HE FLUNG THE STONE WITH ALL HIS MIGHT.
"Hullo, old chap," said Teddy, as they drew near to one another, "where are you going?"
"Nowhere in particular," answered Dick, his face lightening a bit at the cheery greeting.
"Then you'd better come along home with me," went on Teddy, "and I'll show you my rabbits; I've got some beauties."
"I'd like to awfully," replied Dick; "I've got nothing else to do."
So the matter was settled. Five minutes later the lads came to a turning where four roads met, and standing facing them was a fire-alarm, the scarlet of its paint glowing fiercely in the sun.
"I wonder," said Dick, a sudden thought striking him, "how near I could throw a stone at the glass without breaking it."
"Take my advice, and don't attempt it," said sensible Teddy; "you might smash it, you know."
Dick, heedless of the warning, stooped down and picked up a large-sized stone from the road.
"Don't be such a silly young donkey!" cried Teddy. "You'll get into no end of trouble if you 'do' break the glass. Mr. Grimwood—he's the magistrate here—can be awfully severe when he likes, and there have been two or three false alarms lately."
At the mention of his uncle's name Dick's lips took an obstinate curve.
"I tell you, I 'will' do it, if only to spite him, and, what's more, I'll call up the fire-engine."
So saying, he flung the stone with all his might. An instant later there fell on their ears a sound of broken glass.
Then, true to his word, the headstrong lad went deliberately forward and set the machinery in motion for calling up the fire-engine.
"You've gone and done it now," said Teddy, looking angry and startled. "What are you going to say for yourself when you are found out?"
"I don't mean to be found out," answered Dick, now frightened at what he had done. And, without another word, he turned and ran homewards as fast as he could.
Teddy gave a whistle of dismay, and, as he had no wish to be mixed up with the affair, decided that he too would make for home as soon as possible.
Five minutes had scarcely passed before he heard the sound of a clanging bell—already the fire-engine (the station being near by) was speeding on its journey.
The funny side of things struck Teddy at this moment, and he could not repress a grin. What a story it would be to tell the others!
But Teddy, as it happened, was not destined to get home yet awhile. On and on he walked, hurrying a little in his eagerness to tell the tale to his brothers and sisters. Suddenly, however, he heard a loud, peremptory call from behind him.
"Hi, there, you youngster, stop!"
Teddy turned to see a policeman racing towards him on his bicycle.
In a few minutes the man in blue was by his side. Hurriedly dismounting, he laid a heavy hand on Teddy's shoulder.
"I've caught you at last, young man," said he, in by no means an agreeable tone of voice. "Now what have you got to say for yourself?"
"What do you mean?" said Teddy, answering the policeman's question by another.
"It's all very fine to pretend you don't know," was the reply. "That's the third time you've called up the fire-engine for nothing. Third time lucky—at least for me."
"I've had nothing whatever at all to do with it," declared the boy, but he whitened a little under his tan.
"Don't tell me no lies, now." The constable's tone was fierce; he was a new-comer to the neighbourhood, and knew little if anything of the Bannister family. "I want the truth."
"Well, you've got it." Teddy was beginning to feel angry as well as frightened. "You had better be careful, I think, what you're saying."
There was no look of guilt in Teddy's honest blue eyes, but, as P.C. Jones said to himself, "You can't always judge by appearances."
"H'm, if 'you' didn't do it," said he, "perhaps you can tell me who did?"
It was on the tip of Teddy's tongue to say, but he suddenly pulled himself up. Tale-telling was not a weakness of the Bannister boys and girls.
"Ho, I've caught you there," said the man, seeing Teddy's hesitation; "of course you can't tell me, seeing it was yourself! Now you come along with me; and you'd better mind your p's and q's, or you'll spend the night in jail."
"Rubbish!" said Teddy defiantly. "They don't put boys my age in prison."
"We shall see what Mr. Grimwood says about that," was the curt reply; "now, then, come along."
Teddy, feeling very sorry for himself, decided it was no use to do otherwise than obey.
Together he and P.C. Jones marched along the lonely road, then on through the village street straight up to The Laurels.
CHAPTER VI.
Confession.
"IS Mr. Grimwood at home?"
Hannah, the maid servant who opened the door of The Laurels in answer to the constable's important knock, eyed both him and his youthful charge with some curiosity, as she replied:
"Yes, but he is engaged just now; however, if you want to see him particular. I'll tell him."
The policeman stated that his business "was" particular, and, at Hannah's bidding, he and Teddy stepped inside the hall.
The maid, recognizing in the lad one of the young gardeners of a few days previously, mentally wondered what was wrong. But her curiosity was not destined to be satisfied just then.
Within a short space of time P.C. Jones and his prisoner were ushered into the dining-room, where sat Mr. Grimwood and—to Teddy's relief—Mr. Charlton. Somehow he felt that in Mr. Charlton he would find a friend. A few words from the constable explained the situation; and Mr. Grimwood, having listened intently to all he had to tell, then turned to Teddy, and asked him in a very severe tone of voice what he had to say for himself.
"Please, sir," said Teddy, facing his judge bravely, although something of his healthy colour had faded, "it isn't true—not a word of it; I didn't do it!"
