Chapter Six.An Escape, and a Suggestion.I don’t know whether I was any more cowardly than most boys of my age; but I certainly felt a curiously nervous sensation that morning, and I was not alone in it; for Esau had a strange scared look, and his fair hair did not curl nearly so tightly as usual.“Eh?” he said, “feel frightened?” in answer to a question. “No, I don’t think I do; but I wish they’d leave the door open so that a fellow could run.”But there were no doors open for us to escape, and at last, after a weary time of waiting, the big policeman who had us in his charge bent down to us in the place where we were waiting, and said—“Your case comes on next. There, hold up, my lads. Speak out, both of you, like men, and tell the whole truth. It’s Sir Thomas Browning to-day.”I listened to him, but I felt as if I was growing hopelessly confused, and that I should never be able to say a word in my defence, while when I looked at Esau, I found that he was looking at me with his forehead full of wrinkles.“It’s all very well for him to say ‘hold up.’ He haven’t got to be tried,” he whispered. “I’m ’fraid it’s all up with us, Gordon. Wish we could be together when they sends us off.”“Now then!” said the policeman, clapping me on the shoulder; “it’s us. Don’t you be scared. Sir Thomas is a good ’un.”The next minute Esau and I were standing somewhere with our constable close by, and somewhere before us, in places that looked like pews, sat a number of gentlemen, some of whom wore wigs. Some were writing, and, seen as it were through a mist, a number of people looking on. Next, in a confused way, I saw a red-faced, white-headed gentleman, who took off his spectacles to have a good look at us, and put them on again to read a paper before him.It was all dim and strange, and there was quite a singing in my ears, as I looked vacantly about while some talking went on, ending by a voice saying—“Kiss the book.”Then the white-headed old gentleman said—“Well, Mr Dempster, what have you to say?”At the name Dempster, I started and looked sharply about me, to see that my employer was a little way off, very carefully dressed, and with a glossy hat in his hand.“That can’t bethehat,” I remember thinking, as I stared at him wildly.The mist had cleared away now, and I stood listening to him as he went on speaking, in a very quiet subdued way, about the troubles he had had with the two defendants—boys whom he had taken into his service out of kindness.“Yes, yes, yes, Mr Dempster,” said the old gentleman testily; “but this isn’t a sale of house property. There’s a very long charge-sheet. You have given these two lads into custody on a charge of assault. Now, shortly, please, how did it happen?”“The fact is, your worship,” said Mr Dempster, “I have had much trouble with both of them. The boy Dean is idle in the extreme, while Gordon is a lad of vile and passionate temper.”“Well, sir—well, sir?”“I had occasion to speak to them yesterday about idling in my absence, the consequence being that a great many mistakes were made.”“Allus careful as I could be,” said Esau, in an ill-used tone.“Silence, sir! How dare you?” cried the old gentleman. “You shall be heard presently. Now, Mr Dempster, please go on.”“I was angry, Sir Thomas, and I scolded them both severely, when to my utter surprise—stop, I will be perfectly accurate—things had come to such a pass that I had threatened them with dismissal—when in a fit of passion Dean struck my new hat from a chair on which it was laid, jumped upon it, and crushed it.”“Oh, what a whopper!” cried Esau, excitedly. “Will you be silent, sir?” cried the old gentleman, tapping the desk in front of him with his knuckles.“Here is the hat, Sir Thomas,” said Mr Dempster, and stooping down he held up his crushed and beaten head-covering in corroboration of his words, when a perfect roar of laughter ran round the court, and I saw the old gentleman lift his glasses and smile.“Well, Mr Dempster, well?” he said.“Then, Sir Thomas, then, to my utter astonishment, evidently by collusion, Gordon seized my Malacca cane, and the boy Dean shouted to him to come on now, and they made a combined attack upon me, breaking off the handle of my cane, inflicting the injuries you see, and but for my energetic defence I believe they would have robbed me and gone off. Fortunately I was able to call for the police, and give them into custody.”“Well, of all—” began Esau; but the old alderman turned upon him sharply.“I shall commit you, sir, for contempt of court,” he cried.“But he is telling such—”“Silence, sir!”“Quiet, you young donkey,” whispered the policeman. “Hsh!”“Hm! Mr Dempster, Mr Dempster,” said the old gentleman, “this is a police court, not an auctioneer’s rostrum.”“I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas,” said Mr Dempster, with dignity.“You are sworn, sir, and I wished to remind you that this is not a rostrum. You auctioneers are licenced gentlemen, and you do exaggerate a little sometimes. Are you not doing so now?”“Look at my face, Sir Thomas. My arm is terribly strained.”“Um—yes, but it does not sound reasonable to me, as an old man of the world who has had much to do with boys.”“I have stated my case, Sir Thomas,” said Mr Dempster in an ill-used tone.“Are you sure that you did not use the cane first yourself?”“I—I will not swear I did not, Sir Thomas. I was very angry.”“Hah! yes,” said the old gentleman, nodding his head. “Now, boy, speak the truth. This is a very serious business; what have you to say?”“Got hold of me, sir, and was going to hit me, and we wrestled, and the hat was knocked over, and the stick, and he trod on his ’at, sir, and I sings out to Mayne Gordon—this is him, sir—to take the stick away, but he got it, sir, and I calls out to Gordon not to let him thrash me.”“Gently, gently,” cried the old gentleman, holding up his hands, for Esau’s words came pouring out in a breathless way, and every one was laughing.“No, sir, not a bit gently; ’ard, sir, awful! and I can show the marks, and Gordon—that’s him, sir—says he’d no business to ’it his mate, and he ’it him, and then Gordon got hold of the cane and held on, and Mr Dempster, he got it away again, and cut him across the ear, sir, and it bled pints, and ’it him again, and then I went at him and held him, and Gordon got the cane away and ’it ’im, sir, and then we ran away, and the police took us and locked us up, and that’s all.”“And enough too,” said Sir Thomas good-humouredly. “There, hold your tongue.—Now, you, sir, what have you to say?—the same as your companion?”“I’m very sorry, sir,” I said huskily; and then a feeling of indignation seemed to give me strength, and I continued, “What Esau Dean says is all true. Mr Dempster has behaved cruelly to us, and I could not stand still and see him beat Esau. I only tried to hold the stick so that he should not strike him, and then he hit me here, and here, and then I think I got hold of it, and—I don’t remember any more, sir. I’m very sorry now.”“I ain’t,” said Esau defiantly.“Do you want me to send you to prison, sir?” cried the old gentleman.“No, sir.”“Then hold your tongue. Any witnesses, constable?”“No, Sir Thomas.”“Humph! Well, really, Mr Dempster, from what I know of human nature, it seems to me that these lads have both spoken the truth.”“Incorrigible young scoundrels, Sir Thomas.”“No, no, no! Excuse me, I think not. A boy is only a very young man, and there is a great responsibility in properly managing them. The marks upon these lads show that they have had a very cruel attack made upon them by somebody. You confessed that you struck one of them. Well, I am not surprised, sir, that one took the other’s part. I say this, not as a magistrate, but as a man. You have to my mind, sir, certainly been in the wrong—so have they, for they had their remedy if they were ill-used by applying to a magistrate. So understand this, boys—I do not consider you have done right, though I must own that you had great provocation.”“Then am I to understand, sir,” began Mr Dempster, in a very different tone of voice to that which he had before used, “that you are not going to punish these young scoundrels?”“Have the goodness to recollect where you are, sir,” said the old alderman sternly. “Yes, sir, I dismiss the case.”“Then a more contemptible mockery of justice,” roared Mr Dempster, “I never saw.”“Exactly,” said the old alderman, quietly; “your words, Mr Dempster, quite endorse my opinion. You are a man of ungovernable temper, and not fit to have charge of boys.”“Then—”“That will do, sir.—The next case.”“I should like to shake hands with that old chap,” whispered Esau; and then aloud, as he tossed his cap in the air, “Hooray!”There was a roar of laughter in the court, and the old alderman turned very fiercely upon Esau, and shook his head at him, but I half fancy I saw him smile, as he turned to a gentleman at his side.Then in the midst of a good deal of bustle in the court, and the calling of people’s names, the policeman hurried us both away, and soon after stood shaking hands with us both.“You’ve both come off splendid, my lads,” he said, “and I’m glad of it. Old Sir Thomas saw through Master Dempster at once. I know him; he’s a bad ’un—regular bully. One of his men—Dingle, isn’t his name?—has often told me about him.”“Ah, you don’t know half,” said Esau.“Quite enough, anyhow,” said the constable, clapping Esau on the shoulder; “and you take my advice, don’t you go back to him.”“No,” said Esau; “he wouldn’t have us if we wanted.”“What are you going to do, then?”“Join the Royal Artillery,” said Esau, importantly.“Join the Royal Nonsense, boy!” said the big, bluff constable. “Better be a p.c. than that. Plenty of gents in the city want clerks.”“Then,” said Esau, “they shan’t have me.”But he did not say it loud enough for the constable to hear, the words being meant for me, and after once more shaking hands with us the man said, “Good-bye,” and we were out in the busy streets once more—as it seemed to me, the only two lads in London with nothing to do.I was walking along by Esau’s side, low-spirited in spite of our acquittal, for everything seemed so novel and strange, when Esau, who had been whistling, looked round at me.“Now then,” he said, “will you come with me?”“Where?”“Woolwich. ’Tillery.”“No. And you are not going.”“Oh, ain’t I?”“No,” I said. “You are going home. Your mother must be very anxious about us.”“I’d forgotten all about her,” cried Esau. “I say, look: here’s old Demp.”If I had obeyed my first inclination I should have turned down the first street to avoid our late employer; but I kept on boldly, as he came towards us, and I expected that he would go by, but he stopped short, and looked from one to the other.“Oh, here you are,” he said; “look out, my lads, I have not done yet. If you think I am going to be beaten like this, you are—”“Come on, Esau,” I whispered, and we did not hear the end of his threat.“There!” cried Esau. “Now what do you say? He’ll be giving us into custody again. ’Tillery’s our only chance. He daren’t touch us there. But I say, he isn’t going back to the office. Let’s run and get what’s in our desks. There’s my old flute.”“I thought you did not want to be given into custody again?” I cried. “Why, if we go and try to touch anything there, and he catches us, he is sure to call in the police.”“Never thought o’ that,” said Esau, rubbing one ear. “I say, don’t be a coward. Come on down to Woolwich.”“You go on directly to your mother and tell her all about it.”“I say, don’t order a fellow about like that. You ain’t master.”“You do as I tell you,” I said, firmly.“Oh, very well,” he replied, in an ill-used tone. “If you say I am to, I suppose I must. Won’t you come too?”“No; I’m going up to see Mr John Dempster to tell him all about it, and ask him to give me his advice.”“Ah, it’s all very fine,” grumbled Esau; “it’s always Mr John Dempster now. You used to make me a friend and ask my advice: now I’m nobody at all. You always was such a gentleman, and too fine for me.”“Don’t talk like that, Esau,” I said; “you hurt me.”He turned and caught hold of my hand directly. “I didn’t mean it,” he said, huskily. “On’y don’t chuck me over. I won’t go for a soldier if you don’t want, but let’s stick together.”“I should like to, Esau,” I said, “for I’ve no friends but you and Mr John.”“Oh, I don’t know ’bout friends,” he said. “I don’t want to be friends, ’cause I’m not like you, but let’s keep together. I’ll do anything you want, and I’ll always stick up for you, same as you did for me.”“I should be an ungrateful brute if I did part from you, Esau, for I shall never forget how kind you and your mother have always—”“Don’t! don’t! don’t!” he cried, putting his fingers in his ears. “Now you’re beginning to preach at me, and you know I hate that. I say, let’s call at the auction-rooms and say good-bye to old Dingle. Dempster won’t be there.”I hesitated, and then hurried down the next street with Esau, for I thought I should like to say a friendly word to the porter, who had always been pleasant and kind, little thinking how it would influence my future career.He was just inside the long sale-room, and he came out to us directly to shake hands gleefully.