreamed of. Only Susie said it could be true, and even her faith failed."The woman had put down her work. Her face was white, her lips twitched nervously."Jim," she said pathetically—"Jim, this can only be one thing. Tell me quickly! O Jim, I can't bear it!""It's true, mother!" cried the boy. "It is the one thing. Yes, father is alive; there's news of him. He's coming home—coming to Beauleigh!"Mrs. Hartland slipped to the floor, clasped her hands, and offered up a silent prayer to Heaven. She could not speak, but the joy and the praise and the thanksgiving were all there.And then! Then they heard a click at the little gate, and a firm step on the path, and the front door was gently pushed open."O mother," cried Jim, "try to bear up! It is father!"He came along, slowly and with even steps at first; but, in his own words, his patience bubbled over, his feet broke into a run, and the next instant he was within the kitchen clasping his wife in his arms."Mary!""John!"Nothing more than that was heard for a long time, but no words were required to express their joy. Later in the evening there were numerous questions to be asked and answered, and the returned sailor's account of his wonderful escape to be given.I cannot set the story down in his own words, though it was full of interest to his eager listeners, but the outline is simple enough. The man Davies's account proved correct in the main, though John Hartland was astonished to find he had survived. As for himself, being a good swimmer, he had struck out for the shore, which, for a time, it appeared he would in all likelihood reach. Then his strength failed, and he could do no more than turn on his back and endeavour to float in the rough sea.The waves tossed him where they listed; he was worn out and exhausted by the prolonged struggle; but for the thought of the loved ones at home, he would have sunk down, down to the depths, like a weary child laying its head on the pillows. Only for the sake of his wife and children he fought on, though with ever-increasing weakness, until the roar of the sea was meaningless in his ears, and his upturned eyes gazed at the sun, without sight.Death was then very close at hand. He never knew the exact manner of his rescue or the period of his unconsciousness. He came back to life in a wretched hut on a desolate coast. Several natives stood around him. They were ill clothed, miserably poor, and, to our way of thinking, absolutely without the necessities of life. However, they treated the white man to the best of their ability, lighting a fire for him, gathering shell-fish for him, even giving up to his wants their greatest dainty—an occasional bird.From this savage condition he was rescued by an American whaler; and afterwards, joining a Chilian ship at Valparaiso, he worked his way round to Rio. Thence he got to the West Indies, where, by a fortunate accident, he secured a mate's berth in a homeward-bound vessel.Then Mrs. Hartland had to tell her story; and as she praised Jim's unselfishness, the sailor kept patting him on the shoulder and murmuring, "Good boy! Good boy, Jimmy! You did well!""As to this young schoolmaster," said he, "he's a regular brick! Thank goodness we can pay him for Jim's upkeep and all that, but we can never repay his generous thoughtfulness. Money's no good for that part of the case.""No," remarked his wife; "and money will not repay Dr. Stewart either. We have had much to be thankful for, John.""'Pon my word!" exclaimed the sailor, bringing his great fist down on the table with a mighty bang, "I did not think, lass, there was so much kindness in the world. When shall I be able to see Susie?""We must consult the doctor," said his wife. "The sudden shock may not be good for her.""Ah," said he with a sigh, "we must be careful; but my heart's sore to see the little lass."True to his promise, Jim was early at the shop next morning, and for several days he toiled early and late until his employer's busy time was over. It was one way of showing his gratitude, and he had no thought of reward.The news of his father's return quickly spread through Beauleigh, and he received the congratulations of all kinds of people. Dick Boden, of course, found his way to Brook Street, where, it is perhaps hardly necessary to state, he was warmly welcomed."I shan't forget you in a hurry, my son!" exclaimed the jovial sailor, "nor what you did for Jim. I've heard the yarn. Just wait till I come back from my next voyage.""I hope," observed Dick, with the usual innocent expression on his face, "that it won't take quite as long as the last." And the sailor laughed.He would have felt quite happy now, had his little girl been at home. His heart yearned for the lass, but he was buoyed up by a wonderful hope. With the doctor's permission, he had seen her at the hospital, and had come away with the profound conviction that she was gradually growing stronger. Indeed, Dr. Stewart had said as much, and more also."Next summer," he had said, "in all human probability, Pussy will walk, and before the end of the year even go a short distance without the aid of crutches."Mr. Laythorne had left the town at the beginning of the holidays, and Jim could not communicate with him; but at last his letter arrived, directing the boy to join him at 7 Mortimer Gardens, Portsmouth, on the following morning. Accordingly, Mrs. Hartland packed his things, Jim paid a farewell visit to his sister, went to see Dick, who was now installed in Sir Thomas Arkell's business, and then spent a quiet hour with his parents."I'll come with you, my boy," said his father. "I wish to thank this Mr. Laythorne, and to have a little talk with him."The schoolmaster was naturally somewhat surprised by the appearance of the sturdy, deep-chested sailor; but Jim soon explained matters, and then his father said,—"I am a plain man, sir, and not much used to figures of speech, but I want to thank you from my heart for your kindness. You've been a real Samaritan to my boy, and none of us will ever forget it. There is just one thing to be said. I mustn't trade on your generosity. The owners of theMorning Starhave behaved very handsomely, so that I can well afford to pay Jim's shot. Now that his father is home again, the boy mustn't be a burden on you, sir. You see that?""Very well," said Mr. Laythorne; "that shall be as you please." And before Jim's father left, the two drew up a fresh and eminently satisfactory arrangement."And now," said the sailor, "I'll just slip my moorings and run back.—Good-bye, my boy. Write often to your mother, and try to show this gentleman you're worth the care he has bestowed on you.—Good-bye, sir. If Jim comes to be worth anything in the world we shall have you to thank for it."They watched him go down the street; and then, turning to the boy, Mr. Laythorne said,—"This is a happier start than I expected. Now let us go to the school; there are several things to be done before the boys return.""Yes, sir," replied Jim, anxious to make himself useful, and to begin his fresh start in life.