"I don't believe you," was the sharp retort; "boys nowadays don't know how to speak the truth."
Teddy next looked with an appealing glance at Mr. Charlton.
"You—you believe me," he said, "don't you?"
"Yes, Teddy," was the reply, "I do."
"Thank you, sir," was all the boy said, but a rush of tears suddenly dimmed his eyes.
These, however, he checked manfully. Mr. Grimwood, not best pleased at the interruption, then proceeded.
"Look here, Bannister," said he, "three times lately the fire brigade has been called up owing to false alarms, and I have vowed I will make an example of the culprit when found out. But owing to your youth, and out of consideration for your family, I will temper justice with mercy. If you will confess straight out your share in the matter, I will look over it this once."
"I can't confess, sir," said Teddy in distress, "because I didn't do it—really and truly."
"But the constable says you were seen near the spot just about the time it happened."
Teddy was silent, this being only too true.
"May 'I' ask one or two questions, Mr. Grimwood?" here spoke Mr. Charlton courteously.
"Yes, if you wish," was the somewhat curt response.
"Teddy," the boy's heart warmed at the kindliness of Mr. Charlton's tone, "were you alone all the while this afternoon?"
Teddy flushed. "No, sir," he answered, "I wasn't."
"Who was with you?"
"Please," said Teddy, "I would rather not say. I am going to 'make' him speak up for himself."
"Then you are shielding somebody?"
"Y—yes," faltered Teddy.
"Who is it?" Mr. Grimwood rapped out the question. "I'll have none of this nonsense, please."
Teddy set his lips firmly—he could be very obstinate if he chose.
"You don't mean to tell me?" The tone was awesome enough to frighten a stouter heart than Teddy's. But, all the same, he stood his ground.
Mr. Grimwood began to wonder for the first time whether the policeman had not made a mistake.
DICK, WHITE AND TREMBLING, ENTERED THE ROOM.
Just as he was about to speak again, the dining-room door, which had been left ajar, was suddenly thrown wide open, and Dick, white to the lips and trembling from head to foot, entered the room. He had been playing the part of listener.
Mr. Grimwood looked at him sharply.
"What are you here for?" he said. "I didn't send for you."
"No, but I just 'had' to come," said Dick in a quivering voice, "because—because—it was not Teddy who did it. I—I—"
"Go on, please!" Mr. Grimwood's tone cut like a knife.
"I did it, Uncle Nat; Teddy will tell you how it happened."
Teddy, feeling immensely relieved, and seeing also that Dick was too upset to tell the tale himself, spoke out freely, begging at the same time that Dick might be forgiven.
For a moment or so Mr. Grimwood was silent. He was feeling bitterly disappointed in his sister's son. Then he turned to the policeman.
"You may go, Jones," said he; "you did your duty, and I commend you. The matter can now rest in my hands."
And P.C. Jones, with a respectful bow and an apologetic glance in Teddy's direction, left the room.
"I beg your pardon, Bannister," said Mr. Grimwood (it was a great deal for him to say); "it appears that Mr. Charlton knows you better than I do. As for you, Dick—" (here he turned to his young nephew), "I shall have more to say to you later on."
The punishment which was meted out to Dick was pretty severe, but that which hurt him most of all was the cut which he received from the Bannister boys and girls the next time they met.
The day which followed this slight, Mr. Charlton chanced to come across the lad, lying full length on the grassy sward near the head of the cliffs, crying bitterly. It was in a lonely part, and Dick had not reckoned upon any one seeing his tears. His face was hidden in his hands, and his whole frame was shaking with sobs.
"Why, Dick," said Mr. Charlton (the boy had not heard his footsteps), "whatever is the matter, old chap?"
They were the first kind words that Dick had heard for days. For a moment or so the boy looked angry and sullen, not feeling best pleased at being thus caught. However, he could not resist the kindliness in the questioner's eyes.
"Everything's . . . the . . . matter," said the boy brokenly. "The Bannisters won't have anything to do with me now, and I—I haven't got a f—friend in the world."
"There I think you're wrong." Mr. Charlton here sat down beside the lad and laid his hand upon his shoulder. "If you will have me, I shall be only too pleased to be your friend."
"Do you really mean it?" cried Dick, a sudden light coming into his tear-stained eyes. "It's—it's most awfully good of you! I'm afraid you won't want me for a friend long though," he added, the cloud coming into his face again; "I'm bad all through."
"Not quite all through, I think," was the reply. "You want to be different, don't you?"
"Yes, oh, you don't know how I long to be good; I hate being what I am!"
"That's the first step," said Mr. Charlton encouragingly. "Now, what you must do is to ask your Captain to come and take control of the ship. It's plain to see you can't manage it yourself."
"What do you mean?" asked Dick, looking puzzled.
Then Mr. Charlton explained his meaning, the words that he said sinking down deeply into the young undisciplined heart.
"With Christ for your Captain, my boy," he finished, "you can never come to shipwreck; only you must take Him on board at once—delays are dangerous, you know."
"I'll ask Him to-night," replied Dick, in a voice which trembled with feeling, "and—and I'll never forget what you've said."