“All right, lads,” he cried. “I know all about it. I was there, and heard every word. Serve him precious well right! Ah, you’re lucky ones. Wish I was out of his service. What are you both going to do?”“I don’t know,” I said sadly. “Esau here wants to be a soldier.”“Yes, he always was mad that way. Don’t you listen to him.”“Better be a soldier than old Demp’s clerk.”“Don’t you be too sure, my lad,” said Dingle. “There are such things as drill-sergeants in the army, and they tell me they’re a kind of Double Dempsters. It’s awkward for you, Master Gordon. You see, you’ll have to send to the guv’nor for a reference when you try for another place, and he won’t give you one, see if he does.”“No,” I said sadly, “there is no chance there. What would you do?”“Well,” he said, taking off his carpet cap, and stroking his thin grey hair, “it’s easy to advise anybody, but it ain’t easy to advise right.”“Never mind,” I said, “try.”“Well, sir, speaking as a poor man, if I was like you, out of a ’gagement, and no character ’cept for being able to thrash your own master—”“Oh, Dingle!” I cried.“Well, sir, it’s true enough,” he said; and he bent down to indulge in a long silent fit of laughter.“Don’t do that,” I said uneasily, “it’s nothing to laugh at.”“Well, ’tis, and it ’tisn’t, sir,” said Dingle, wiping his eyes on the corner of his apron.“What would you do if you were out of an engagement?”“Me? I should do what my brother did—hemigrate.”“Your brother did, Ding? To a nice place?” cried Esau.“Yes, my lad, and he’s getting on fine.”“Then why didn’t you go too, and get on fine?”“’Cause I’ve got a houseful o’ children, and nearly all gals. That’s why, Clevershakes.”“But what does your brother do?” I said eagerly. “Is he an auctioneer’s porter?”“Love and bless your heart, Mr Gordon, sir, no,” he cried. “I don’t believe there’s such a thing over there. He went out in the woods, and got a bit o’ land give him, and built hisself a log-house, and made a garden, and got cows, and shoots in the woods.”“Here, hold hard, Ding,” cried Esau, excitedly; “that’ll do. Goes shooting in the woods?”“Yes, and gets a deer sometimes, and one winter he killed a bear and two wolves, my lad.”“That’s the place,” cried Esau. “Hooroar! Come on, Master Gordon, let’s go there.”Dingle laughed.“Hark at him, sir. What a one he is! Why, you don’t know even where it is.”“I don’t care where it is,” cried Esau. “You say you can go there, and get some land, and live in the woods, and make your own house, and shoot bears and wolves—that’s just the thing I should like to do.”“Why, you said you wanted to jyne the Ryle Artilleree.”“Yes, but I didn’t know of this place then. Where is it? How do you go? You’ll come too, won’t you?”“I don’t know,” I said, slowly, for my imagination was also fired by the idea of living in such a land of liberty as that. In fact, as I spoke, bright pictures of green forests and foaming rivers and boats began to form in my mind. “Yes,” I cried, “I think I should like to go.”“Hooroar! Where is it, Ding?”“Oh, my brother’s in Bri’ish Columbia, but it’s a long, long way.”“Oh, we don’t mind that,” cried Esau. “How do you get there?”“Him and his wife and their boy went eight or nine year ago. Sailed in a ship from the docks, and it took ’em five months.”“Oh!” said Esau, in a disappointed tone. “Five months! Why, I didn’t think there was anywhere so far off as that.”“Ah! but there is, and in one letter he told me that a man he knew was once a year going, but he went in a waggon instead of a ship.”“Get out! He’s gammoning us,” cried Esau. “You can’t drive a waggon over the sea.”“Who said you could, Clevershakes?” said Dingle—then turning to me, “He went over to Canady by ship, and then all acrost the prayerees in a waggon—lots o’ waggons all together, because o’ the Injins.”“Fire-injins?” said Esau, eagerly. “No. Dunno though,” said Dingle, grinning; “they did fire at ’em a deal.”“Red Injins!” cried Esau. “Oh, I say, I think I’d rather go that way, because there’d be some fighting.”“What, ain’t you had fightin’ enough, boy? Want to get at it again? What yer thinking about, Mr Gordon?”I started, for my thoughts were far away. “I was thinking about your brother,” I said, hastily.“Ah! but such a life wouldn’t do for you, my lad. There’s no clean hands out there—leastwise I dessay they’re clean sometimes. What I mean is, it’s always hard, rough work, and no setting on a stuffed seat and writing on bloo paper. Why, what do you think my brother had for chairs in his house?”“Boxes,” I said.“No, boxes made tables. Stumps of wood—logs cut off a fir tree—no castors on them, my lad.”“British Columbia?” I said, thoughtfully, as I tried to remember where that country was on the map, and I am afraid getting a very hazy notion as to its position.“Yes, my lad, Bri’ish Columbia; and if you go out there and mention my name, my brother will be glad enough to see you, I know. There—I must get to work ’fore the guv’nor catches me, or p’r’aps there’ll be another fight, and me wanting a fresh place too.” So we shook hands, promising to go and see him again, and directly after Esau and I parted, he going south for home, I going north, and feeling a curious sensation of shrinking as I neared Mr John Dempster’s home.
I don’t know whether I was any more cowardly than most boys of my age; but I certainly felt a curiously nervous sensation that morning, and I was not alone in it; for Esau had a strange scared look, and his fair hair did not curl nearly so tightly as usual.
“Eh?” he said, “feel frightened?” in answer to a question. “No, I don’t think I do; but I wish they’d leave the door open so that a fellow could run.”
But there were no doors open for us to escape, and at last, after a weary time of waiting, the big policeman who had us in his charge bent down to us in the place where we were waiting, and said—
“Your case comes on next. There, hold up, my lads. Speak out, both of you, like men, and tell the whole truth. It’s Sir Thomas Browning to-day.”
I listened to him, but I felt as if I was growing hopelessly confused, and that I should never be able to say a word in my defence, while when I looked at Esau, I found that he was looking at me with his forehead full of wrinkles.
“It’s all very well for him to say ‘hold up.’ He haven’t got to be tried,” he whispered. “I’m ’fraid it’s all up with us, Gordon. Wish we could be together when they sends us off.”
“Now then!” said the policeman, clapping me on the shoulder; “it’s us. Don’t you be scared. Sir Thomas is a good ’un.”
The next minute Esau and I were standing somewhere with our constable close by, and somewhere before us, in places that looked like pews, sat a number of gentlemen, some of whom wore wigs. Some were writing, and, seen as it were through a mist, a number of people looking on. Next, in a confused way, I saw a red-faced, white-headed gentleman, who took off his spectacles to have a good look at us, and put them on again to read a paper before him.
It was all dim and strange, and there was quite a singing in my ears, as I looked vacantly about while some talking went on, ending by a voice saying—
“Kiss the book.”
Then the white-headed old gentleman said—
“Well, Mr Dempster, what have you to say?”
At the name Dempster, I started and looked sharply about me, to see that my employer was a little way off, very carefully dressed, and with a glossy hat in his hand.
“That can’t bethehat,” I remember thinking, as I stared at him wildly.
The mist had cleared away now, and I stood listening to him as he went on speaking, in a very quiet subdued way, about the troubles he had had with the two defendants—boys whom he had taken into his service out of kindness.
“Yes, yes, yes, Mr Dempster,” said the old gentleman testily; “but this isn’t a sale of house property. There’s a very long charge-sheet. You have given these two lads into custody on a charge of assault. Now, shortly, please, how did it happen?”
“The fact is, your worship,” said Mr Dempster, “I have had much trouble with both of them. The boy Dean is idle in the extreme, while Gordon is a lad of vile and passionate temper.”
“Well, sir—well, sir?”
“I had occasion to speak to them yesterday about idling in my absence, the consequence being that a great many mistakes were made.”
“Allus careful as I could be,” said Esau, in an ill-used tone.
“Silence, sir! How dare you?” cried the old gentleman. “You shall be heard presently. Now, Mr Dempster, please go on.”
“I was angry, Sir Thomas, and I scolded them both severely, when to my utter surprise—stop, I will be perfectly accurate—things had come to such a pass that I had threatened them with dismissal—when in a fit of passion Dean struck my new hat from a chair on which it was laid, jumped upon it, and crushed it.”
“Oh, what a whopper!” cried Esau, excitedly. “Will you be silent, sir?” cried the old gentleman, tapping the desk in front of him with his knuckles.
“Here is the hat, Sir Thomas,” said Mr Dempster, and stooping down he held up his crushed and beaten head-covering in corroboration of his words, when a perfect roar of laughter ran round the court, and I saw the old gentleman lift his glasses and smile.
“Well, Mr Dempster, well?” he said.
“Then, Sir Thomas, then, to my utter astonishment, evidently by collusion, Gordon seized my Malacca cane, and the boy Dean shouted to him to come on now, and they made a combined attack upon me, breaking off the handle of my cane, inflicting the injuries you see, and but for my energetic defence I believe they would have robbed me and gone off. Fortunately I was able to call for the police, and give them into custody.”
“Well, of all—” began Esau; but the old alderman turned upon him sharply.
“I shall commit you, sir, for contempt of court,” he cried.
“But he is telling such—”
“Silence, sir!”
“Quiet, you young donkey,” whispered the policeman. “Hsh!”
“Hm! Mr Dempster, Mr Dempster,” said the old gentleman, “this is a police court, not an auctioneer’s rostrum.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas,” said Mr Dempster, with dignity.
“You are sworn, sir, and I wished to remind you that this is not a rostrum. You auctioneers are licenced gentlemen, and you do exaggerate a little sometimes. Are you not doing so now?”
“Look at my face, Sir Thomas. My arm is terribly strained.”
“Um—yes, but it does not sound reasonable to me, as an old man of the world who has had much to do with boys.”
“I have stated my case, Sir Thomas,” said Mr Dempster in an ill-used tone.
“Are you sure that you did not use the cane first yourself?”
“I—I will not swear I did not, Sir Thomas. I was very angry.”
“Hah! yes,” said the old gentleman, nodding his head. “Now, boy, speak the truth. This is a very serious business; what have you to say?”
“Got hold of me, sir, and was going to hit me, and we wrestled, and the hat was knocked over, and the stick, and he trod on his ’at, sir, and I sings out to Mayne Gordon—this is him, sir—to take the stick away, but he got it, sir, and I calls out to Gordon not to let him thrash me.”
“Gently, gently,” cried the old gentleman, holding up his hands, for Esau’s words came pouring out in a breathless way, and every one was laughing.
“No, sir, not a bit gently; ’ard, sir, awful! and I can show the marks, and Gordon—that’s him, sir—says he’d no business to ’it his mate, and he ’it him, and then Gordon got hold of the cane and held on, and Mr Dempster, he got it away again, and cut him across the ear, sir, and it bled pints, and ’it him again, and then I went at him and held him, and Gordon got the cane away and ’it ’im, sir, and then we ran away, and the police took us and locked us up, and that’s all.”
“And enough too,” said Sir Thomas good-humouredly. “There, hold your tongue.—Now, you, sir, what have you to say?—the same as your companion?”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” I said huskily; and then a feeling of indignation seemed to give me strength, and I continued, “What Esau Dean says is all true. Mr Dempster has behaved cruelly to us, and I could not stand still and see him beat Esau. I only tried to hold the stick so that he should not strike him, and then he hit me here, and here, and then I think I got hold of it, and—I don’t remember any more, sir. I’m very sorry now.”
“I ain’t,” said Esau defiantly.
“Do you want me to send you to prison, sir?” cried the old gentleman.
“No, sir.”
“Then hold your tongue. Any witnesses, constable?”
“No, Sir Thomas.”
“Humph! Well, really, Mr Dempster, from what I know of human nature, it seems to me that these lads have both spoken the truth.”
“Incorrigible young scoundrels, Sir Thomas.”
“No, no, no! Excuse me, I think not. A boy is only a very young man, and there is a great responsibility in properly managing them. The marks upon these lads show that they have had a very cruel attack made upon them by somebody. You confessed that you struck one of them. Well, I am not surprised, sir, that one took the other’s part. I say this, not as a magistrate, but as a man. You have to my mind, sir, certainly been in the wrong—so have they, for they had their remedy if they were ill-used by applying to a magistrate. So understand this, boys—I do not consider you have done right, though I must own that you had great provocation.”