CHAPTER XV.
"WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT."
Fortunately for Jim's peace of mind the next day was not a particularly busy one at the police court. He and Dick sat with Mr. Broad and the tobacconist in the space reserved for witnesses, while in the public portion of the building only a few people besides his mother and Mrs. Boden had assembled.
Presently a small side-door was opened, and the two youthful prisoners took their places in the dock. Curly was still smiling and cheerful, but his companion in misfortune looked even more miserable than on the preceding night.
When the charge had been read over, Mr. Broad proceeded to make his statement, describing how he had marked the coins and placed them in the till, and how, on returning to the shop, he had found they were gone.
Then Jim went into the witness-box, feeling horribly uncomfortable. He thought the two magistrates regarded him contemptuously, and as if they thought his proper place was in the dock with the prisoners. However, he managed to give a connected account of what had passed, and was stepping down again when one of the magistrates observed, "If this witness speaks the truth, it is clear that the prisoner Peters could not have been in the shop."
"I wasn't, sir," spoke up Curly. "I never put my foot inside it."
"We suggest that he was acting as a blind," said the inspector—"that he engaged the shop-boy's attention while the other prisoner stole the money. I think the next witness will make that clear."
"Very well," said the magistrate; "let him he called."
"Richard Boden!"
Dick stepped into the box, took the oath, and began his story without the least hesitation. As he proceeded Curly's confident smile began to fade: the witness was not leaving him a single loophole for escape. The evidence was so clear and simple and yet so conclusive that, as one constable remarked in a whisper, the prisoners had not "the ghost of a chance."
"Uncommon smart boy that," he added graciously. "Ought to join the force when he's old enough."
When Dick had finished, Sir Thomas Arkell, the senior magistrate, a tall, stout man with bristling moustache, leaning forward, said, "I congratulate you on the way in which you have given your evidence, my lad." And the compliment was well deserved.
Martin, the tobacconist, then identified Bryant as the boy who had paid him the marked shilling, and the officers deposed to searching the prisoners and finding the florin on Peters. No one had any doubt of their guilt, but several people thought Jim very lucky in not having been placed with them.
However, Curly did not quite despair of getting off. Certainly he would leave his accomplice in the lurch, but that misfortune he was prepared to bear philosophically.
"I didn't steal the money!" he protested energetically, "and I didn't know it was stole. It will teach me a lesson, though, to mind who I takes up with another time. This all comes of being pals with Sam Bryant. Last night I met him in West Street. He said he had won some money on a race, and asked me to mind a two-shilling piece. He said he durstn't take it home for fear his father would nab it. And that's the solemn truth, gentlemen! Why, I'd no more think of stealing a penny than of swallowing it!"
Now, fortunately for Jim, Curly's frantic effort to save himself roused Bryant from his stupor. Hitherto he had displayed no interest in the proceedings, but now, glaring savagely at his companion, he exclaimed in a shrill voice, "Oh, that's it, is it? I am to bear all the blame, am I? Well, then, I'll just tell the truth. Curly made friends with Jim Hartland on purpose to get him to rob the till. Curly sounded him several times, but could make nothing of him, so we agreed to do it ourselves. We went in two or three times before, but didn't get much. Last night seemed a good chance, and Curly agreed to get Hartland out of the way. I got three and ninepence altogether, and out of that Curly gave Hartland sixpence that he owed him. I ain't going to prison by myself, when Curly Peters had more to do with it than me!"
"I told you it would come out!" whispered Dick to his chum.
The magistrates consulted together for a few minutes, and then the two prisoners were remanded, with a view to being sent to a reformatory.
As this was the last case set down for hearing, the people began to leave the court; and Mr. Broad, turning to Jim with a smiling face, said,—
"I am glad you have come out of it so well, Hartland. I am sorry I suspected you at all, but at one time things looked rather black against you, eh? However, you've had your lesson, and I hope you will profit by it. By the way, I shall be glad if you can come an hour earlier this afternoon. This wretched business has thrown the work back a good deal."