Shortly after this, the conversation drifted into other channels, and later on—Dick feeling that he had found a friend indeed—the two parted.
CHAPTER VII.
A Narrow Escape.
IT was Mr. Charlton's intention to act as peacemaker between Dick and the Bannister children, but, after all, his services were not required.
"Teddy," said Eileen one morning, about two or three days after the boy's unpleasant experience of being taken in charge, "I think it was rather mean of us to cut Dick as we did; he owned up, and he couldn't do more than that."
"So he ought to own up," replied Teddy grumpily. He was still feeling sore. "He had no right to run off in that way, leaving the blame to fall on me."
"But he didn't know you were going to be blamed for it," said Eileen, "or perhaps he wouldn't have done it."
"H'm," muttered Teddy; "it's all very well for you to talk; you didn't have to face old Grimwood as I did."
"Well, it's all over now," put in Frank; "I think Eileen is right."
"I don't," said Nora; "I think Teddy is right. I vote we don't have anything more to do with him."
But Eileen held her ground.
"I don't believe mother would have liked us to be disagreeable to him," she said in a soft little voice; "she was so gentle and kind to everybody."
A subdued look came into Nora's pretty little face, and the crossness died out of Teddy's eyes as by magic.
"Perhaps you are right," he said after a short pause; "it 'was' rather nasty of us to cut him dead as we did."
"Yes," said Nora thoughtfully; "I fancy you 'are' right after all, Eileen."
"I'm sure she is," decided Frank; "now the next thing we've got to do is to make it up with him."
To this they presently all agreed. The golden thread of influence was shining brighter than they knew.
Little did the four children think under what circumstances they were next to meet Dick Woodbridge.
Their conversation, which was taking place in the hall shortly after breakfast, was here interrupted by Mrs. Weston.
"Boys," said she, "Mike Dennis is at the side door, and he wants to know whether you would like a ride on his pony."
"Rather!" said Teddy. "What say you, Frank?"
"Rather!" echoed Frank delightedly.
Mike Dennis was the son of a farmer who lived near by, and he and the Bannister boys and girls were capital friends. He had several times before lent them his pony. In a few seconds, the four children were interviewing Mike at the side door.
"Joey's a bit fresh this morning, Teddy, old chap," said Mike after a little chat; "so don't touch him with a whip."
Teddy promised both for himself and Frank.
And presently Mike, after a few further instructions, went into the village.
In half an hour's time Joey the pony was brought round to the front door by one of the farm lads. By nature he was gentle as a lamb, and Mrs. Weston watched her four young charges depart without a single qualm as to any harm coming to them.
Teddy was the first to mount when they reached the meadow close by. "As he's a bit fresh," he said, "perhaps it is as well that I should work off some of his friskiness." Which he did, to his great enjoyment.
Afterwards came Frank's turn, and Joey proved as good as gold, trotting or cantering round the field at his rider's will.
Then Nora declared that she meant to have a ride. And as she was fairly at home in Joey's saddle, having ridden him several times, the boys agreed to let her have her way. And Eileen, bidding her be very careful, helped her to mount.
THE PONY WAS MAKING STRAIGHT FOR THE LEVEL CROSSING.
All went well until the little girl drew near the gate which opened on to the road. Here two young urchins were watching her with interest. As she passed, one of the boys gave a loud shout.
"Hip, hip, hooray!" he yelled. "There's a fine circus-rider for you!"
"Hip, hip, hooray!" cried the other.
The sudden noise startled Joey so much, that he perked up his ears and took a rush forward. Had not Nora been sitting pretty firmly, she must have been thrown.
"Stop, Joey, stop!" she panted. But her words were spoken in vain.
Joey galloped on and on, to the dismay of all the onlookers, the culprits included. Nora herself was thoroughly frightened.
"Sit tight!" shouted Teddy. "He'll quiet down presently."
But Joey did not soon quiet down. Galloping through one meadow, he made his way into the next, the gate of which stood wide open.
Well indeed might Nora now be afraid, for the pony was making straight for the level crossing of the railway. By this time he was beginning to slacken speed as though the race was tiring him out. Nevertheless on and on he went, until he had planted his feet right in the middle of the railway track. Here he stopped trembling as with fear—on the summer air there had fallen the shrill whistle of an oncoming train! Nora sat as one paralysed with fright, powerless to move.
A loud cry rang out from close by.
"Jump off! Can't you hear the train coming!"
It was Dick Woodbridge who shouted the words. He had been rambling aimlessly along by the railway, when he suddenly caught sight of Nora's peril.
He did not wait to see the effect of his words. With rapid strides he dashed on to the metals, and, seizing Joey's bridle, he dragged both pony and rider into safety. A moment or two later the train thundered by.
Nora by this time had dismounted, and was in a flood of hysterical tears.
"Oh, Dick—Dick," she sobbed out the words, "whatever 'should' I have done but for you?"
"That's all right," said Dick awkwardly; "you've nothing to cry about now."
But, all the same, Nora went on crying helplessly. And Dick was thoroughly glad and relieved when presently they were joined by Eileen, Teddy, and Frank.
A few broken sentences from Nora explained what had happened, and Dick was quite abashed at the praise which he received.