“Then am I to understand, sir,” began Mr Dempster, in a very different tone of voice to that which he had before used, “that you are not going to punish these young scoundrels?”
“Have the goodness to recollect where you are, sir,” said the old alderman sternly. “Yes, sir, I dismiss the case.”
“Then a more contemptible mockery of justice,” roared Mr Dempster, “I never saw.”
“Exactly,” said the old alderman, quietly; “your words, Mr Dempster, quite endorse my opinion. You are a man of ungovernable temper, and not fit to have charge of boys.”
“Then—”
“That will do, sir.—The next case.”
“I should like to shake hands with that old chap,” whispered Esau; and then aloud, as he tossed his cap in the air, “Hooray!”
There was a roar of laughter in the court, and the old alderman turned very fiercely upon Esau, and shook his head at him, but I half fancy I saw him smile, as he turned to a gentleman at his side.
Then in the midst of a good deal of bustle in the court, and the calling of people’s names, the policeman hurried us both away, and soon after stood shaking hands with us both.
“You’ve both come off splendid, my lads,” he said, “and I’m glad of it. Old Sir Thomas saw through Master Dempster at once. I know him; he’s a bad ’un—regular bully. One of his men—Dingle, isn’t his name?—has often told me about him.”
“Ah, you don’t know half,” said Esau.
“Quite enough, anyhow,” said the constable, clapping Esau on the shoulder; “and you take my advice, don’t you go back to him.”
“No,” said Esau; “he wouldn’t have us if we wanted.”
“What are you going to do, then?”
“Join the Royal Artillery,” said Esau, importantly.
“Join the Royal Nonsense, boy!” said the big, bluff constable. “Better be a p.c. than that. Plenty of gents in the city want clerks.”
“Then,” said Esau, “they shan’t have me.”
But he did not say it loud enough for the constable to hear, the words being meant for me, and after once more shaking hands with us the man said, “Good-bye,” and we were out in the busy streets once more—as it seemed to me, the only two lads in London with nothing to do.
I was walking along by Esau’s side, low-spirited in spite of our acquittal, for everything seemed so novel and strange, when Esau, who had been whistling, looked round at me.
“Now then,” he said, “will you come with me?”
“Where?”
“Woolwich. ’Tillery.”
“No. And you are not going.”
“Oh, ain’t I?”
“No,” I said. “You are going home. Your mother must be very anxious about us.”
“I’d forgotten all about her,” cried Esau. “I say, look: here’s old Demp.”
If I had obeyed my first inclination I should have turned down the first street to avoid our late employer; but I kept on boldly, as he came towards us, and I expected that he would go by, but he stopped short, and looked from one to the other.
“Oh, here you are,” he said; “look out, my lads, I have not done yet. If you think I am going to be beaten like this, you are—”
“Come on, Esau,” I whispered, and we did not hear the end of his threat.
“There!” cried Esau. “Now what do you say? He’ll be giving us into custody again. ’Tillery’s our only chance. He daren’t touch us there. But I say, he isn’t going back to the office. Let’s run and get what’s in our desks. There’s my old flute.”
“I thought you did not want to be given into custody again?” I cried. “Why, if we go and try to touch anything there, and he catches us, he is sure to call in the police.”
“Never thought o’ that,” said Esau, rubbing one ear. “I say, don’t be a coward. Come on down to Woolwich.”
“You go on directly to your mother and tell her all about it.”
“I say, don’t order a fellow about like that. You ain’t master.”
“You do as I tell you,” I said, firmly.
“Oh, very well,” he replied, in an ill-used tone. “If you say I am to, I suppose I must. Won’t you come too?”
“No; I’m going up to see Mr John Dempster to tell him all about it, and ask him to give me his advice.”
“Ah, it’s all very fine,” grumbled Esau; “it’s always Mr John Dempster now. You used to make me a friend and ask my advice: now I’m nobody at all. You always was such a gentleman, and too fine for me.”
“Don’t talk like that, Esau,” I said; “you hurt me.”
He turned and caught hold of my hand directly. “I didn’t mean it,” he said, huskily. “On’y don’t chuck me over. I won’t go for a soldier if you don’t want, but let’s stick together.”
“I should like to, Esau,” I said, “for I’ve no friends but you and Mr John.”
“Oh, I don’t know ’bout friends,” he said. “I don’t want to be friends, ’cause I’m not like you, but let’s keep together. I’ll do anything you want, and I’ll always stick up for you, same as you did for me.”
“I should be an ungrateful brute if I did part from you, Esau, for I shall never forget how kind you and your mother have always—”
“Don’t! don’t! don’t!” he cried, putting his fingers in his ears. “Now you’re beginning to preach at me, and you know I hate that. I say, let’s call at the auction-rooms and say good-bye to old Dingle. Dempster won’t be there.”
I hesitated, and then hurried down the next street with Esau, for I thought I should like to say a friendly word to the porter, who had always been pleasant and kind, little thinking how it would influence my future career.
He was just inside the long sale-room, and he came out to us directly to shake hands gleefully.
“All right, lads,” he cried. “I know all about it. I was there, and heard every word. Serve him precious well right! Ah, you’re lucky ones. Wish I was out of his service. What are you both going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I said sadly. “Esau here wants to be a soldier.”
“Yes, he always was mad that way. Don’t you listen to him.”
“Better be a soldier than old Demp’s clerk.”
“Don’t you be too sure, my lad,” said Dingle. “There are such things as drill-sergeants in the army, and they tell me they’re a kind of Double Dempsters. It’s awkward for you, Master Gordon. You see, you’ll have to send to the guv’nor for a reference when you try for another place, and he won’t give you one, see if he does.”
“No,” I said sadly, “there is no chance there. What would you do?”
“Well,” he said, taking off his carpet cap, and stroking his thin grey hair, “it’s easy to advise anybody, but it ain’t easy to advise right.”
“Never mind,” I said, “try.”
“Well, sir, speaking as a poor man, if I was like you, out of a ’gagement, and no character ’cept for being able to thrash your own master—”
“Oh, Dingle!” I cried.
“Well, sir, it’s true enough,” he said; and he bent down to indulge in a long silent fit of laughter.
“Don’t do that,” I said uneasily, “it’s nothing to laugh at.”
“Well, ’tis, and it ’tisn’t, sir,” said Dingle, wiping his eyes on the corner of his apron.
“What would you do if you were out of an engagement?”
“Me? I should do what my brother did—hemigrate.”
“Your brother did, Ding? To a nice place?” cried Esau.
“Yes, my lad, and he’s getting on fine.”
“Then why didn’t you go too, and get on fine?”
“’Cause I’ve got a houseful o’ children, and nearly all gals. That’s why, Clevershakes.”
“But what does your brother do?” I said eagerly. “Is he an auctioneer’s porter?”
“Love and bless your heart, Mr Gordon, sir, no,” he cried. “I don’t believe there’s such a thing over there. He went out in the woods, and got a bit o’ land give him, and built hisself a log-house, and made a garden, and got cows, and shoots in the woods.”
“Here, hold hard, Ding,” cried Esau, excitedly; “that’ll do. Goes shooting in the woods?”
“Yes, and gets a deer sometimes, and one winter he killed a bear and two wolves, my lad.”
“That’s the place,” cried Esau. “Hooroar! Come on, Master Gordon, let’s go there.”
Dingle laughed.
“Hark at him, sir. What a one he is! Why, you don’t know even where it is.”
“I don’t care where it is,” cried Esau. “You say you can go there, and get some land, and live in the woods, and make your own house, and shoot bears and wolves—that’s just the thing I should like to do.”
“Why, you said you wanted to jyne the Ryle Artilleree.”
“Yes, but I didn’t know of this place then. Where is it? How do you go? You’ll come too, won’t you?”
“I don’t know,” I said, slowly, for my imagination was also fired by the idea of living in such a land of liberty as that. In fact, as I spoke, bright pictures of green forests and foaming rivers and boats began to form in my mind. “Yes,” I cried, “I think I should like to go.”
“Hooroar! Where is it, Ding?”
“Oh, my brother’s in Bri’ish Columbia, but it’s a long, long way.”
“Oh, we don’t mind that,” cried Esau. “How do you get there?”
“Him and his wife and their boy went eight or nine year ago. Sailed in a ship from the docks, and it took ’em five months.”
“Oh!” said Esau, in a disappointed tone. “Five months! Why, I didn’t think there was anywhere so far off as that.”
“Ah! but there is, and in one letter he told me that a man he knew was once a year going, but he went in a waggon instead of a ship.”
“Get out! He’s gammoning us,” cried Esau. “You can’t drive a waggon over the sea.”
“Who said you could, Clevershakes?” said Dingle—then turning to me, “He went over to Canady by ship, and then all acrost the prayerees in a waggon—lots o’ waggons all together, because o’ the Injins.”
“Fire-injins?” said Esau, eagerly. “No. Dunno though,” said Dingle, grinning; “they did fire at ’em a deal.”
“Red Injins!” cried Esau. “Oh, I say, I think I’d rather go that way, because there’d be some fighting.”
“What, ain’t you had fightin’ enough, boy? Want to get at it again? What yer thinking about, Mr Gordon?”
I started, for my thoughts were far away. “I was thinking about your brother,” I said, hastily.
“Ah! but such a life wouldn’t do for you, my lad. There’s no clean hands out there—leastwise I dessay they’re clean sometimes. What I mean is, it’s always hard, rough work, and no setting on a stuffed seat and writing on bloo paper. Why, what do you think my brother had for chairs in his house?”
“Boxes,” I said.
“No, boxes made tables. Stumps of wood—logs cut off a fir tree—no castors on them, my lad.”
“British Columbia?” I said, thoughtfully, as I tried to remember where that country was on the map, and I am afraid getting a very hazy notion as to its position.
“Yes, my lad, Bri’ish Columbia; and if you go out there and mention my name, my brother will be glad enough to see you, I know. There—I must get to work ’fore the guv’nor catches me, or p’r’aps there’ll be another fight, and me wanting a fresh place too.” So we shook hands, promising to go and see him again, and directly after Esau and I parted, he going south for home, I going north, and feeling a curious sensation of shrinking as I neared Mr John Dempster’s home.