"Are you going to keep me on, sir?" asked Jim, who could scarcely believe his own ears.
"Keep you on? Of course! Why not? You've been a pretty silly chap in choosing your friends, but that won't happen again. There, there; don't thank me." And the worthy stationer bustled away, leaving Jim with flushed face and sparkling eyes. This was a greater piece of good fortune than he had dared hope for.
In the corridor he found his mother with Mrs. Boden; and directly afterwards Dick, who had suddenly disappeared, ran up waving his cap and hardly able to keep from hurrahing.
"O my aunt!" cried he; "here's a stroke of good luck! Let's go outside, where I can tell you all about it. You'll never guess where I've been."
"You had better tell us, then," said his mother.
"So I will. Don't get too excited, now. What do you think of an interview with Sir Thomas Arkell in the magistrates' room? I thought you'd open your eyes. O my—"
"Never mind your aunt," said Jim, laughing; "we're dying to hear about the interview."
"Well, while you were talking to Mr. Broad, a policeman came up and asked if I was Richard Boden. When I told him I was, he said, 'Come this way. Sir Thomas wishes to speak to you.' He was a solemn old chap, and marched along like a mute at a funeral. I began to feel frightened."
"I wish I'd been there to see you, Dicky," said Mrs. Hartland.
"Well, it really was enough to make me nervous," declared Dick. "However, at last he knocked at a door; some one said, 'Come in,' and there was Sir Thomas standing with his back to the fire.
"'Ah,' said he—and he isn't half as fierce as he looks—'are you Richard Boden?'
"'Yes, sir.'
"'Well, I wanted to say I was very pleased with you this morning. Where do you go to school?' And when I told him, he said, 'I suppose your master can give you a good character?'
"'I think he will, sir,' I answered; and then he wrote down my name and the name of the school in a notebook.
"'I will see Mr. Holmore,' he said; 'and should the result be satisfactory, as I have no doubt it will, I shall find a berth for you in my business.'"
"O Dick!" exclaimed his mother, "it sounds too good to be true!"
"It's true enough," cried Dick gaily, throwing his cap into the air. "Don't you hear the bells, 'Turn again, Richard, Lord Mayor of Beauleigh'? Why, it's as simple as anything: just like going upstairs. Office-boy, clerk, confidential clerk, manager, partner—Arkell and Boden! We'll hang out a big signboard when that time comes. Hurrah! Trot along, Jimmy!"
"You might both run on," suggested Mrs. Hartland, "and get a cup of tea ready for us."
"Rather a drop from the Lord-Mayor business, isn't it?" laughed Dick good-humouredly. "Still, it's as well to make use of me while you can."
That afternoon has often been talked of since. Every one was in good spirits, and Dick rattled on like a merry madcap, building, half in jest, half in earnest, golden castles in the air. To judge by his remarks when Mrs. Hartland began talking of his kindness to Jim, the whole affair had been got up specially for his benefit.
"It's I who have to thank Jim," he laughed. "But for him I shouldn't have had an interview with Sir Thomas!" adding solemnly, "I won't forget you, Jim; you shall have a ticket for my mayoral banquet, and shall sit near me."
"Thanks," replied Jim humbly; "I shall be satisfied with a seat at the bottom of the table."
"What a rattle-pate you are, Dick!" laughed Mrs. Hartland. "How poor Susie would enjoy being here now!"
"Is the doctor really doing her good?" asked Dick's mother.
"He thinks so. He is trying a wonderful new discovery of some foreign doctor, and the nurse told me on Sunday he's more than satisfied with the result."
"Hurrah for Dr. Stewart!" cried Dick; "he's a fine fellow. I'll keep a place for him on my visiting-list."
Thus they laughed and chattered, enjoying themselves in an innocent way, and endeavouring to banish the disagreeable incidents of the morning, until it was time for Jim to start for work.
"I may as well walk with you as far as the shop," said Dick, going out with him; "I feel like a fish out of water, not being at school to-day. Won't there be a buzz when the fellows hear the news?"
"Too much for me. I don't think I shall go back."
"What?" Dicky turned and looked his chum full in the face. "Surely you aren't going to show the white feather, old man. Why, that would be just giving the fellows a stick to beat you with."
"It is easy to talk," said Jim, "but I don't want to see sour looks and hear sneering remarks every day. I know what chaps like Simpson will say."
"And I know what they'll say if you don't turn up."
For some distance the two boys walked in silence. Jim was thinking. His chum was right, of course. It would be much braver and more manly to "face the music;" but he shrank, and perhaps naturally, from the ordeal. Besides, he would be leaving in any case at the end of a few weeks, and why should he go out of his way to suffer misery for the sake of a fad?
"Here we are nearly at the shop," cried Dick, stopping suddenly. "You will come in the morning, won't you?"
"I won't promise," said Jim slowly.