Eileen, looking very white at the thought of her sister's narrow escape, could scarcely speak at first for tears.
"Dick, you are simply splendid," she faltered out; "we—we can never thank you enough for what you have done."
"I jolly well wish we could do something for you in return, old chap," here put in Teddy; and the friendliness of his tone went straight to Dick's heart.
It was Frank, however, who hit upon exactly the right words to say.
"We'll be chums after this, won't we?" he said, looking first at Dick and then at Teddy and his sisters, and his words met with general approval.
Thus came about a friendship between Dick and the Bannister family, a friendship which grew by leaps and bounds.
CHAPTER VIII.
Dick's Letter.
HAPPY days followed for the Bannister children and their friend Dick. There were trips on the sea, picnics on shore, and rambles in the woodlands and meadows. In nearly all their pleasures, Mr. Charlton had a share, and the youngsters little guessed how largely they were contributing to the enjoyment of his holiday.
Before he left Hazlenook, he had the pleasure of presenting the little authoress with a cheque for her story and sketches, with a promise that they should appear in due time in the magazine.
Eileen's pride and delight knew no bounds, and the cheque, which was promptly cashed, swelled the amount which was already in the mortgage-box in quite a handsome fashion.
It was on a certain sunny afternoon in September that Mr. Charlton very regretfully bade good-bye to his young friends, for friends they had become now in very truth.
"We seem to have known you for ever so long, Mr. Charlton," said Eileen, on the way to the railway station.
The Bannister boys and girls, and Dick also, had arranged to give him a good send-off.
"We shall miss you ever so much; you have been most awfully good to us, and we shan't forget it." And so said Nora, who was walking by Eileen's side.
The three boys were just at this moment a few steps behind.
"You have done as much for me as I have for you," replied Mr. Charlton, "and perhaps more."
"I don't see how that's possible," replied Eileen; "I only wish that there was something you 'specially' wanted that we could do for you."
Mr. Charlton's face looked serious—his thoughts had travelled far away.
"There is something," said he presently, "that I 'very' specially want, but it's nothing that any of you could do for me."
At this moment the boys chanced to overtake them, and the conversation became general.
Mr. Charlton was not sorry, for Eileen had unconsciously awakened sad memories. However, he soon cast all troubled thoughts aside, and entered into the children's chat with the usual ready interest he had shown in all they did.
Upon their arrival at the station, Dick looked so glum that Mr. Charlton seized an opportunity to have a few words alone with him.
"Cheer up, Dick, old man," said he kindly, knowing that the boy was feeling rather badly about the parting; "it isn't good-bye for ever, you know."
"I know that," mumbled Dick gruffly, for Mr. Charlton had promised that he would pay Hazlenook another visit at his earliest opportunity, "but you don't know how I shall miss you, sir. You've been such a real good friend to me."
"And I shall miss you too—all of you," said Mr. Charlton. "You won't forget, Dick, my boy," he added in an undertone, "the little chat we had together, you and I, about your Captain, and mine—remember He is always within call."
The boy flushed as he answered, "I won't forget, sir."
Here came a discussion about the luggage, and a few minutes later Mr. Charlton took his seat in the train. And after repeated good-byes and many hand-shakes, he was carried away towards the busy city, refreshed and strengthened for work again.
That self-same evening Dick sat down to write a long letter to his parents in India, a letter which was destined to help the Bannister family more than he knew. He began:
"DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,—
"I've got such a lot to tell you, that I scarcely know what is the best
thing to say first.
"I'm ever so much happier here than I thought I should be. Uncle Nat is
a lot kinder than he looks, and his bark is worse than his bite.
"And, besides this, I have made friends with the Bannister family, who
live near by at The Gables. I like them ever so much. They are saving
up money towards paying off a mortgage which is on their house. I only
wish I could help them: do you think I can?
"If it isn't paid by Christmas, they will have to leave their pretty
house, and they will feel it so.
"Next week school begins; and as Teddy and Frank Bannister go to the
same school, Chelsford College, as I am going to, I expect we shall
have some ripping times.
"The girls, Eileen and Nora, begin school on the same day. Their
teacher is our head master's daughter. They are all just like my
brothers and sisters, and often, when I am not at the Bannister's
house, they are up here at The Laurels, and Uncle Nat seems to like it—"
Next followed details of the lad's life, the letter closing with a glowing account of Mr. Charlton, to whom Dick's boyish heart had gone out in affection.
DICK SAT DOWN TO WRITE A LONG LETTER TO HIS PARENTS.
After this, the lengthy epistle was folded and put into an envelope and posted.
Several happy weeks of school life passed away, and the half-term's holiday drew near. Frank had now given up his soldiering on the village green, much to the old shoemaker's regret, and, with Teddy and Dick, had joined the Boy Scouts. He still treasured, however, the three stripes given to him by Henderson, and the two were as good friends as ever, the old man having a chat with him when he passed that way.
The boys had made so many arrangements with their fellow Scouts for the half-term, that but for the fact that Eileen and Nora had been invited to London to spend the short holiday with a relative, Miss Silver by name, they would have felt considerably out of it.