Chapter Seven.My Friends’ Plans.They were both in the little sitting-room, when Maria, who had given me a very indignant look for dragging her down to the gate, announced the visitor and went away, closing the door more loudly than was necessary, and the reception I had was very warm as they both rose from where they had been turning over some letters together.“Why, Mayne,” cried Mr John, “this is an unexpected pleasure,” and he made way for Mrs John, who took my hand, smiling in her gentle way, and then turning serious and eager as she exclaimed—“There is something the matter?”I nodded, for I could not speak.“Some trouble with—my cousin?”“Yes, sir,” I said, hoarsely; and for a few minutes the words would not come, the incidents of the past twenty-four hours having upset me more than I was aware.“Don’t hurry, my boy, don’t hurry; and don’t question him, Alexes. Did you walk up?”“Yes, sir.”“Ah, a nice day for walking. We two ought to have had ours, but some letters—a little business—kept us in. We have had a very long communication from my wife’s brother, and it necessitates a great deal of thinking at our time of life.”“I—I have left Mr Dempster, sir,” I said.“Indeed! I am not surprised, Mayne, and—bless me! what is the matter with your ear?”The words came now, and I told him everything, while before I had half got through my narrative, Mr John was upon his legs tramping excitedly up and down the little room, and uttering angry ejaculations from time to time.“You—you are not very angry with me?”“Angry?” he cried. “I am more than angry that such a thing could have happened, and the principal actor in it have been one who bears the same name as myself. It is cruel—scandalous—disgraceful; and above all, to have exposed you to such an indignity—in custody like a common thief! But there, you shall not continue in his office.”I could not help giving him rather a droll look.“Of course, sir,” I said, “I am discharged.”“Yes, yes, I had forgotten that,” he said, hurriedly. “You must have a better post—one more suited to your abilities. Now, let me see—let me see—what steps ought I to take first? Something in the city, perhaps, or I would rather see you in one of the Government offices.”I looked at him wonderingly, as he sat down at the table now, and taking up a letter, used it to tap on the polished wood.“Yes, I think in one of the Government offices,” he continued, while I glanced now at Mrs John, whose face was full of the lines caused by her thoughts.As she met my eyes, she gave me a piteous look, and shook her head sadly, as if saying something by way of warning.“Yes, I think decidedly one of the Government offices, my dear, but which?”As he spoke he raised his eyes and looked at Mrs John, who met his gaze with one so full of loving tenderness that it impressed me, and the more that I saw what a change took place directly in Mr John’s countenance, ending by his looking down at the letter he held in his hand.“Ah,” he exclaimed, “what a miserable dreamer I am! Always the same! Mayne, my boy,” he added, piteously, “you must not listen to me. I cannot even help myself, and here am I talking to you in this vain, foolish way.”He let his head drop into his hands, and sat bent down till Mrs John went to his side.“Don’t give way,” I heard her whisper; “it was your good heart that spoke.”“My good heart,” he said piteously—“no, my weak, foolish, dreaming brain. It was always so, and I have brought you down to poverty like this.”She bent lower, and whispered a few words which seemed quite to transform him.“Yes,” he cried, with his face flushing, “I am always ungrateful, and letting present troubles set benefits aside. Mayne, my boy, I wanted you to come and see us. I told you that we were going abroad—for my wife’s health—I might say for my own,” he added, with a smile, “for I am no use here in England.”“And you are going, sir?” I said, glad to find that the conversation was changing.“Yes; to join my dear wife’s brother. He has sent us an invitation. He thinks I might like the life out there, and he is sure that it will give renewed health to his sister.”“I am very glad, sir,” I said, holding out my hands to both, “and—very sorry.”“To loseus,” said Mr John. “Yes; now we are getting to know each other so well, it will be painful.”“Are you going to Canada, sir?” I said, hastily, for the idea of losing almost my only friends chilled me.“To Canada first, then on by slow degrees to the great North-West. My brother-in-law—did I not tell you?”I shook my head.“He is in the service of the Hudson’s Bay Company, chief at one of their stations in British Columbia.”“British Columbia!” I exclaimed.“Yes. What do you know of the country?”“Nothing, sir, only that one of Mr Dempster’s men has a brother there. But it is a rough place, wild, and there are forests. Mrs John could not go there.”“No place could be rough or wild to me, Mayne,” she said, smiling, “if I could find health and strength.”“And you will there, dear,” cried Mr John excitedly. “Your brother says the country is lovely, and that the slow waggon journey across, though rough, will be invigorating. It will take many months, Mayne,” he continued, speaking as eagerly and joyfully as a boy preparing for a holiday, “but my brother-in-law has sent us ample for our expenses, and he tells us to take our time, and once there I shall easily be able to repay him, either by assisting him, or by means of a farm. Alexes, my darling, I feel now that nature meant me for a farmer, and at last I am going to succeed.”“Nature meant you, John,” she replied, with a look of pride at him, “for what you are, what you always have been, and will be.”“A poor dreamer?”“No, my dear husband—a gentleman.”“I thought I was sorry as well as glad,” I said, after a pause. “I am now very glad. When do you go?”“As soon as we can make all the arrangements,” said Mr John.“But you cannot journey in a waggon by yourselves.”“We cannot?”“No, sir; you must join a party—quite a caravan.”“That is what Dan said in the letter, dear,” said Mrs John.“Of course. My head is in such a whirl. I had forgotten—but you, Mayne, you talk as if you understand all this.”“I have beard, sir,” I said, colouring a little; “that is all.”“But you, my boy?—we can’t go and leave you in distress, and without an engagement.”He whispered something to her.“I had thought the same,” she said, gently; “but I did not think it right to propose it.”“Not if he could do better here,” cried Mr John, excitedly. “Mayne, my boy, we have only known each other a few months, but it has been enough to make me understand you. My wife will vouch for me. It seems to me that you are alone, an orphan without a chance of raising yourself here: will you come with us to try your fortune in the new land?”“Would you take me with you?” I cried, excitedly.“Take you, my boy?” he cried, “gladly; but, Alexes, speak for me, dear. I am so prone to let heart master judgment. Should I be doing right? Should I be doing right?”There was a silence in the little room which lasted for some minutes, and during that time the shouts of a party of lads engaged in some sport came ringing through the window.“Yes,” cried Mr John, “you hear that—boys at play! It seems to me that our young friend here should be engaged as they are, and not be called upon to enter into the struggle for life away in some wild country.”“But I have been at work now for years, Mr John,” I said.“Yes, my lad, I know, and I want to help you; but misfortune has so marked me for her own that I seem now to have lost all faith in myself.”“Have you no relatives, Mayne?” said Mrs John, gravely. “There are people who could help you to some engagement?”I shook my head.“None that I know of,” I said.“And when we are gone what will you do?”“Obtain some situation, I hope.”“You hope, my boy. It is a poor prospect, that. I do not like to say, come with us to this new land, though I believe any enterprising lad would be sure to make his way.”“Then why shouldn’t I come?”“Because prosperity will have to be fought for, and obtained at so great a cost. Civilisation has to be left behind. It will be a rough life.”“But if a delicate lady could bear it, why should not I?”“I have told you why I could bear it,” she said, smiling. “You must not judge hastily, Mayne. I am afraid to say come.”“Would you both like me to come?” I said, looking from one to the other.“For our own sakes, yes. For yours we are afraid to speak,” said Mrs John, and her husband nodded his acquiescence in her words.“Then I shall come,” I said, firmly. “Not with you. I shall go by sea.”“You will go?” cried Mr John, looking at me wonderingly.“Yes, sir; and perhaps I shall get there first.”“But, my dear boy, how?”“I don’t know, sir,” I said, laughing; “I am going to talk to a man I know, and—Oh, I had forgotten!”“Forgotten what?”“Esau,” I said, “the lad who worked with me in the office.”Mr John looked at his wife in a perplexed way.“Let us think about it all,” said Mrs John. “This companion of yours—Esau—do you like him?”“Oh, yes,” I cried; “he has always been most kind, and he wants to go with me—for us to be together.”I did not grasp it so well then as I did afterwards, though I had an undefined feeling that my fellow clerk’s company would not be agreeable to them; and when I left them that night, it was with the feeling that it was quite certain that my new friends would start, possibly before the month was out; while as far as I was concerned, my prospects were very much as they were.
They were both in the little sitting-room, when Maria, who had given me a very indignant look for dragging her down to the gate, announced the visitor and went away, closing the door more loudly than was necessary, and the reception I had was very warm as they both rose from where they had been turning over some letters together.
“Why, Mayne,” cried Mr John, “this is an unexpected pleasure,” and he made way for Mrs John, who took my hand, smiling in her gentle way, and then turning serious and eager as she exclaimed—
“There is something the matter?”
I nodded, for I could not speak.
“Some trouble with—my cousin?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, hoarsely; and for a few minutes the words would not come, the incidents of the past twenty-four hours having upset me more than I was aware.
“Don’t hurry, my boy, don’t hurry; and don’t question him, Alexes. Did you walk up?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah, a nice day for walking. We two ought to have had ours, but some letters—a little business—kept us in. We have had a very long communication from my wife’s brother, and it necessitates a great deal of thinking at our time of life.”
“I—I have left Mr Dempster, sir,” I said.
“Indeed! I am not surprised, Mayne, and—bless me! what is the matter with your ear?”
The words came now, and I told him everything, while before I had half got through my narrative, Mr John was upon his legs tramping excitedly up and down the little room, and uttering angry ejaculations from time to time.
“You—you are not very angry with me?”
“Angry?” he cried. “I am more than angry that such a thing could have happened, and the principal actor in it have been one who bears the same name as myself. It is cruel—scandalous—disgraceful; and above all, to have exposed you to such an indignity—in custody like a common thief! But there, you shall not continue in his office.”
I could not help giving him rather a droll look.
“Of course, sir,” I said, “I am discharged.”
“Yes, yes, I had forgotten that,” he said, hurriedly. “You must have a better post—one more suited to your abilities. Now, let me see—let me see—what steps ought I to take first? Something in the city, perhaps, or I would rather see you in one of the Government offices.”
I looked at him wonderingly, as he sat down at the table now, and taking up a letter, used it to tap on the polished wood.
“Yes, I think in one of the Government offices,” he continued, while I glanced now at Mrs John, whose face was full of the lines caused by her thoughts.
As she met my eyes, she gave me a piteous look, and shook her head sadly, as if saying something by way of warning.
“Yes, I think decidedly one of the Government offices, my dear, but which?”
As he spoke he raised his eyes and looked at Mrs John, who met his gaze with one so full of loving tenderness that it impressed me, and the more that I saw what a change took place directly in Mr John’s countenance, ending by his looking down at the letter he held in his hand.
“Ah,” he exclaimed, “what a miserable dreamer I am! Always the same! Mayne, my boy,” he added, piteously, “you must not listen to me. I cannot even help myself, and here am I talking to you in this vain, foolish way.”
He let his head drop into his hands, and sat bent down till Mrs John went to his side.
“Don’t give way,” I heard her whisper; “it was your good heart that spoke.”
“My good heart,” he said piteously—“no, my weak, foolish, dreaming brain. It was always so, and I have brought you down to poverty like this.”
She bent lower, and whispered a few words which seemed quite to transform him.
“Yes,” he cried, with his face flushing, “I am always ungrateful, and letting present troubles set benefits aside. Mayne, my boy, I wanted you to come and see us. I told you that we were going abroad—for my wife’s health—I might say for my own,” he added, with a smile, “for I am no use here in England.”
“And you are going, sir?” I said, glad to find that the conversation was changing.
“Yes; to join my dear wife’s brother. He has sent us an invitation. He thinks I might like the life out there, and he is sure that it will give renewed health to his sister.”
“I am very glad, sir,” I said, holding out my hands to both, “and—very sorry.”
“To loseus,” said Mr John. “Yes; now we are getting to know each other so well, it will be painful.”
“Are you going to Canada, sir?” I said, hastily, for the idea of losing almost my only friends chilled me.
“To Canada first, then on by slow degrees to the great North-West. My brother-in-law—did I not tell you?”
I shook my head.
“He is in the service of the Hudson’s Bay Company, chief at one of their stations in British Columbia.”
“British Columbia!” I exclaimed.
“Yes. What do you know of the country?”
“Nothing, sir, only that one of Mr Dempster’s men has a brother there. But it is a rough place, wild, and there are forests. Mrs John could not go there.”
“No place could be rough or wild to me, Mayne,” she said, smiling, “if I could find health and strength.”
“And you will there, dear,” cried Mr John excitedly. “Your brother says the country is lovely, and that the slow waggon journey across, though rough, will be invigorating. It will take many months, Mayne,” he continued, speaking as eagerly and joyfully as a boy preparing for a holiday, “but my brother-in-law has sent us ample for our expenses, and he tells us to take our time, and once there I shall easily be able to repay him, either by assisting him, or by means of a farm. Alexes, my darling, I feel now that nature meant me for a farmer, and at last I am going to succeed.”
“Nature meant you, John,” she replied, with a look of pride at him, “for what you are, what you always have been, and will be.”
“A poor dreamer?”
“No, my dear husband—a gentleman.”
“I thought I was sorry as well as glad,” I said, after a pause. “I am now very glad. When do you go?”
“As soon as we can make all the arrangements,” said Mr John.
“But you cannot journey in a waggon by yourselves.”
“We cannot?”
“No, sir; you must join a party—quite a caravan.”
“That is what Dan said in the letter, dear,” said Mrs John.
“Of course. My head is in such a whirl. I had forgotten—but you, Mayne, you talk as if you understand all this.”
“I have beard, sir,” I said, colouring a little; “that is all.”
“But you, my boy?—we can’t go and leave you in distress, and without an engagement.”
He whispered something to her.
“I had thought the same,” she said, gently; “but I did not think it right to propose it.”