I think that at this juncture it was the boy's master who proved his guardian angel. He greeted him cheerily, and showed by every means in his power that he had confidence in his honesty. This absolute trust brought back Jim's self-respect. If his employer believed in his innocence, why should he trouble himself about the sneers of others? His courage gradually rose; he threw off the gloom that hung about him. He determined to hold up his head and bear himself bravely, whatever happened.
"'Twill be jolly hard, I know," he said to himself; "but I'll live it down." And his heart grew lighter as he registered the resolve.
"By the way, Hartland," remarked his employer later in the evening, "I have been thinking we might make a fresh arrangement. I should like you to stay all day, and you might start on Monday."
"I'd rather not begin till the holidays, sir," said Jim, with an effort.
"Why not?"
"Because, because—well, they might say I was afraid to go back to school."
"Well, it won't be particularly pleasant," replied Mr. Broad, "and that is partly why I made the offer. But yours is the better plan, and I wish you luck, my boy."
"Thank you, sir," returned Jim, brightly, though in his heart he could not help wishing that the next day was safely over.
CHAPTER XVI.
A FRESH START.
The police-court proceedings created a great sensation at the Deanery, and were canvassed with characteristic schoolboy freedom. Dick, of course, received much praise; and on his arrival, just before opening time, he was surrounded by an admiring group. However, he bore his blushing honours meekly, remarking that he had done nothing in particular.
"Your being there was a lucky thing for Jim Hartland, though," observed Alec Macdonald.
"A good many people think there's more in it than came out!" sneered Simpson. "Ishouldn't like to be caught with a marked sixpence in my pocket!"
"You're just a cad!" cried Dick hotly, "and no one cares a brass button what you say. As to Hartland, he showed more grit in five minutes than you'd show in five centuries."
"How's that?" cried several boys eagerly.
"That's part of what Simpson says didn't come out. Of course you know old Broad found the sixpence on him. Well, he's a good sort, though at first he did think Jim guilty. 'Look here, Hartland,' said he; 'you'd better own up. You're certain to be sent to prison, because, even if you're innocent, you can't prove it.' Well, what did Jim answer?"
"He wasn't likely to give the show away, anyhow!" said Simpson.
"Broad didn't ask him to. 'Just admit you stole the money, and you'll hear no more of it,' said he. 'I'll hush it up, and no one will be any the wiser.'"
"That was handsome," remarked several of the boys.
"Yes," agreed Dick, "but Jim wasn't taking any 'Send me to prison for life if you like,' said Jim; 'I shan't confess to what I didn't do!'"
"Good old Jim!" cried Alec Macdonald. "He always was a plucky beggar." And the others echoed his cry.
Few of them believed he was mixed up in the robbery, and Dick's story was received with acclamation. A sudden revulsion of feeling took place, and those who had looked rather coldly on Jim since the fatal accident to Braithwaite now spoke loudly in his defence.
Just as the bell rang he was seen coming in at the gate, and quite a number of boys ran across to meet him.
Once more Alec Macdonald voiced the general sentiment.
"We're jolly glad you got out of that mess, Jim," he exclaimed, "and we know it wasn't your fault."
Jim blushed like a peony; his eyes were suspiciously moist, and he felt a choking sensation in his throat. This reception differed altogether from what he had expected. He looked at the group of boys and tried to answer, but his words were very stammering.
"This is—very—kind—of you chaps," he managed to say, "and I didn't expect it."
"Come on!" cried Dick; "there's Mr. Laythorne! He'll be giving us an extra half-hour's grind." And they scudded away to their places like so many rabbits into a warren.
Jim's class-fellows were not alone in expressing their belief in his innocence. After prayers, and before beginning morning work, Mr. Laythorne, standing before his class, said, "I am glad to see you in your place again, Hartland. We have all heard of your trouble, and we all rejoice that you have come through it so triumphantly. I am speaking not only for myself and the boys, but for all the masters, including Mr. Holmore. Let me say for all of us that we are quite convinced of your honesty."
"Yes, yes!" murmured the class approvingly.
"Thank you, sir," said Jim. "I'm—" But he got no farther. Cold looks he had steeled himself to meet, and angry words he would have thrown back with interest, but this kindness broke him down utterly. The tears would come into his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands. The young master said nothing further, thinking it best not to disturb him. He had always felt great interest in Jim, and no one had been more disappointed at his failure to gain a high place in the Gayton Scholarship list.
Several times recently he had endeavoured to save him from drifting, but without success; now he resolved to make another effort.
"He is a clever boy, and ought to do well," he said to himself thoughtfully, "but lately he seems to have got into a set of cross currents. One would think he had thrown that Gayton Scholarship away deliberately."
Mr. Laythorne was not aware how very severely Jim had been handicapped; but that same afternoon, during a talk with Dick Boden on quite another subject, he learned the truth. When school was dismissed, he called Dick to him and said, "By the way, Boden, I have to congratulate you. Sir Thomas Arkell has been to see the head-master, who referred him to me. I was glad to be able to report favourably on your conduct, and he has decided in consequence to take you on at his place as soon as the holidays begin."