As it was, they were highly delighted, for never before had they stayed in town. Indeed they felt quite adventurous when the time came for them to take their journey. At Hazlenook Station they were placed in the care of the guard. Miss Silver—or Cousin Margaret, as they called her—had promised to meet them at Liverpool Street. So Mrs. Weston had no anxiety whatever on their behalf.
CHAPTER IX.
Cissie Vane.
IN Miss Silver's Sunday-school class was a little girl of the name of Cissie Vane. She was a motherless bairn, who, sad to say, was generally in somebody's way. In the bygone times, which had so nearly faded away from Cissie's memory, she had been as happy as the day was long. She and her father had lived together in the country (her mother had died when Cissie was a tiny mite), and there Mr. Vane had painted his pictures, the sale of which just kept the little home going and the wolf from the door.
But all this was changed. Her father, unfortunately for Cissie, married again, soon after which he seemed to lose interest in his work. His health, too, failed him, and on Cissie's ninth birthday—she was at this time eleven years of age—she was left fatherless.
Her step-mother was a woman of quick, impatient temper, and was by no means always kind. Their home was now in a poor London street, where Mrs. Vane eked out her living by taking lodgers, Cissie proving very helpful in the house.
The little girl's first meeting with Miss Silver happened thus. Cissie, feeling very lonely one Sunday afternoon, made her way by chance to a Sunday-school in a street near by. At a word of invitation she took her place amongst a class of little girls, and the lesson she had interrupted was then continued.
"Now, children," said the lady at the close, "you may ask me any questions that you like, only we must talk softly so as not to disturb the others."
She smiled so sweetly as she spoke, that Cissie's little heart quite warmed within her, and it was she who, in spite of being a new-comer, put the first question.
"Please," she said, "what is your name?"
The voice was both gentle and refined, for the little girl had not caught the accent of the children of the neighbourhood.
The lady, who had expected some question about the Bible story, was a little surprised, but she answered very kindly all the same.
"My name is Margaret Silver," she said; "and what is yours, may I ask?"
"Mine," was the reply, "is Cissie Vane—I like your name best; I shall call you my 'Pretty Lady,' and come to your class again, if you'll let me."
The child meant no impertinence it was easy to see. She had simply fallen in love with her teacher. It was little wonder, for Margaret Silver was as sweet as she was beautiful. She in her turn was attracted to Cissie, the bright little face, framed with curly brown hair, being very winsome.
Cissie kept her promise with regard to coming again, and the friendship between teacher and pupil grew very rapidly.
About a couple of months after Cissie's first appearance at the Sunday-school a very exciting thing happened in her home. The child awoke one night to find the room—a small attic at the top of the house—in which she slept half full of smoke. Frightened, she made her way into the passage, and there she realized an alarming fact—the house was on fire!
As it chanced a little girl, Meggy Smith by name, of about four years of age, was sleeping in the room next to Cissie's attic. She had been left in Mrs. Vane's charge a few weeks previously, and Cissie was devoted to her.
Forgetful of her own danger, she hastened to Meggy's rescue. Quickly awakening her, she carried the little one, heavy though she was, towards the staircase. But here the smoke, which was now almost suffocating, barred their way of escape. The poor children were indeed in a sorry plight!
THE POOR CHILDREN WERE INDEED IN A SORRY PLIGHT.
By this time the household was aroused, and efforts were being made to reach them. But so rapidly was the fire spreading that the efforts were in vain.
Poor little Meggy was now crying piteously, Cissie meanwhile doing her best to pacify her.
"Don't cry, Meggy dear," said she as bravely as she could speak, although she was feeling terribly frightened herself. "We'll stand at the landing window, and shout for somebody to come and save us."
A few minutes later the two childish forms were seen there from below—all the other inmates of the house had reached safety—and Cissie, having flung the window open, cried loudly for help.
Fortunately it was not long in coming; the alarm had already been given, and the fire-engine and escape were even then on their way.
In a comparatively little while, although it seemed like an age to Cissie and Meggy, the escape was placed at the window, and one by one they were taken in safety to the street below.
A happy little party was seated at breakfast at No. 3, Belford Road, S.W. It consisted of Miss Silver, looking bright and smiling at the head of the table, Mrs. Mortimer, an elderly relative who lived with her—Miss Silver had lost her parents some years previously—and Eileen and Nora.
It was Monday morning. The half-term holiday was nearly over, and the two girls, who, to use their own words, had had a "perfectly lovely time," were supposed to be leaving that afternoon for home.
"Girls," said Miss Silver presently, looking up from a letter she was reading, "are you in a great hurry to go home, or would you like to stay on with me for another couple of days?"
"Oh," cried Eileen, looking as though such a prospect was too good to be true, "is there any chance of it, Cousin Margaret?"
"Yes," was the reply, "there is. I took upon myself to write to your governess—who is an old friend of mine—and also to Mrs. Weston, and both are willing for you to stay on till Wednesday."
"How simply splendiferous!" exclaimed Eileen in delight; and Nora echoed her words.
"Now is there anything you would particularly like to do?" said Miss Silver presently, when the children had expressed their thanks; "we must make the most of the time, you know."