“Not if he could do better here,” cried Mr John, excitedly. “Mayne, my boy, we have only known each other a few months, but it has been enough to make me understand you. My wife will vouch for me. It seems to me that you are alone, an orphan without a chance of raising yourself here: will you come with us to try your fortune in the new land?”
“Would you take me with you?” I cried, excitedly.
“Take you, my boy?” he cried, “gladly; but, Alexes, speak for me, dear. I am so prone to let heart master judgment. Should I be doing right? Should I be doing right?”
There was a silence in the little room which lasted for some minutes, and during that time the shouts of a party of lads engaged in some sport came ringing through the window.
“Yes,” cried Mr John, “you hear that—boys at play! It seems to me that our young friend here should be engaged as they are, and not be called upon to enter into the struggle for life away in some wild country.”
“But I have been at work now for years, Mr John,” I said.
“Yes, my lad, I know, and I want to help you; but misfortune has so marked me for her own that I seem now to have lost all faith in myself.”
“Have you no relatives, Mayne?” said Mrs John, gravely. “There are people who could help you to some engagement?”
I shook my head.
“None that I know of,” I said.
“And when we are gone what will you do?”
“Obtain some situation, I hope.”
“You hope, my boy. It is a poor prospect, that. I do not like to say, come with us to this new land, though I believe any enterprising lad would be sure to make his way.”
“Then why shouldn’t I come?”
“Because prosperity will have to be fought for, and obtained at so great a cost. Civilisation has to be left behind. It will be a rough life.”
“But if a delicate lady could bear it, why should not I?”
“I have told you why I could bear it,” she said, smiling. “You must not judge hastily, Mayne. I am afraid to say come.”
“Would you both like me to come?” I said, looking from one to the other.
“For our own sakes, yes. For yours we are afraid to speak,” said Mrs John, and her husband nodded his acquiescence in her words.
“Then I shall come,” I said, firmly. “Not with you. I shall go by sea.”
“You will go?” cried Mr John, looking at me wonderingly.
“Yes, sir; and perhaps I shall get there first.”
“But, my dear boy, how?”
“I don’t know, sir,” I said, laughing; “I am going to talk to a man I know, and—Oh, I had forgotten!”
“Forgotten what?”
“Esau,” I said, “the lad who worked with me in the office.”
Mr John looked at his wife in a perplexed way.
“Let us think about it all,” said Mrs John. “This companion of yours—Esau—do you like him?”
“Oh, yes,” I cried; “he has always been most kind, and he wants to go with me—for us to be together.”
I did not grasp it so well then as I did afterwards, though I had an undefined feeling that my fellow clerk’s company would not be agreeable to them; and when I left them that night, it was with the feeling that it was quite certain that my new friends would start, possibly before the month was out; while as far as I was concerned, my prospects were very much as they were.
Chapter Eight.A Startling Announcement.That night when I got back to Camberwell, I found that not only had supper been ready above an hour, but Mrs Dean and Esau were both waiting for me to join them.“I thought we’d make a sort of a party of it,” said Esau, “only not ask anybody, so that we could enjoy ourselves, though if that policeman was anywhere near, and old Dingle wasn’t so far off, I should like to have had them in.”“Oh, I am glad you’ve come,” cried Mrs Dean, “for Esau has been going on so.”“Only,” continued Esau, ignoring his mother’s words, “you couldn’t ask old Dingle without asking his wife and twelve children, and that would take such a lot of plates, without counting the pie mother’s made, and that’s only just enough for three.”“But why have you got such a grand hot supper?” I said.“Because of its being a holiday, and because we’re going to make a fresh start in life over there in the woods.”“Esau, my dear, don’t, pray don’t,” whimpered his mother. “It was bad enough sitting up for you all night, and you not coming, but it’s far worse when you will go on like that.”“Come, sit down, Mr Gordon. I’m as hungry as can be. Why you know you went to sleep, mother.”“I didn’t, my dear. I never had a wink all night for expecting you.”“Well, how could I help it, mother? We should have been home safe enough if we hadn’t been locked up in a dun John.”“Yes, and my boy in custody—in prison. Oh dear me! oh dear me!”“Ah!” shouted Esau, striking the table hard with a spoon. “You dare to cry again, and I won’t eat a bit of supper.”“But I can’t help it, Esau,” sobbed the poor little woman; “I declare I’ve been seeing nothing but policemen and prison vans ever since you told me where you had been.”“All comes o’ getting into bad company, mother,” said Esau, cutting the steaming steak pie. “There; that’s an extra spoonful o’ gravy for you if you promise not to cry.”He passed a plate to where his mother sat, and began to help me.“Bad company’s the ruin of all boys,” continued Esau, laughing at me. “Look at Mr Gordon’s ear, and that mark on his face.”“Oh, my dear,” cried Mrs Dean, “my eyes were so dim, I didn’t see. Is it very bad?”“’Course you couldn’t see,” cried Esau, “if you keep on crying. Why you ought to laugh for joy to think Mr Gordon and me’s got out of bad company, and left old Dempster for good.”“I am glad, my dear, if it’s for your good, I’m sure. Let me give you a hot baked potato, Mr Gordon, my dear. But Esau has been going on in the wildest way—says he shall start across the sea to some dreadful place.”“That I didn’t, mother; I said it was a lovely place. There you are, master. Mr Esau Dean, may I have the pleasure of helping you to some poy?”“He says he shall be an emigrant, my dear, and shall go and build himself a house in the woods.”“Well,” said Esau, helping himself quickly, “there’s no room here in London to build one, and if there was the people wouldn’t let me have the ground.”“And it’s all madness, and wild as wild.”“Well, you might give your poor son, who has just escaped outer prison, a hot potato,” said Esau, grinning at me again.“Oh, my dear, I beg your pardon. There, let me help you. That’s a beauty.”“Then why didn’t you give it to Mr Gordon?”“Do be quiet, my dear. How you do talk. I really think you’re half crazy.”“I was, mother, to stop with old ‘going, going, gone’ so long. Never mind; I’m going to have land of my own, and a house in the woods, where I can go and shoot bears and wolves.”“There, Mr Gordon, my dear, that’s how he has been going on ever since he came home.”“Hold your plate for some more gravy,” said Esau to me. “That’s the worst part of it. I shan’t have mother to make hot steak pies and lovely crusts.”“It isn’t half so good as I should like to make it, Esau,” said the poor little woman sadly; “but do be a good boy, and leave off all that dreadful talk. Mr Gordon don’t go on like that.”“No, but he thinks all the more, mother.”“He don’t, I’m sure. Now do you, Mr Gordon?”“I’m afraid I’ve quite made up my mind to go, Mrs Dean,” I said sadly.“Oh, my dear, don’t,” she cried. “It’s too dreadful. Right on the other side of the world, where there’s bears and wolves, and for all we know perhaps savage Red Indians.”“Oh, there are, mother, lots of ’em; and they scallop people and roast ’em.”“Esau!” half shrieked the poor little woman wildly.“Don’t eat ’em afterwards, do they, Mr Gordon?”“Don’t listen to him, Mrs Dean,” I cried. “He is saying all this to tease you.”“I thought so,” she cried triumphantly. “Then he doesn’t mean to go?”I was silent, and Mrs Dean’s knife and fork dropped on the table.“Tell me—the truth,” she cried, rising and laying her hand on my shoulder.“The truth is, Mrs Dean, that we have both lost our situations, and that I’m afraid Mr Dempster will be so malicious that he will keep us from getting others.”“Yes, I’m afraid of that,” she said sadly.“So as we have heard that any one who likes to try can get on out there, we did think of going.”“And we do think of going, mother dear,” said Esau gently. “Come, try and look at it sensibly. I know you will not like me to go, and when it comes to the time, I shan’t like to leave you; but I’m such a sleepy-headed chap, I shall never get on here, and if I go over there it will wake me up.”“But I couldn’t part with you, my boy,” cried Mrs Dean. “I should be all alone. What would become of me?”“Why you’d go on just as you are, and I should send you home some money sometimes; and when I’ve made my fortune I shall come back and make a lady of you.”“No, no, no,” she said, with the tears running down her cheeks; “I’d rather stop as we are, Esau.”“Yes, but we can’t.”“Yes, we can, dear. I’ve saved a few pounds now, and it only means working a little harder. I can keep you, and I’m sure—”“Stop!” roared Esau huskily. “I’m ashamed of you, mother. Do you think I’m going to be such a sop of a fellow as to sit down here and let you keep me? I suppose you’ll want to keep Mr Gordon next.”“Then you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, I’m sure, sir,” said the little woman tartly. “What’s enough for two’s enough for three, and I was going to say, when you went on like that, that if Mr Gordon wouldn’t mind, and not be too proud at things not being quite so plentiful, which everything should be clean as clean, it’s very, very welcome you’d be, my dear, for you never could have been nicer if you had been my own boy.”“Mrs Dean,” I cried, with a curious feeling in my throat, while Esau looked at me searchingly, as if he thought I was going to accept the offer, “that is quite impossible. Neither Esau nor I could do that. Why, I should be ashamed even to think of it.”“Oh no,” said Esau, sarcastically, “it’s all right. Let mother do the work, and we two will play at tops and marbles all day.”“Be quiet, Esau. I know you’re only teasing. But why not, my dear? I know I’m a very little woman, but I’m very strong.”“It’s be quiet, mother, I think,” cried Esau angrily. “What do you mean by talking like that to Mr Gordon? I often calls him Gordon, ’cause he’s always been such a good chap to me; but I don’t forget he’s a gentleman’s son, and his mother was a born lady. I’m ashamed of you, mother, that I am.”“But it’s so dreadful, my boy—worse than your being a soldier. I could come down to Woolwich to see you sometimes.”“No, no, Mrs Dean,” I said; “don’t say that. It really would be wise for us to go. People do get on out there, and those friends of mine, Mr John Dempster and Mrs John, are going.”“That’s it then,” cried the little lady angrily. “It’s their doing, and it’s a shame.”“Here, hold hard, mother!” cried Esau. “I say, is that true?”“Quite.”“And now you’re trying to blind me, Esau,” cried Mrs Dean; “but you can’t cheat me.”“Who’s trying to blind you?”“You, sir. Just as if you didn’t know all the time.”“He did not know, neither did I know till I went up there to-day,” I said.“Ah, I never liked those people. They’re only Dempsters, and not content with weaning you away from me, they’ve done the same now with my boy.”“Did you ever hear such an unbelieving old creature,” cried Esau excitedly. “Mr and Mrs John D. going! Why you’ve coaxed ’em into it.”“You don’t deceive me; you don’t deceive me,” said Mrs Dean, sobbing.“Be quiet, mother!—But how is it they’re going?”“For Mrs John’s health. I told you before they said they might go to Canada.”“So you did.”“Of course you did,” said Mrs Dean, scornfully.“They are going to join Mrs John’s brother, who is manager out at a Hudson’s Bay Company’s station.”“Hudson’s Bay,” said Esau, making a grimace; “that’s up at the North Pole. I don’t want to go there.”“Nonsense!” I said; “it’s somewhere in British Columbia.”“Hudson’s Bay, Baffin’s Bay, Davis’ Straits—all up at the North Pole. Think nobody never learnt jography but you?”“Ah, well, never mind where it is,” I said impatiently; “they’re going out there.”“And they’ve coaxed you two boys away from a poor lone widow woman to go with them,” cried Mrs Dean; “and it’s a sin and a shame.”“I assure you, Mrs Dean—”“No, sir, you can’t.”“Will you be quiet, mother!” cried Esau angrily, “and go on with your supper, and let us. You’re crying right into the salt.”“I’m not, sir! and I will not be put down by a boy like you. I say you shan’t go.”“And I say I shall,” replied Esau surlily. “If you don’t know what’s for the best, I do.”“It isn’t for the best, and it’s cruel of you, Esau.”“Well,” said Esau, turning to me, “I’ve made up my mind, Gordon; she won’t care when it’s all over, and then she’ll see it’s for the best for all of us. So once for all, will you stick to it?”“Yes,” I said, “I am quite determined now.”“Hear that, mother?”“Oh yes, I hear, sir.”“Then don’t say sir; and let’s finish supper comfortably, for I haven’t had half enough. But let’s have it all over, and then settle down to it. So once for all, I’m going out to British Columbia to make my fortune.”Mrs Dean had been sitting down for some little time now, and as Esau said these last words she started up, gave the table a sharp slap with her hand, looked defiantly at us both, and exclaimed—“Then I shall come too.”We two lads sank back in our chairs astonished. Then we looked at each other, and we ended by bursting out laughing.“Oh, all right,” said Esau at last. “That’s right, mother.—She’s coming to do the shooting for us while we build up the house.”“Ah, you may laugh, sir. But if that’s a place that is good for two lads like you to get on in, it’s a good place for a respectable hard-working woman who can wash, and cook, and bake bread, whether it’s loaves or cakes.”“Well, mother can make cakes,” said Esau, “and good ones.”“Of course I can, sir; and very glad you’ll be of ’em too when you’re thousands of miles from a baker’s shop.”“Yes; but the idee of your coming!” cried Esau. “Haw, haw, haw!”Somehow it did not seem to me such a very preposterous “idee,” as Esau called it, for just then I too had an idea. Mrs John was going that long waggon journey; what could be better for her than to have a clever little managing, hard-working woman like Mrs Dean with her?But I did not say anything about it then, for I had to think the matter over. Only a few hours ago it had seemed as if my connection with Esau was likely to be in the way of my accompanying the Dempsters; now matters were taking a form that looked as if my friendliness with him was to be the reason, not only for my being their companion, but of helping them admirably as well.But matters were not quite in shape yet, and we all went to bed that night feeling as if Esau’s opinion was correct—that the little supper had not been a success.