"Thank you, sir," answered Dick gratefully. "Mother meant me to stay a little longer, but we can't afford to miss this chance, and I shall be able to attend the continuation school."
"I hope you will. Well, it appears we shall both be leaving the dear old Deanery together."
Dick glanced up hastily, saying, "Are you going away from Beauleigh, sir?"
"Yes. It will soon be known now. I have been appointed to a school in Portsmouth."
"The boys will be sorry," exclaimed Dick, "and glad too—sorry on their own account, and glad on yours."
"I think," said the master, smiling, "we have got on very comfortably together. By the way, I am sorry about your chum Hartland. I had hoped he would do better."
"Jim's had very hard lines lately, sir. Things have all gone wrong, somehow, and he took the result of the 'Gayton' very much to heart."
"So I should imagine," exclaimed the master dryly.
"It wasn't his fault coming out so low down," said Dick. "You can't sprint very fast with a heavy load on your shoulders, and Jim was carrying too much weight. A lot of his time was taken up at the shop, morning and evening; then his mother fell ill, and he had to work like a nigger keeping things straight at home. Why, for weeks he had hardly a minute to breathe in!"
"He did not mention this to me when I spoke to him about his position."
"No," responded Dick with a twinkle; "Jim isn't built that way. He's too proud to let the world into his little secrets."
"Oh!" said the master thoughtfully, "that puts a very different complexion on the case."
That same evening Jim's mother was surprised by a visit from Mr. Laythorne, who, by a few skilful questions, soon discovered that Dick had not overstated the case. It was plain that, despite his folly elsewhere, Jim had behaved splendidly at home; and the class-master's good opinion of his scholar was more than restored.
"What are you going to make of the boy?" he asked.
"Well," replied Mrs. Hartland, "had his father lived we should have tried to start him as a pupil-teacher, but I fear he must give up that idea now. Mr. Broad has been very kind, and has offered to take him into the shop altogether."
"And what does Jim think of the proposal?"
"He doesn't really like it, but he is a good boy, and raises no objection."
Mr. Laythorne was more than ordinarily thoughtful that evening. For more than an hour he sat in his room, thinking deeply, too absorbed even to open one of his favourite books.
"It's a quixotic scheme," he muttered once, "but upon my word I've a good mind to try it. The lad has brains, and, properly trained, should do well. He'll do no good here if his heart isn't in the work and he may slip back. It would remove him from temptation, too. Well, I'll sleep on it, and ask Holmore's advice."
The result of these cogitations, and of an interview with the head-master, became apparent at the end of the week, when he once more called at the house in Brook Street; but this time late in the evening, when Jim had returned from work.
He was not a man given to much beating about the bush, and he introduced the object of his visit at once.
"Hartland," he began quietly, "I understand from your mother that you would like to be a pupil-teacher?"
"Yes, sir," answered Jim readily, "but," trying to smile, "that's out of the question now."
"I'm not so sure of that. You know I am going to Portsmouth?"
"Yes, sir; Dick Boden told me, and very pleased I was to hear it."
"How would you like to go with me?"
Jim sprang to his feet, his cheeks flushed, his eyes sparkling, and every fibre of his body quivering with excitement. Then he shook his head mournfully, saying, "We can't afford it, sir."
"Your mother and I will discuss that part of the business," remarked Mr. Laythorne quietly. "But if you go, I shall expect you to work hard, to pass your examinations high up, and, generally speaking, to do me credit."
"I would do my very best!" exclaimed the lad earnestly.
"I believe you would. Well, now run away, while I have a talk with your mother."
The boy went out to the front door, and stood looking into the dingy street. Now and again he turned toward the room, straining his ears, not to hear what was said, but just to make sure that Mr. Laythorne was really there. It seemed altogether too wonderful; he feared almost to dwell on it.
Presently he heard the visitor stand up, and come into the passage. What had been decided? His heart beat fast at the question. Here was Mr. Laythorne shaking his hand. What did he say? What strange noises buzzed in his head! Ah, the words became plain.
"I hope, my boy, that this will be putting your foot on the first rung of the ladder."
So the wonderful thing had come to pass, and he was really to go! I cannot write down Jim's answer because neither his mother nor Mr. Laythorne understood his broken words; but it is certain that he was extremely grateful and supremely happy.
"By the way," said their visitor, before taking leave, "it will not be necessary to inform the world of our private arrangement. It will be sufficient to say that Jim is coming with me." For Mr. Laythorne was a gentleman, and had no sympathy with the blowing of trumpets at street corners.
Jim and his mother had little to say when they were left alone. They were overwhelmed with surprise, and their happiness was too great for words. But when the boy had gone to his room, he knelt by his bedside and asked for strength to prove himself worthy of his benefactor's generosity; and many times over, before falling asleep, he said to himself, "I will not disappoint him!"
Of course, Mr. Broad had to be told of the contemplated change, and he was really sorry to have to part with Jim.