Eileen and Nora thought awhile, and soon came to the conclusion that they would like to go to the Zoo.
"So it shall be," said Miss Silver. "Perhaps Mrs. Mortimer would like to go with us."
But the older lady smiled and shook her head; she preferred a quiet day at home.
"Some time this afternoon," went on Miss Silver, "I want to go and see one of my little Sunday-school pupils who is ill. I think we could manage it on our way home. You two girls can come in with me, if you like, and have a chat with her too."
"We'd like it very much," replied Eileen. "What is her name, and what is the matter with her?"
"Her name is Cissie Vane. She is suffering really from severe shock upon a delicate and ill-fed little frame. And as there was nowhere else for her to go, she was taken to the hospital. She and another child, who seems none the worse for her experience, nearly lost their lives in a fire a few nights ago."
And Miss Silver then told the story as she had heard it from Cissie's lips.
Both Eileen and Nora were intensely interested, and looked forward to the day's programme with the keenest delight.
"There is one person I would like to see while we are here," said Eileen a little later, "and that is Mr. Charlton. He lives in London, and we know his address."
Miss Silver had already heard much about the editor of "Sunny Hours" and of his acceptance of Eileen's story and drawings.
"Well, there's no reason why you shouldn't see him," she replied; "that is, if he has the time to spare. Would you like to send him a few lines asking him to come to-morrow evening if he is disengaged?"
Eileen was very pleased to do so, and the invitation was duly sent, and accepted by return of post.
The time spent at the Zoo was perfect from beginning to end, and Miss Silver, in seeing the children's pleasure, enjoyed it as much as they.
On their way home, as arranged, she and the two girls called at the hospital, where little Cissie Vane was a patient, and there they found the child in a great state of distress. The reason was soon given by Cissie herself, between pitiful sobs which shook her very frame.
On that day her step-mother had been to see her, and had told the little girl that very shortly she was going to Canada, and that Cissie would have to find a new home. But where? Ah! That was the question.
CHAPTER X.
The Lost Niece.
"I'VE nowhere to go, and nobody wants me—oh, what shall I do? What 'shall' I do?" Little Cissie sobbed out the words.
And Eileen and Nora, who were both as tenderhearted as could be, were almost ready to cry for very sympathy.
Miss Silver stooped down and gently kissed the pathetic little face. "Don't cry, dearie," said she soothingly, "and you mustn't say that nobody wants you, for 'I' do. As for there being nowhere for you to go, we'll soon settle that."
Cissie's eyes brightened a little. Somehow, with Miss Silver by her side, she felt a sense of protection.
"What would you say, Cissie," went on the lady, after a few moments' thought, "to coming home with me, if sister allows it?"
"Oh, Miss Silver," Cissie looked over-joyed, "do you really, 'really' mean it?"
"Of course I do; I'll go and speak to Sister Louise" (here naming a personal friend of her own in the hospital) "at once about it. And in the meantime, you and my young cousins can be making each others' acquaintance."
True to her promise, Miss Silver went in search of Sister Louise.
And in a very few minutes, Eileen, Nora, and Cissie were chatting away in the friendliest of fashions.
After a time Miss Silver returned to Cissie's bedside, every arrangement for the child's welfare having been satisfactorily made.
"Cissie," said she, "how soon do you think you can get into some clothes? The matron and sister both think you are well enough to return home with me now. What do you say to that?"
Cissie looked absolutely delighted, and a scarlet flush of excitement came into her cheeks.
"How—perfectly lovely!" she said. "I feel just so happy that I want to cry."
"Little goose!" laughed Miss Silver. But all the same her own eyes were misty with tears of sympathy.
Before half an hour had elapsed, Cissie, the good-byes to those who had befriended her in the hospital having been said, found herself seated in a taxi by Miss Silver's side, Eileen and Nora sitting opposite with beaming faces.
That evening a bed was made up for the little girl in Miss Silver's room, the lady supplying all her needs. And there, for the first time since the fire, she passed a night of calm, unbroken sleep, awaking in the morning, well on the road to health and strength.
By Miss Silver's orders she was to remain in bed for that day, with the promise that she should come downstairs on the next if she was very good.
A letter was sent to Mrs. Vane telling her of Cissie's whereabouts. The only reply to which was a few brief lines saying that it was well Cissie had found a friend, as she would be unable to do anything further for her. From that day forth nothing more was heard of the little girl's step-mother.
Punctually at six o'clock, the hour Mr. Charlton had appointed for his call, a knock was heard at the door. He received the kindliest of welcomes from Miss Silver and Mrs. Mortimer, who had both heard much in his favour. As for the two girls, they were delighted to see him.
There were so many things to hear and to say, that conversation flowed very easily.
It was Eileen who later on brought up the subject of the mortgage-box, Miss Silver having already heard about it.
"I put all the money you gave me for my story and drawings, Mr. Charlton," said she, "straight into the mortgage-box, but we've given up trying to earn anything more for it now, it seemed so little use."
"Come, you mustn't be discouraged like that," replied Mr. Charlton, with a smile. "Why don't you try your hand at another little story and some more drawings? Maybe I could use them one day."
