Harding's luck

"You shan't," said Elfrida. "I'll tell father."

"I've thought of all that," Dickie said, "and I'm going to ask the Mouldiwarps to make it so that you can't tell. I can't stay here and feel that I'm turning you and your father out. And think what Edred did for me, in this very cave. No, my mind's made up."

It was, and they could not shake it.

"But we shan't ever see you again."

Dickie admitted that this was so.

"And oh, Dickie," said Elfrida, with deep concern, "you won't ever see us again either. Think of that. Whatever will you do without us?"

"That," said Dickie, "won't be so bad as you think. The Elfrida and Edred who live in those times are as like you as two pins. No, they aren't really! Oh, don't make it any harder. I've got to do it."

There was that in his voice which silenced and convinced them. They felt that he had, indeed, to do it.

"I could never be happy here—never," he went on; "but I shall be happy there. And you'll never forget me, though there are one or two things I want you to forget. And I'm going now."

"Oh, not now; wait and think," Elfrida implored.

"I've thought of nothing else for a month," said Dickie, and began to lay out the moon-seeds on the smooth sand.

"Now," he said, when the pattern was complete, "I shall hold Tinkler and the white seal in my hand and take them with me. When I've gone, you can put the moon-seeds in your pocket and go home. When they ask you where I am, say I am in the cave. They will come and find my clothes, and they'll think I was bathing and got drowned."

"I can't bear it," said Elfrida, bursting into sobs. "I can't, and I won't."

"I shan't be really dead, silly," Richard told her. "We're bound to meet again some day. People who love each other can't help meeting again. Old nurse told me so, and she knows everything. Good-bye, Elfrida." He kissed her. "Good-bye, Edred, old chap. I'd like to kiss you too, if you don't mind. I know boys don't, but in the times I'm going to men kiss each other. Raleigh and Drake did, you know."

The boys kissed shyly and awkwardly.

"And now, good-bye," said Richard, and stepped inside the crossed triangles of moon-seeds.

"I wish," he said slowly, "oh, dear Mouldiwarps of Arden, grant me these last wishes. I wish Edred and Elfrida may never be able to tell what I have done. And I wish that in a year they may forget what I have done, and let them not be unhappy about me, because I shall be very happy. I know I shall," he added doubtfully, and paused.

"Oh, Dickie, don't," the other children cried out together. He went on—

"I wish my uncle may restore the Castle, and take care of the poor people so that there aren't any poor people, and every one's comfortable, just as I meant to do."

He took off his cap and coat and flung them outside the circle, his boots too.

"I wish I may go back to James the First's time, and live out my life there, and do honor in my life and death to the house of Arden."

The children blinked. Dickie and Tinkler and the white seal were gone, and only the empty ring of moon-seeds lay on the sand.

"Shocking bathing fatality," the newspapers said. "Lord Arden drowned. The body not yet recovered."

It never was recovered, of course. Elfrida and Edred said nothing. No wonder, their elders said. The shock was too great and too sudden.

The father of Edred and Elfrida is Lord Arden now. He has done all that Dickie would have done. He has made Arden the happiest and most prosperous village in England, and the stream beside which Dickie bade farewell to his cousins flows, a broad moat round the waters of the Castle, restored now to all its own splendor.

There is a tablet in the church which tells of the death by drowning of Richard, Sixteenth Lord Arden. The children read it every Sunday for a year, and knew that it did not tell the truth. But by the time the moon-seeds had grown and flowered and shed their seeds in the Castle garden they ceased to know this, and talked often, sadly and fondly, of dear cousin Dickie who was drowned. And at the same time they ceased to remember that they had ever been out of their own time into the past, so that if they were to read this book they would think it all nonsense and make-up, and not in the least recognize the story as their own.

But whatever else is forgotten, Dickie is remembered. And he who gave up his life here for the sake of those he loved will live as long as life shall beat in the hearts of those who loved him.

And Dickie himself. I see him in his ruff and cloak, with his little sword by his side, living out the life he has chosen in the old England when James the First was King. I see him growing in grace and favor, versed in book learning, expert in all noble sports and exercises. For Dickie is not lame now.

I see the roots of his being taking fast hold of his chosen life, and the life that he renounced receding, receding till he can hardly see it any more.

I see him, a tall youth, straight and strong, lending the old nurse his arm to walk in the trim, beautiful garden at Deptford. And I hear him say—

"When I was a little boy, nurse, I had mighty strange dreams—of another life than this."

"Forget them," she says; "dreams go to the making of all proper men. But now thou art a man; forget the dreams of thy childhood, and play the man to the glory of God and of the house of Arden. And let thy dreams be of the life to come, compared to which all lives on earth are only dreams. And in that life all those who have loved shall meet and be together forevermore, in that life when all the dear and noble dreams of the earthly life shall at last and forever be something more than dreams."

THE END