"I should have liked to keep you, Hartland," he said, "but I mustn't stand in your light; and, by the way, don't buy any lesson-books. Ask your master to write out a list of what you will require for next two years, and I will get them."
"Why," exclaimed the Angel delightedly, when he heard the news, "there's such a lot of silver lining that very soon you won't be able to see the black cloud at all!"
Dick was prophesying better than he knew. But we must not anticipate.
On Sunday Jim went with his mother to the Children's Hospital. Susie still kept her bed, and her back was encased in plaster of Paris; but she had grown decidedly stronger, and the nurse spoke most hopefully of her case.
"And if she does walk," said she, "you will have to thank Dr. Stewart. I have never known any one take such an interest in a case."
Mrs. Hartland left Jim to reveal his great secret, and it was charming to observe the look of delighted surprise steal into the girl's face.
"Do you know," she said thoughtfully, after congratulating her brother on his good fortune, "I think people have been very kind to us."
"Yes," exclaimed her mother, kissing her fondly; "and I hope we shall never forget it."
CHAPTER XVII.
A STARTLING SURPRISE.
The next fortnight was about the happiest time Jim had passed since the news arrived of his father's death. Thanks in some part to his wages, they had tided over the worst of the crisis; and his mother, who was really a skilful needlewoman, had now no lack of employment.
At the Deanery School he had quite recovered his popularity. The boys sought his advice as in the old days; and one half-holiday the Football Committee begged him to assist the team in an important match. Mr. Broad readily granted him an extra hour's leave, and much to the delight of his numerous admirers, he had the satisfaction of kicking the winning goal for the school.
"There's an end to my football in Beauleigh," he said, as he left the field with his chum.
"And a very good finish!" laughed the Angel. "The Deanery fellows will miss you at cricket next season."
"I expect they'll miss us both. I hope, though, they'll keep the shield."
"They're bound to!" said Dick, with a grin. "Haven't they got Simpson?"
"Of course; I'd forgotten him. Have you heard from Sir Thomas Arkell?"
"Yes; I'm to begin work on the morning they reopen after the holidays. I can hardly believe it now."
"I understand the feeling. D'you know, I think we've been awfully lucky, Dick."
"The reward of merit!" murmured the Angel; and a stranger, judging by the tone of his voice, would have thought he really meant it.
Jim, however, knew him better, and greeted the remark with a laugh, saying, "Well, every one who deserves the reward doesn't get it, anyhow."
"Only one week more," cried Dick, flying off at a tangent—a by no means unusual proceeding on his part. "I'm counting the days now."
That week seemed a long time to the eager boys; but it came to an end at last, and the Deanery scholars assembled in the large hall for dismissal. It was the head-master's custom to speak a few words before they separated, and he did so now.
That part of the speech which met with the greatest attention referred to Mr. Laythorne's approaching departure. The boys were sorry to lose him, as he was very popular, and they punctuated every sentence with ringing cheers. But the greatest applause was reserved for the unveiling of the handsome presents which boys and masters alike had subscribed for; and when Mr. Laythorne stepped forward to express his thanks, the cheering became deafening.
"Three cheers for Mr. Laythorne, and one cheer more!" yelled the Angel. "Hurrah!"
It was a breaking-up scene such as had rarely occurred at the Deanery, and one to be long remembered. Mr. Laythorne made a modest little speech, and then, unchecked by the masters, the Angel led off with "For he's a jolly good fellow!" and was strenuously backed up by the vocal powers of three hundred enthusiastic boys. It was not, perhaps, strictly orthodox, but it was undoubtedly genuine; I fancy Mr. Laythorne, though not a demonstrative man himself, was rather pleased by the warmth of his reception. When the boys were dismissed, he called Jim, to give him his final instructions.
"My arrangements are quite complete," said he, "but I shall write in the course of a week or two. Most likely I shall want you to come over a few days before school begins."
"I shall be ready, sir, whenever you send."
"Well, good-bye! Have a good holiday, because there will be plenty of work when you get to Portsmouth."
A good holiday! How surprised both would have been had they known the kind of holiday which was in store for Jim!
Instead of going straight to work, the boy ran home with his bag of books, and stayed a few minutes with his mother, chatting of the splendid send-off to Mr. Laythorne.
"Dick led the cheering," said he, "and we all sang, 'For he's a jolly good fellow!'"
"So he is," said Mrs. Hartland, smiling—"none better, as far as we are concerned."
"Well, I must be off," remarked Jim, "or Mr. Broad will wonder if I'm lost."
They were very busy at the shop, and the boy worked away with a will. Perhaps the breaking-up scene had put him in good spirits; at any rate, the stationer remarked on his cheerfulness. While they were waiting for the evening papers, Jim, anxious not to waste time, sat down in a recess and began addressing a pile of labels.
Suddenly he saw a man pass the window, stop as if hesitating, and then enter the shop. Knowing his employer was at the counter, he went on with his work, not thinking he would be required.
"I can polish these things off to-night if I peg away at them," he said to himself. "Where's that other book of addresses, I wonder? Oh, I see!"