"I've had no time since school began," said Eileen regretfully, "and besides, I don't feel as if I had got anything to write about. Oh, Cousin Margaret—" (here she turned to Miss Silver, a sudden bright thought striking her), "wouldn't Cissie make an interesting story? May I tell Mr. Charlton all about her?"
"Certainly you may, dear, if you like," said Miss Silver in her pretty gentle voice; "that is, if Mr. Charlton would care to hear."
"I should like it very much," was the answer; "Cissie is a favourite name of mine."
He listened with great interest to the story which followed. It was his ready sympathy which had made him such a favourite with the Bannister boys and girls.
HE LISTENED TO THE STORY.
"Poor little soul!" he said at the close. "It's hard luck for her! But surely she has some relative who would look after her."
Miss Silver shook her head. "No," said she, "I'm afraid not. Her father, for some reason or other, seemed to have cut himself adrift from all his relatives, and Cissie knows nothing about any of them."
"What's her surname?" asked Mr. Charlton. "You haven't told me yet. Perhaps, I could help you in the matter."
"Vane," replied Miss Silver; "it's rather an uncommon name, and—"
"Vane," was the quick interruption. "Cissie Vane—are you 'quite' sure?"
Mr. Charlton's voice trembled a little as he put the question, and Miss Silver looked at him in surprise.
"Yes," she answered, "quite sure; she was named after her mother."
"Then," said he, "that settles it!"
There was a note of such joy in his words that his hearers felt a sudden thrill of excitement.
What did he know about little Cissie Vane?
"Miss Silver," he went on, "this is nothing less than providential. If what I think and believe is true, this child is my niece—my only sister's little girl. For years I have been trying to find her whereabouts, but without success."
At this moment there flashed into Eileen's mind the words Mr. Charlton had spoken on the day he bade good-bye to them at Hazlenook, and she instinctively guessed that what he specially wanted had come to pass. And she was right.
"May I see her, please?" he next asked eagerly.
"Certainly you may," replied Miss Silver, delighted beyond measure at the turn of affairs.
As for Eileen and Nora, it seemed to them almost too good to be believed. Mrs. Mortimer's kindly heart, too, was rejoiced.
"I only hope," added the lady, "that for poor little Cissie's sake you may be right."
A few minutes later Mr. Charlton and Miss Silver were standing by Cissie's bedside, and in the easiest and friendliest of fashions the former, having first won the little girl's confidence, began to question her about her relatives.
Very soon an important fact was in his possession.
"I wonder," he said very gently, Miss Silver having warned him not to excite the child, "if you can tell me what your mother's name was before she married your father."
"My own mother, you mean?" asked Cissie.
"Yes," was the reply.
"It was Cissie Charlton; I saw it written in a book in her own handwriting. Daddy told me it was one that belonged to her."
This was quite enough—the proof was positive.
"Cissie," said Mr. Charlton, his voice not quite under his control, "you will like to know that I knew and loved your mother very dearly—in fact, little one, she was my own sister."
"Your own sister!" The pale little face on the pillow suddenly flushed a rosy red, which soon faded, leaving her whiter than before.
At first she could scarcely grasp all his words implied.
"Is it all—real—true?" she said falteringly, looking from his face into Miss Silver's kind eyes.
"Yes, dearie," (it was Miss Silver who answered the question), "it is all real, true."
"Then," said Cissie, turning towards Mr. Charlton again, "you—you are my own uncle!"
"Yes, I am," was the glad reply, "and I am going to take care of you from this day forth." And, stooping down, Mr. Charlton kissed his new-found niece.
Cissie's cup of joy was full to the brim. "Isn't it all wonderful?" she said presently, "and oh, isn't it kind of God to let it happen like this?"
To these words both Mr. Charlton and Miss Silver agreed. So rolled away the clouds from the life of little Cissie Vane, giving place to heaven's brightest sunshine.
CHAPTER XI.
Frank's Gift.
DICK WOODBRIDGE was spending the Saturday afternoon, which happened to be a very wet one, with the Bannister boys and girls in the large playroom at The Gables. Teddy and Frank were inclined to be irritable, and Eileen had all her work cut out to keep peace between them.
"I say, you two," said Dick presently, seeing that the boys were very near a quarrel, "do keep your hair on! I've got something to tell you if you'll only listen."
"What is it?" asked Eileen, feeling very grateful to Dick for his timely interruption.
"There's a big show coming off at the Shire Hall at Chelsford soon in aid of the County Hostel for Soldiers, and Uncle Nat is taking no end of interest in it. He says that everybody ought to give or do something."
"When is it to be?" asked Nora.
"Oh, in about a fortnight or so, and I've been puzzling my head what to give. For the life of me, I can't think of anything."
"You might give away those freckles on the tip of your nose without missing 'em," said Teddy, his temper feeling a bit better.
Dick grinned; he was quite used now to the chaff and fun of his young companions.
"I know what I can do," said Nora. "I'll send one of my Persian kittens for sale—the one I don't want to keep."
"Very generous of you," laughed Frank teasingly.
"And you can give Frisky, your fox terrier puppy," went on Nora. "I dare say he'd sell for something."