That night when I got back to Camberwell, I found that not only had supper been ready above an hour, but Mrs Dean and Esau were both waiting for me to join them.
“I thought we’d make a sort of a party of it,” said Esau, “only not ask anybody, so that we could enjoy ourselves, though if that policeman was anywhere near, and old Dingle wasn’t so far off, I should like to have had them in.”
“Oh, I am glad you’ve come,” cried Mrs Dean, “for Esau has been going on so.”
“Only,” continued Esau, ignoring his mother’s words, “you couldn’t ask old Dingle without asking his wife and twelve children, and that would take such a lot of plates, without counting the pie mother’s made, and that’s only just enough for three.”
“But why have you got such a grand hot supper?” I said.
“Because of its being a holiday, and because we’re going to make a fresh start in life over there in the woods.”
“Esau, my dear, don’t, pray don’t,” whimpered his mother. “It was bad enough sitting up for you all night, and you not coming, but it’s far worse when you will go on like that.”
“Come, sit down, Mr Gordon. I’m as hungry as can be. Why you know you went to sleep, mother.”
“I didn’t, my dear. I never had a wink all night for expecting you.”
“Well, how could I help it, mother? We should have been home safe enough if we hadn’t been locked up in a dun John.”
“Yes, and my boy in custody—in prison. Oh dear me! oh dear me!”
“Ah!” shouted Esau, striking the table hard with a spoon. “You dare to cry again, and I won’t eat a bit of supper.”
“But I can’t help it, Esau,” sobbed the poor little woman; “I declare I’ve been seeing nothing but policemen and prison vans ever since you told me where you had been.”
“All comes o’ getting into bad company, mother,” said Esau, cutting the steaming steak pie. “There; that’s an extra spoonful o’ gravy for you if you promise not to cry.”
He passed a plate to where his mother sat, and began to help me.
“Bad company’s the ruin of all boys,” continued Esau, laughing at me. “Look at Mr Gordon’s ear, and that mark on his face.”
“Oh, my dear,” cried Mrs Dean, “my eyes were so dim, I didn’t see. Is it very bad?”
“’Course you couldn’t see,” cried Esau, “if you keep on crying. Why you ought to laugh for joy to think Mr Gordon and me’s got out of bad company, and left old Dempster for good.”
“I am glad, my dear, if it’s for your good, I’m sure. Let me give you a hot baked potato, Mr Gordon, my dear. But Esau has been going on in the wildest way—says he shall start across the sea to some dreadful place.”
“That I didn’t, mother; I said it was a lovely place. There you are, master. Mr Esau Dean, may I have the pleasure of helping you to some poy?”
“He says he shall be an emigrant, my dear, and shall go and build himself a house in the woods.”
“Well,” said Esau, helping himself quickly, “there’s no room here in London to build one, and if there was the people wouldn’t let me have the ground.”
“And it’s all madness, and wild as wild.”
“Well, you might give your poor son, who has just escaped outer prison, a hot potato,” said Esau, grinning at me again.
“Oh, my dear, I beg your pardon. There, let me help you. That’s a beauty.”
“Then why didn’t you give it to Mr Gordon?”
“Do be quiet, my dear. How you do talk. I really think you’re half crazy.”
“I was, mother, to stop with old ‘going, going, gone’ so long. Never mind; I’m going to have land of my own, and a house in the woods, where I can go and shoot bears and wolves.”
“There, Mr Gordon, my dear, that’s how he has been going on ever since he came home.”
“Hold your plate for some more gravy,” said Esau to me. “That’s the worst part of it. I shan’t have mother to make hot steak pies and lovely crusts.”
“It isn’t half so good as I should like to make it, Esau,” said the poor little woman sadly; “but do be a good boy, and leave off all that dreadful talk. Mr Gordon don’t go on like that.”
“No, but he thinks all the more, mother.”
“He don’t, I’m sure. Now do you, Mr Gordon?”
“I’m afraid I’ve quite made up my mind to go, Mrs Dean,” I said sadly.
“Oh, my dear, don’t,” she cried. “It’s too dreadful. Right on the other side of the world, where there’s bears and wolves, and for all we know perhaps savage Red Indians.”
“Oh, there are, mother, lots of ’em; and they scallop people and roast ’em.”
“Esau!” half shrieked the poor little woman wildly.
“Don’t eat ’em afterwards, do they, Mr Gordon?”
“Don’t listen to him, Mrs Dean,” I cried. “He is saying all this to tease you.”
“I thought so,” she cried triumphantly. “Then he doesn’t mean to go?”
I was silent, and Mrs Dean’s knife and fork dropped on the table.
“Tell me—the truth,” she cried, rising and laying her hand on my shoulder.
“The truth is, Mrs Dean, that we have both lost our situations, and that I’m afraid Mr Dempster will be so malicious that he will keep us from getting others.”
“Yes, I’m afraid of that,” she said sadly.
“So as we have heard that any one who likes to try can get on out there, we did think of going.”
“And we do think of going, mother dear,” said Esau gently. “Come, try and look at it sensibly. I know you will not like me to go, and when it comes to the time, I shan’t like to leave you; but I’m such a sleepy-headed chap, I shall never get on here, and if I go over there it will wake me up.”
“But I couldn’t part with you, my boy,” cried Mrs Dean. “I should be all alone. What would become of me?”
“Why you’d go on just as you are, and I should send you home some money sometimes; and when I’ve made my fortune I shall come back and make a lady of you.”
“No, no, no,” she said, with the tears running down her cheeks; “I’d rather stop as we are, Esau.”
“Yes, but we can’t.”
“Yes, we can, dear. I’ve saved a few pounds now, and it only means working a little harder. I can keep you, and I’m sure—”
“Stop!” roared Esau huskily. “I’m ashamed of you, mother. Do you think I’m going to be such a sop of a fellow as to sit down here and let you keep me? I suppose you’ll want to keep Mr Gordon next.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, I’m sure, sir,” said the little woman tartly. “What’s enough for two’s enough for three, and I was going to say, when you went on like that, that if Mr Gordon wouldn’t mind, and not be too proud at things not being quite so plentiful, which everything should be clean as clean, it’s very, very welcome you’d be, my dear, for you never could have been nicer if you had been my own boy.”
“Mrs Dean,” I cried, with a curious feeling in my throat, while Esau looked at me searchingly, as if he thought I was going to accept the offer, “that is quite impossible. Neither Esau nor I could do that. Why, I should be ashamed even to think of it.”
“Oh no,” said Esau, sarcastically, “it’s all right. Let mother do the work, and we two will play at tops and marbles all day.”
“Be quiet, Esau. I know you’re only teasing. But why not, my dear? I know I’m a very little woman, but I’m very strong.”
“It’s be quiet, mother, I think,” cried Esau angrily. “What do you mean by talking like that to Mr Gordon? I often calls him Gordon, ’cause he’s always been such a good chap to me; but I don’t forget he’s a gentleman’s son, and his mother was a born lady. I’m ashamed of you, mother, that I am.”
“But it’s so dreadful, my boy—worse than your being a soldier. I could come down to Woolwich to see you sometimes.”
“No, no, Mrs Dean,” I said; “don’t say that. It really would be wise for us to go. People do get on out there, and those friends of mine, Mr John Dempster and Mrs John, are going.”
“That’s it then,” cried the little lady angrily. “It’s their doing, and it’s a shame.”
“Here, hold hard, mother!” cried Esau. “I say, is that true?”
“Quite.”
“And now you’re trying to blind me, Esau,” cried Mrs Dean; “but you can’t cheat me.”
“Who’s trying to blind you?”
“You, sir. Just as if you didn’t know all the time.”
“He did not know, neither did I know till I went up there to-day,” I said.
“Ah, I never liked those people. They’re only Dempsters, and not content with weaning you away from me, they’ve done the same now with my boy.”
“Did you ever hear such an unbelieving old creature,” cried Esau excitedly. “Mr and Mrs John D. going! Why you’ve coaxed ’em into it.”
“You don’t deceive me; you don’t deceive me,” said Mrs Dean, sobbing.
“Be quiet, mother!—But how is it they’re going?”
“For Mrs John’s health. I told you before they said they might go to Canada.”
“So you did.”
“Of course you did,” said Mrs Dean, scornfully.
“They are going to join Mrs John’s brother, who is manager out at a Hudson’s Bay Company’s station.”
“Hudson’s Bay,” said Esau, making a grimace; “that’s up at the North Pole. I don’t want to go there.”
“Nonsense!” I said; “it’s somewhere in British Columbia.”
“Hudson’s Bay, Baffin’s Bay, Davis’ Straits—all up at the North Pole. Think nobody never learnt jography but you?”
“Ah, well, never mind where it is,” I said impatiently; “they’re going out there.”
“And they’ve coaxed you two boys away from a poor lone widow woman to go with them,” cried Mrs Dean; “and it’s a sin and a shame.”
“I assure you, Mrs Dean—”
“No, sir, you can’t.”
“Will you be quiet, mother!” cried Esau angrily, “and go on with your supper, and let us. You’re crying right into the salt.”
“I’m not, sir! and I will not be put down by a boy like you. I say you shan’t go.”
“And I say I shall,” replied Esau surlily. “If you don’t know what’s for the best, I do.”
“It isn’t for the best, and it’s cruel of you, Esau.”
“Well,” said Esau, turning to me, “I’ve made up my mind, Gordon; she won’t care when it’s all over, and then she’ll see it’s for the best for all of us. So once for all, will you stick to it?”
“Yes,” I said, “I am quite determined now.”
“Hear that, mother?”
“Oh yes, I hear, sir.”
“Then don’t say sir; and let’s finish supper comfortably, for I haven’t had half enough. But let’s have it all over, and then settle down to it. So once for all, I’m going out to British Columbia to make my fortune.”
Mrs Dean had been sitting down for some little time now, and as Esau said these last words she started up, gave the table a sharp slap with her hand, looked defiantly at us both, and exclaimed—
“Then I shall come too.”
We two lads sank back in our chairs astonished. Then we looked at each other, and we ended by bursting out laughing.
“Oh, all right,” said Esau at last. “That’s right, mother.—She’s coming to do the shooting for us while we build up the house.”
“Ah, you may laugh, sir. But if that’s a place that is good for two lads like you to get on in, it’s a good place for a respectable hard-working woman who can wash, and cook, and bake bread, whether it’s loaves or cakes.”
“Well, mother can make cakes,” said Esau, “and good ones.”