He got up to fetch the volume. From where he stood he could just see the top of Mr. Broad's head, but nothing of the customer. He heard his employer say "Good-evening," to which the stranger replied in a tone that made Jim jump.
He placed the book on the table, and sat down. It was no business of his, but he felt compelled to listen to the conversation. The first words brought the blood to his face with a rush.
"Have you a boy named Hartland employed here?" asked the stranger.
"I have."
"James Hartland?"
"That is his name. Why?"
"I should like to speak to him for a minute, if I may."
"Is it anything important? because he is busy at present."
Jim thought the man laughed; but he said aloud, "I think it's important enough for me to see him."
"Hartland!" cried his master, "here's a gentleman wishes to see you!" And Jim, half dazed by surprise and doubt and fear, moved slowly toward the counter.
The man on the other side of the counter was of medium height, well proportioned on the whole, but with a great breadth of chest. He was dressed in heavy serge of a dark-blue colour, and wore a peaked cap. His hair was short and curly; a few silver threads sprinkled the tawny brown of an ample beard. His eyes were gray; his face was white, and rather drawn. An observant critic would probably have called him a strong man just recovered or recovering from a severe illness.
For a moment he looked hard at the boy; then a tender smile overspread his face, his lips parted, and in a soft voice he whispered, "Jim!"
I do not know that the stationer ever complained; he might have done so with reason. Jim was a good all-round athlete, who, on ordinary occasions, could vault over the counter with ease. Now, dizzy with excitement, he made an erratic kick, sweeping papers, books, and stationery to the floor. Neither did he stop to repair the mischief, but flung himself with a cry of joy into the man's outstretched arms.
Presently the man looked round on the pile of wreckage, and smiled.
"Come, Jim," said he, "let us put this straight." And while Mr. Broad looked on in undisguised amazement, the pair proceeded to pick up the fallen articles.
"If," said the stationer, slowly rubbing his hands, "I were in the habit of guessing, I should say you are Mr. John Hartland, who was drowned off Cape Horn."
"Right you are, sir!" returned the man, smiling pleasantly; "I am John Hartland, and this is my boy. I'm just down from London. I heard Jim was up here, and I've come to borrow him. You see, he has to tell his mother. I've kept it out of the papers, and no one but the owners of theMorning Starknow I'm still in the land of the living."
"Take him, my good sir!" said the delighted stationer. "Take him, and good luck to you both! But come to see me, Jim; come to see me!"
"I'll tide you over the busy time, sir!" exclaimed Jim; "I won't leave you in the lurch. But I must go now. Oh,howshall I tell mother?"
People stopped to look at them in the streets—they were so patently, so undeniably happy. John Hartland clutched his boy's arm tightly, and every now and then Jim smiled up into his father's face.
"We're living in Brook Street now, father," he remarked.
"Yes, I know. I've made inquiries," replied his father. "How is Susie?"
"She's in the Children's Hospital, and getting better. The doctor says she is going to walk in a few months. O father, I can hardly believe you are here!"
"Can't you? Just feel this!" And he squeezed the boy's arm. "How is mother living?"
"By her needle. She does beautiful needlework."
"I know! I know!" said the man abruptly. "Isn't this Brook Street? You go on, and I'll wait here a bit. But don't be long, Jim, don't be long! My patience will soon bubble over. I've been burning to get a peep at her."
Jim smiled brightly, ran a few yards, and then walked soberly to the house. His mother was busy with her work, and she looked up at him in surprise.
"What is it, my boy?" she asked. "Why aren't you at the shop?"
"It's all right, mother," answered the lad; "there's no bad news. Mr. Broad said I might come. I've something to tell you—something pleasant, that will make you very happy."
"Yes?" she said wonderingly, and looking straight into his eyes.
"A marvellous thing, mother—more marvellous than you ever dreamed of. Only Susie said it could be true, and even her faith failed."
The woman had put down her work. Her face was white, her lips twitched nervously.
"Jim," she said pathetically—"Jim, this can only be one thing. Tell me quickly! O Jim, I can't bear it!"
"It's true, mother!" cried the boy. "It is the one thing. Yes, father is alive; there's news of him. He's coming home—coming to Beauleigh!"
Mrs. Hartland slipped to the floor, clasped her hands, and offered up a silent prayer to Heaven. She could not speak, but the joy and the praise and the thanksgiving were all there.
And then! Then they heard a click at the little gate, and a firm step on the path, and the front door was gently pushed open.
"O mother," cried Jim, "try to bear up! It is father!"
He came along, slowly and with even steps at first; but, in his own words, his patience bubbled over, his feet broke into a run, and the next instant he was within the kitchen clasping his wife in his arms.
"Mary!"
"John!"
Nothing more than that was heard for a long time, but no words were required to express their joy. Later in the evening there were numerous questions to be asked and answered, and the returned sailor's account of his wonderful escape to be given.