"Sell Frisky!" exclaimed Frank. "I think I see myself. Why I wouldn't part with Frisky for five pounds—no, not for ten!"
"You needn't worry yourself, old chap," here spoke Teddy; "you're not likely to be offered 'that' for a mongrel like him! I know what I'll give," he added, "and that is a couple of my rabbits. Between us we ought to raise something."
The chat had now drifted into quite a smooth channel, and the rest of the afternoon passed away without any further bickering.
It was about a week later, and Frank was in deep thought. He was alone in the garden, and a struggle was going on within his heart.
"I wonder," he said to himself, "if I'm a 'very' selfish pig! All the others have given something to the sale, and I've got nothing to give except Frisky, and I just simply can't spare the little chap."
At this moment Frisky, as though he knew he was in his master's thoughts, bounded to Frank's side. The boy stooped down and fondled his pet.
"You little know," said he, "what I've been thinking about. But there, I shan't think of it any more. There 'll be plenty of people to give without me."
But still Frank's mind was not easy. A text his mother had taught him when he was quite a little fellow kept coming into his mind. "Even Christ pleased not Himself."
"I hate to be selfish," was his unspoken thought; "only horrid people are selfish. I suppose I shall have to give him, after all."
Little as Frank realized it, the golden thread of his mother's influence was leading him into the path of self-sacrifice.
A few days later Frank, owing to a neglected cold, was on the sick list and under the doctor's care. And so it befell that it was Teddy who took Frisky (Frank specially wished it, though it was hard to say good-bye to his pet) to the Shire Hall at Chelsford for sale on behalf of the hostel.
"Five shillings for a fox terrier!" The auctioneer, Mr. Fleet by name, looked around the crowded room as he spoke. "Come now, aren't you going to offer me more than that? I want ten times that amount," he declared, "not a penny less!"
Frisky, the fox terrier in question, who was perched on a chair near the speaker, here gave a little yelp as though he too had something to say upon the subject.
"I reckon, sir, 'want' will have to be your master!" cried a voice from the audience.
"I think not," replied Mr. Fleet. "Suppose now I tell you the story of Frisky, this fox terrier. He is the gift of a little lad who prized him above all his possessions. The tale is true, for I heard it from one who knows him well."
Dick Woodbridge, as it happened, had told Mr. Fleet all about it.
"He was afraid of being selfish," went on Mr. Fleet, "so he gave of his best. It isn't every one of us who could say that, is it?
"There is just one thing more I would like you to know, and I'm sure you will be sorry to hear it—Frisky's little master is lying ill, and for his sake, as well as for the good cause, I ask you to be liberal."
Scarcely had Mr. Fleet finished speaking than fifty shillings "were" offered, the bids rising rapidly one after another, until finally the fox terrier puppy was knocked down to the squire of the neighbourhood—Sir Matthew Harley—for the sum of five pounds.
He too had given of his best—his son for his country, and a fellow feeling had made him wondrous kind.
It was just as the bargain was completed that Dick Woodbridge, his face looking very anxious, entered the room. He had come post haste from The Gables in order to buy Frisky and restore him to his master, if the price was not beyond his powers. None of the Bannister children, to their disappointment, were there on that day, Frank's illness causing a certain amount of anxiety in the household.
Dick was somewhat taken aback to find that Frisky had already been sold, and for such a sum, but still he was not hopeless of attaining his object. Seeking out his Uncle Nat, he made a bold request.
"Please, Uncle Nat," said he, "I want you to lend me five pounds."
"Five pounds!" repeated Mr. Grimwood in surprise. "Whatever for, my lad?"
Then Dick told him.
"I believe," finished the boy, "that if I could take Frisky back to Frank, it would do him a power of good. He's quite ill to-day, and the doctor is half afraid of pneumonia."
Mr. Grimwood looked thoughtful.
"I never lend," said he, "on principle. Besides, how do you know that Sir Matthew will part with the dog?"
"I don't know," replied Dick, "but I believe he would, for he looks kind. Uncle Nat," he went on earnestly, "if you won't 'lend' me the money, may I have five pounds instead of the bicycle you promised me on my next birthday?"
Mr. Grimwood was surprised, and inwardly very pleased. He had not expected such unselfishness from Dick, although, as he well knew, the lad had much improved in character of late.
"Well," he said, after a little consideration, "we'll see what Sir Matthew has to say about it."
But the Squire, when the request was made, and he had heard the whole story, shook his head.
"No," he said, "I want that fox terrier for a special purpose."
Dick was now feeling almost in despair. "Oh, 'please,' Sir Matthew," cried he, "'do' let me buy him back."
"Suppose—" (there was a kindly twinkle in Sir Matthew's eyes as he spoke) "I want it for the same purpose as 'you' do."
"Oh, Sir Matthew!" Dick almost gasped in his relief. "Do you really mean it?"
"Of course I do; I never say what I don't mean. Take the dog, and tell its master from me I hope he'll soon be better."
Dick was too delighted to express his thanks properly, but he did his best; Mr. Grimwood also expressing his appreciation of the Squire's kindness.
Very soon after this Dick was hurrying off to The Gables with Frisky in his arms.