“Of course I can, sir; and very glad you’ll be of ’em too when you’re thousands of miles from a baker’s shop.”
“Yes; but the idee of your coming!” cried Esau. “Haw, haw, haw!”
Somehow it did not seem to me such a very preposterous “idee,” as Esau called it, for just then I too had an idea. Mrs John was going that long waggon journey; what could be better for her than to have a clever little managing, hard-working woman like Mrs Dean with her?
But I did not say anything about it then, for I had to think the matter over. Only a few hours ago it had seemed as if my connection with Esau was likely to be in the way of my accompanying the Dempsters; now matters were taking a form that looked as if my friendliness with him was to be the reason, not only for my being their companion, but of helping them admirably as well.
But matters were not quite in shape yet, and we all went to bed that night feeling as if Esau’s opinion was correct—that the little supper had not been a success.
Chapter Nine.Difficulties.Mrs Dean was in waiting for me next morning, and attacked me directly.“Do, do, pray try and help me, my dear,” she whispered, so that her voice might not rise to the little bed-room where we could hear Esau stamping about, knocking the jug against the basin, and snorting like a hippopotamus over his ablutions. “You have such a way with you, and Esau looks up to you so as being a gentleman, and I know he’ll do what you tell him.”“Nonsense, Mrs Dean!” I said; “surely he’ll mind his mother more than he does me.”“No, my dear, no,” she said sadly. “He has always been the dearest and best of boys, and I used to make him think just as I liked; but of late, since he has been grown big and strong, he generally ends by making me think as he likes, and he is so obstinate.”“Oh no; he’s a very good fellow.”“Yes, my dear. Hush! don’t talk so loud. You see he has got it into his head that it is the best thing for us, and I want you to get it out.”“But how can I, when I think the same?”“Now, Mr Gordon, my dear, you don’t—you can’t think it’s best for you two boys to go trapesing hundreds of thousands of miles, and going living among wild beasts in forests.”“I’m afraid I do, without the wild beasts,” I said.“But suppose you were both taken ill, my dear, there’s no hospitals, or dispensaries, or doctors out there.”“But you said you would come with us, and if we were taken ill, where could we get a better nurse?”“It’s very kind of you to say so, my dear, and of course I shouldn’t think of going without some camomiles, and poppy-heads, and a little castor-oil, and salts and senny, and jollop. Yes, and a roll of sticking-plaster. And that reminds me, how is your poor ear?”“Oh, not very bad,” I said laughing. “But there, I’m afraid I cannot do what you wish, Mrs Dean, for if Esau does not come, I shall certainly go myself.”“And he’d be sure to, then, my dear. He’d have been a soldier by this time, only you kind of held him back. He does think such a deal of—”“Hallo, you two! Ketched you, have I, making plots and plans?”“No, no, my dear.”“Why, you’ve been coaxing him to get me not to go.”“Well, my dear, it was something of that sort.”“Yes, I know, mother. That’s just like you, trying to stop me when I’m going to make a big fortune.”“But you don’t know that you are, my dear. Such lots of people go abroad to make fortunes, and I never knew one yet who brought a fortune back.”“Then you’re going to know two now—him and me. Breakfast ready?”“Yes, my dears; and I thought you’d like some hot rolls, so I went and got ’em.”“I say, mother, you’re going it. Hot rolls! Are they buttered?”“Yes, my dear, and in the oven.”“Did you cut ’em in three?”“Yes, dear, and put plenty of butter in, as you like them.”“Hooray! Come on then, and let’s begin.”“But, Esau dear, if you’ll only promise to stop, you shall have hot rolls for breakfast every morning. You shall, if I work night and day.”“Then Esau and I would rather have hard biscuit and dry bread out yonder, Mrs Dean,” I said warmly; and Esau shouted—“Hear, hear!”Two days passed, then a third, and we had been out, and, to please Esau’s mother, tried in several places to get engagements. But we soon found that it was hopeless, and after tramping about for hours went back to the cottage.“Such waste of time, and such a lot of trouble,” grumbled Esau. “Why, we might have done a lot of good work hunting, or shooting, or gardening, out in Merriky yonder.”But Mrs Dean only shook her head, and told us to try again; and we tried.I think it was on the fourth evening that we were sitting in the little kitchen, tired, discontented, and miserable, with Mrs Dean stitching away more quickly than ever, when we all started, for there was a double knock at the door, “Hullo!” cried Esau.“Hush! my dear,” said his mother, mysteriously; “I know. It’s either Mr Dempster to beg you to go back, or news about a new place.”She smoothed her apron and went to the door, picking off threads and ravelings from her dress so as to look neat, though that she always looked; and the next moment I ran to the door too, for I heard a familiar voice, and to my surprise found both Mr and Mrs John.“Ah, my dear boy,” he cried eagerly, “we were getting uneasy about you, and thought you must be ill. My wife could not rest till we came.”I led them into the little parlour, and placed chairs; while Mrs Dean, after a humble courtesy, went away into the kitchen.“Is that your landlady?” continued Mrs John, as she glanced quickly round; and, before I could answer, “How beautifully neat and clean.”“Yes, beautifully,” assented Mr John, hurriedly. “Have you heard of an engagement, Mayne?”“No, sir,” I said sadly.“Then you have not tried?”“Indeed, sir, both Esau and I have tried very hard, as his mother is so averse to his going abroad.”“Then you have given up all thought of going abroad, my dear boy?”I shook my head.“But you should, Mayne,” said Mrs John, in rather a low voice. “We are forced to go for my health’s sake, but you are young and strong, and with energy you ought to succeed here.”“I should like to do what you think right, ma’am,” I said sadly.“And we both think it right, my boy,” said Mr John. “We should dearly like to have you with us; but it would be unjust to you to encourage you to take a step which you might afterwards bitterly repent, and we should feel ourselves to blame.”I looked at Mrs John, and she took my hand, and said sadly—“Yes, we have had many talks about it, Mayne, and we can only come to that conclusion.”“Then you are both going away, and I shall never see you again?” I said bitterly.“Who can say?” said Mrs John, smiling. “You know why I am going. I may come back in a few years strong and well, to find you a prosperous and—Ah!”“Alexes! my child!” cried Mr John in agony, for Mrs John, who had been speaking in a low voice, suddenly changed colour, raised her hands to her throat, as she uttered a low sigh, and would have fallen from her chair if I had not caught and supported her.We were lifting her to the little horse-hair couch, when there was a tap at the door, and Mrs Dean appeared.“Is anything the—”“Matter,” she would have said, but as she caught sight of Mrs John’s white face, she came forward quickly, and with all the clever management of a practised nurse, assisted in laying the fainting woman back on the couch.“She’s weak, and been trying to do too much, sir.”“Yes, yes, I was afraid,” cried Mr John. “But she would come—to see you, Mayne. Tell me where—I’ll run for a doctor.”“Oh no, sir,” said Mrs Dean, quietly; “I’ll bathe her temples a bit. She’ll soon come round.”Mrs Dean hurried out of the room, and was back directly with basin, sponge, towels, and a tiny little silver box.“You hold that to her nose, Mr Gordon, while I sponge her face. Mind—it’s very strong.”“But a doctor,” panted Mr John in agony. “She has been so terribly ill. This was too much for her.”“If you fetched a doctor, sir, he’d tell us to do just what we’re a-doing. Bathe her face and keep her head low. There, poor dear! she’s coming round. Oh, how thin and white she is!”Mrs Dean was quite right, for under her ministrations the patient soon opened her eyes, to look vacantly about for a few moments, and murmur—“So weak—so weak.”“Are you better, dearest?” whispered her husband.She smiled feebly, and closed her eyes for a time. Then with a deep sigh she looked up again, and made an effort to rise.“Ah, that’s right,” said Mr John; “you feel better.”“No, no,” said Mrs Dean, firmly, “not yet. She must lie still till the faintness has gone off, or she’ll bring it back,” and, with a sigh, Mrs John resigned herself to the stronger will, Mr John nodding at me, and saying in a whisper—“Yes, Mayne; she knows best.”A few minutes later Mrs Dean went towards the door.“I’ll be back again directly,” she whispered. “I want to speak to Esau.”She was back directly, and Mrs John held out her hand to her.“Thank you, thank you so very much,” she whispered. “I am so sorry to have given you all this trouble.”Mrs Dean laughed.“Trouble!” she said, merrily; “as if it was trouble for one woman to help another. I mean a lady,” she said, colouring.There was silence for a few moments, and then Mrs John said—“I thought I must come down to see Mayne. Has he told you of his wish to go with us to the West?”“Told me?” cried Mrs Dean, excitedly. “Ah, now you are talking about trouble indeed.”“We came down to tell him that it is impossible—foolish of him to think of such a thing.”“Oh, thank you kindly, ma’am,” cried Mrs Dean; “and me thinking all kinds of evil of you, and that you had been persuading him to go.”“No, no, my good woman, no,” said Mr John.“And thank you too, sir. And I hope Mr Gordon will take it to heart, for if he had gone my Esau would have been sure to go too, and I should have seemed to be quite alone in the world.”“Yes, it would be hard for you,” said Mrs John, looking at her searchingly. “Mayne, my dear, you will not try and influence her son?”I shook my head.“Oh, but he don’t, ma’am, never,” said Mrs Dean, eagerly; “he crosses him; but my Esau always sets Mr Gordon here up for a hidle, and thinks whatever he does must be right.”“Why, Mayne,” said Mr John, smiling, “I did not know you were such a model boy.”“Oh, but he is, sir,” cried Mrs Dean; “and my Esau is ever so much better since—”“I’m going for a walk,” I said, with my face scarlet.But just then there was a tap at the door, to which Mrs Dean responded, and came back directly with a little tray, on which was her favourite black teapot and its companions.“I’m afraid, ma’am, it isn’t such tea as you’re used to, but I thought a cup—and my boy Esau got it ready.”Mrs John gave her a grateful look, and soon after, very much refreshed, she quite sat up, Mrs Dean helping her to a chair.“But oh, my dear,” she said, “you’re so weak and thin; you’re not fit to take a long voyage and a journey such as Mr Gordon talked about.”“If I stay in England I shall die,” said Mrs John, sadly.“Oh, don’t say that, my— ma’am. But are you going alone?”“No; with my husband.”“And soon?”“The vessel sails in a fortnight.”“A fortnight? There, Mr Gordon, you see you could not go. It is too soon.”“And you will give up all thought of going, Mayne?” said Mrs John, “for our sake.”I was silent for a few moments, and then my voice was very husky as I said—“For some years now I have had no friends except Mrs Dean and her son. Then I met Mr John Dempster, and since then it has been like having old times. Now you are going away, and you say don’t go too.”“Yes, yes,” said Mrs John; “I am speaking for your good.”“I know you think you are, Mrs John; but if Mr John here had at my age been placed in my position, I’m sure he would not have done as you advise.”“I’m afraid I should, my boy,” he faltered. “I never did have your energy.”“Then I can’t help it,” I cried. “I shall not say good-bye to you, for go I must.”“Oh, Mr Gordon,” cried Mrs Dean, “if you go Esau is sure to go too.”“Then we will try the harder either to make you a home out there, or to come back here prosperous men.”“Then I say it again,” cried Mrs Dean, just as if she were putting my hopes into shape, “you two couldn’t make a home comfortable; so if it is to be, why there’s an end of it. And look here, sir and ma’am, this poor dear is not fit to go all that long journey alone, and as I’m going too, I shall come along with you and tend to her, and do the best I can.”“Oh no, no,” cried Mrs John.“It is impossible,” said Mr John.“Do you want to wake up some day, sir,” cried the little woman firmly, “and find this poor, weak, suffering thing dying for want of help? Of course you don’t. Here, Esau,” she cried, throwing open the door.“Yes, mother; more hot water?” came from the kitchen.“No; you may begin to pack up. We’re going across the sea.”Before Mr and Mrs John left us that night it was all settled; and when I returned from going part of the way with them, I found Esau and his mother hard at work, planning as to what was to be taken and what sold, Mrs Dean rousing her son’s anger as I entered the kitchen, and making him stamp.“Why, what is the matter?”“Mother is so obstinate,” he cried.“Why, what about? Does she say now she will not go?”“No, Mr Gordon, I only told him I must take my four flat-irons with me. They don’t take up much room, and take ’em I will. Why, bless the boys! do you think you won’t want clean shirts?”