I cannot set the story down in his own words, though it was full of interest to his eager listeners, but the outline is simple enough. The man Davies's account proved correct in the main, though John Hartland was astonished to find he had survived. As for himself, being a good swimmer, he had struck out for the shore, which, for a time, it appeared he would in all likelihood reach. Then his strength failed, and he could do no more than turn on his back and endeavour to float in the rough sea.
The waves tossed him where they listed; he was worn out and exhausted by the prolonged struggle; but for the thought of the loved ones at home, he would have sunk down, down to the depths, like a weary child laying its head on the pillows. Only for the sake of his wife and children he fought on, though with ever-increasing weakness, until the roar of the sea was meaningless in his ears, and his upturned eyes gazed at the sun, without sight.
Death was then very close at hand. He never knew the exact manner of his rescue or the period of his unconsciousness. He came back to life in a wretched hut on a desolate coast. Several natives stood around him. They were ill clothed, miserably poor, and, to our way of thinking, absolutely without the necessities of life. However, they treated the white man to the best of their ability, lighting a fire for him, gathering shell-fish for him, even giving up to his wants their greatest dainty—an occasional bird.
From this savage condition he was rescued by an American whaler; and afterwards, joining a Chilian ship at Valparaiso, he worked his way round to Rio. Thence he got to the West Indies, where, by a fortunate accident, he secured a mate's berth in a homeward-bound vessel.
Then Mrs. Hartland had to tell her story; and as she praised Jim's unselfishness, the sailor kept patting him on the shoulder and murmuring, "Good boy! Good boy, Jimmy! You did well!"
"As to this young schoolmaster," said he, "he's a regular brick! Thank goodness we can pay him for Jim's upkeep and all that, but we can never repay his generous thoughtfulness. Money's no good for that part of the case."
"No," remarked his wife; "and money will not repay Dr. Stewart either. We have had much to be thankful for, John."
"'Pon my word!" exclaimed the sailor, bringing his great fist down on the table with a mighty bang, "I did not think, lass, there was so much kindness in the world. When shall I be able to see Susie?"
"We must consult the doctor," said his wife. "The sudden shock may not be good for her."
"Ah," said he with a sigh, "we must be careful; but my heart's sore to see the little lass."
True to his promise, Jim was early at the shop next morning, and for several days he toiled early and late until his employer's busy time was over. It was one way of showing his gratitude, and he had no thought of reward.
The news of his father's return quickly spread through Beauleigh, and he received the congratulations of all kinds of people. Dick Boden, of course, found his way to Brook Street, where, it is perhaps hardly necessary to state, he was warmly welcomed.
"I shan't forget you in a hurry, my son!" exclaimed the jovial sailor, "nor what you did for Jim. I've heard the yarn. Just wait till I come back from my next voyage."
"I hope," observed Dick, with the usual innocent expression on his face, "that it won't take quite as long as the last." And the sailor laughed.
He would have felt quite happy now, had his little girl been at home. His heart yearned for the lass, but he was buoyed up by a wonderful hope. With the doctor's permission, he had seen her at the hospital, and had come away with the profound conviction that she was gradually growing stronger. Indeed, Dr. Stewart had said as much, and more also.
"Next summer," he had said, "in all human probability, Pussy will walk, and before the end of the year even go a short distance without the aid of crutches."
Mr. Laythorne had left the town at the beginning of the holidays, and Jim could not communicate with him; but at last his letter arrived, directing the boy to join him at 7 Mortimer Gardens, Portsmouth, on the following morning. Accordingly, Mrs. Hartland packed his things, Jim paid a farewell visit to his sister, went to see Dick, who was now installed in Sir Thomas Arkell's business, and then spent a quiet hour with his parents.
"I'll come with you, my boy," said his father. "I wish to thank this Mr. Laythorne, and to have a little talk with him."
The schoolmaster was naturally somewhat surprised by the appearance of the sturdy, deep-chested sailor; but Jim soon explained matters, and then his father said,—
"I am a plain man, sir, and not much used to figures of speech, but I want to thank you from my heart for your kindness. You've been a real Samaritan to my boy, and none of us will ever forget it. There is just one thing to be said. I mustn't trade on your generosity. The owners of theMorning Starhave behaved very handsomely, so that I can well afford to pay Jim's shot. Now that his father is home again, the boy mustn't be a burden on you, sir. You see that?"
"Very well," said Mr. Laythorne; "that shall be as you please." And before Jim's father left, the two drew up a fresh and eminently satisfactory arrangement.
"And now," said the sailor, "I'll just slip my moorings and run back.—Good-bye, my boy. Write often to your mother, and try to show this gentleman you're worth the care he has bestowed on you.—Good-bye, sir. If Jim comes to be worth anything in the world we shall have you to thank for it."
They watched him go down the street; and then, turning to the boy, Mr. Laythorne said,—
"This is a happier start than I expected. Now let us go to the school; there are several things to be done before the boys return."
"Yes, sir," replied Jim, anxious to make himself useful, and to begin his fresh start in life.