Mrs Dean was in waiting for me next morning, and attacked me directly.
“Do, do, pray try and help me, my dear,” she whispered, so that her voice might not rise to the little bed-room where we could hear Esau stamping about, knocking the jug against the basin, and snorting like a hippopotamus over his ablutions. “You have such a way with you, and Esau looks up to you so as being a gentleman, and I know he’ll do what you tell him.”
“Nonsense, Mrs Dean!” I said; “surely he’ll mind his mother more than he does me.”
“No, my dear, no,” she said sadly. “He has always been the dearest and best of boys, and I used to make him think just as I liked; but of late, since he has been grown big and strong, he generally ends by making me think as he likes, and he is so obstinate.”
“Oh no; he’s a very good fellow.”
“Yes, my dear. Hush! don’t talk so loud. You see he has got it into his head that it is the best thing for us, and I want you to get it out.”
“But how can I, when I think the same?”
“Now, Mr Gordon, my dear, you don’t—you can’t think it’s best for you two boys to go trapesing hundreds of thousands of miles, and going living among wild beasts in forests.”
“I’m afraid I do, without the wild beasts,” I said.
“But suppose you were both taken ill, my dear, there’s no hospitals, or dispensaries, or doctors out there.”
“But you said you would come with us, and if we were taken ill, where could we get a better nurse?”
“It’s very kind of you to say so, my dear, and of course I shouldn’t think of going without some camomiles, and poppy-heads, and a little castor-oil, and salts and senny, and jollop. Yes, and a roll of sticking-plaster. And that reminds me, how is your poor ear?”
“Oh, not very bad,” I said laughing. “But there, I’m afraid I cannot do what you wish, Mrs Dean, for if Esau does not come, I shall certainly go myself.”
“And he’d be sure to, then, my dear. He’d have been a soldier by this time, only you kind of held him back. He does think such a deal of—”
“Hallo, you two! Ketched you, have I, making plots and plans?”
“No, no, my dear.”
“Why, you’ve been coaxing him to get me not to go.”
“Well, my dear, it was something of that sort.”
“Yes, I know, mother. That’s just like you, trying to stop me when I’m going to make a big fortune.”
“But you don’t know that you are, my dear. Such lots of people go abroad to make fortunes, and I never knew one yet who brought a fortune back.”
“Then you’re going to know two now—him and me. Breakfast ready?”
“Yes, my dears; and I thought you’d like some hot rolls, so I went and got ’em.”
“I say, mother, you’re going it. Hot rolls! Are they buttered?”
“Yes, my dear, and in the oven.”
“Did you cut ’em in three?”
“Yes, dear, and put plenty of butter in, as you like them.”
“Hooray! Come on then, and let’s begin.”
“But, Esau dear, if you’ll only promise to stop, you shall have hot rolls for breakfast every morning. You shall, if I work night and day.”
“Then Esau and I would rather have hard biscuit and dry bread out yonder, Mrs Dean,” I said warmly; and Esau shouted—
“Hear, hear!”
Two days passed, then a third, and we had been out, and, to please Esau’s mother, tried in several places to get engagements. But we soon found that it was hopeless, and after tramping about for hours went back to the cottage.
“Such waste of time, and such a lot of trouble,” grumbled Esau. “Why, we might have done a lot of good work hunting, or shooting, or gardening, out in Merriky yonder.”
But Mrs Dean only shook her head, and told us to try again; and we tried.
I think it was on the fourth evening that we were sitting in the little kitchen, tired, discontented, and miserable, with Mrs Dean stitching away more quickly than ever, when we all started, for there was a double knock at the door, “Hullo!” cried Esau.
“Hush! my dear,” said his mother, mysteriously; “I know. It’s either Mr Dempster to beg you to go back, or news about a new place.”
She smoothed her apron and went to the door, picking off threads and ravelings from her dress so as to look neat, though that she always looked; and the next moment I ran to the door too, for I heard a familiar voice, and to my surprise found both Mr and Mrs John.
“Ah, my dear boy,” he cried eagerly, “we were getting uneasy about you, and thought you must be ill. My wife could not rest till we came.”
I led them into the little parlour, and placed chairs; while Mrs Dean, after a humble courtesy, went away into the kitchen.
“Is that your landlady?” continued Mrs John, as she glanced quickly round; and, before I could answer, “How beautifully neat and clean.”
“Yes, beautifully,” assented Mr John, hurriedly. “Have you heard of an engagement, Mayne?”
“No, sir,” I said sadly.
“Then you have not tried?”
“Indeed, sir, both Esau and I have tried very hard, as his mother is so averse to his going abroad.”
“Then you have given up all thought of going abroad, my dear boy?”
I shook my head.
“But you should, Mayne,” said Mrs John, in rather a low voice. “We are forced to go for my health’s sake, but you are young and strong, and with energy you ought to succeed here.”
“I should like to do what you think right, ma’am,” I said sadly.
“And we both think it right, my boy,” said Mr John. “We should dearly like to have you with us; but it would be unjust to you to encourage you to take a step which you might afterwards bitterly repent, and we should feel ourselves to blame.”
I looked at Mrs John, and she took my hand, and said sadly—
“Yes, we have had many talks about it, Mayne, and we can only come to that conclusion.”
“Then you are both going away, and I shall never see you again?” I said bitterly.
“Who can say?” said Mrs John, smiling. “You know why I am going. I may come back in a few years strong and well, to find you a prosperous and—Ah!”
“Alexes! my child!” cried Mr John in agony, for Mrs John, who had been speaking in a low voice, suddenly changed colour, raised her hands to her throat, as she uttered a low sigh, and would have fallen from her chair if I had not caught and supported her.
We were lifting her to the little horse-hair couch, when there was a tap at the door, and Mrs Dean appeared.
“Is anything the—”
“Matter,” she would have said, but as she caught sight of Mrs John’s white face, she came forward quickly, and with all the clever management of a practised nurse, assisted in laying the fainting woman back on the couch.
“She’s weak, and been trying to do too much, sir.”
“Yes, yes, I was afraid,” cried Mr John. “But she would come—to see you, Mayne. Tell me where—I’ll run for a doctor.”
“Oh no, sir,” said Mrs Dean, quietly; “I’ll bathe her temples a bit. She’ll soon come round.”
Mrs Dean hurried out of the room, and was back directly with basin, sponge, towels, and a tiny little silver box.
“You hold that to her nose, Mr Gordon, while I sponge her face. Mind—it’s very strong.”
“But a doctor,” panted Mr John in agony. “She has been so terribly ill. This was too much for her.”
“If you fetched a doctor, sir, he’d tell us to do just what we’re a-doing. Bathe her face and keep her head low. There, poor dear! she’s coming round. Oh, how thin and white she is!”
Mrs Dean was quite right, for under her ministrations the patient soon opened her eyes, to look vacantly about for a few moments, and murmur—
“So weak—so weak.”
“Are you better, dearest?” whispered her husband.
She smiled feebly, and closed her eyes for a time. Then with a deep sigh she looked up again, and made an effort to rise.
“Ah, that’s right,” said Mr John; “you feel better.”
“No, no,” said Mrs Dean, firmly, “not yet. She must lie still till the faintness has gone off, or she’ll bring it back,” and, with a sigh, Mrs John resigned herself to the stronger will, Mr John nodding at me, and saying in a whisper—
“Yes, Mayne; she knows best.”
A few minutes later Mrs Dean went towards the door.
“I’ll be back again directly,” she whispered. “I want to speak to Esau.”
She was back directly, and Mrs John held out her hand to her.
“Thank you, thank you so very much,” she whispered. “I am so sorry to have given you all this trouble.”
Mrs Dean laughed.
“Trouble!” she said, merrily; “as if it was trouble for one woman to help another. I mean a lady,” she said, colouring.
There was silence for a few moments, and then Mrs John said—
“I thought I must come down to see Mayne. Has he told you of his wish to go with us to the West?”
“Told me?” cried Mrs Dean, excitedly. “Ah, now you are talking about trouble indeed.”
“We came down to tell him that it is impossible—foolish of him to think of such a thing.”
“Oh, thank you kindly, ma’am,” cried Mrs Dean; “and me thinking all kinds of evil of you, and that you had been persuading him to go.”
“No, no, my good woman, no,” said Mr John.
“And thank you too, sir. And I hope Mr Gordon will take it to heart, for if he had gone my Esau would have been sure to go too, and I should have seemed to be quite alone in the world.”
“Yes, it would be hard for you,” said Mrs John, looking at her searchingly. “Mayne, my dear, you will not try and influence her son?”
I shook my head.
“Oh, but he don’t, ma’am, never,” said Mrs Dean, eagerly; “he crosses him; but my Esau always sets Mr Gordon here up for a hidle, and thinks whatever he does must be right.”
“Why, Mayne,” said Mr John, smiling, “I did not know you were such a model boy.”
“Oh, but he is, sir,” cried Mrs Dean; “and my Esau is ever so much better since—”
“I’m going for a walk,” I said, with my face scarlet.
But just then there was a tap at the door, to which Mrs Dean responded, and came back directly with a little tray, on which was her favourite black teapot and its companions.
“I’m afraid, ma’am, it isn’t such tea as you’re used to, but I thought a cup—and my boy Esau got it ready.”
Mrs John gave her a grateful look, and soon after, very much refreshed, she quite sat up, Mrs Dean helping her to a chair.
“But oh, my dear,” she said, “you’re so weak and thin; you’re not fit to take a long voyage and a journey such as Mr Gordon talked about.”
“If I stay in England I shall die,” said Mrs John, sadly.
“Oh, don’t say that, my— ma’am. But are you going alone?”
“No; with my husband.”
“And soon?”
“The vessel sails in a fortnight.”
“A fortnight? There, Mr Gordon, you see you could not go. It is too soon.”
“And you will give up all thought of going, Mayne?” said Mrs John, “for our sake.”
I was silent for a few moments, and then my voice was very husky as I said—
“For some years now I have had no friends except Mrs Dean and her son. Then I met Mr John Dempster, and since then it has been like having old times. Now you are going away, and you say don’t go too.”
“Yes, yes,” said Mrs John; “I am speaking for your good.”
“I know you think you are, Mrs John; but if Mr John here had at my age been placed in my position, I’m sure he would not have done as you advise.”
“I’m afraid I should, my boy,” he faltered. “I never did have your energy.”
“Then I can’t help it,” I cried. “I shall not say good-bye to you, for go I must.”
“Oh, Mr Gordon,” cried Mrs Dean, “if you go Esau is sure to go too.”
“Then we will try the harder either to make you a home out there, or to come back here prosperous men.”
“Then I say it again,” cried Mrs Dean, just as if she were putting my hopes into shape, “you two couldn’t make a home comfortable; so if it is to be, why there’s an end of it. And look here, sir and ma’am, this poor dear is not fit to go all that long journey alone, and as I’m going too, I shall come along with you and tend to her, and do the best I can.”
“Oh no, no,” cried Mrs John.
“It is impossible,” said Mr John.
“Do you want to wake up some day, sir,” cried the little woman firmly, “and find this poor, weak, suffering thing dying for want of help? Of course you don’t. Here, Esau,” she cried, throwing open the door.
“Yes, mother; more hot water?” came from the kitchen.
“No; you may begin to pack up. We’re going across the sea.”
Before Mr and Mrs John left us that night it was all settled; and when I returned from going part of the way with them, I found Esau and his mother hard at work, planning as to what was to be taken and what sold, Mrs Dean rousing her son’s anger as I entered the kitchen, and making him stamp.
“Why, what is the matter?”
“Mother is so obstinate,” he cried.
“Why, what about? Does she say now she will not go?”
“No, Mr Gordon, I only told him I must take my four flat-irons with me. They don’t take up much room, and take ’em I will. Why, bless the boys! do you think you won’t want clean shirts?”