Robin of Sun Court

CHAPTER VI

ROBIN'S HEART SOFTENS

IT was about seven o'clock in the evening when Robin, his heart full of bitterness and rage, turned his back on Sun Court. His mind was in a whirl of excitement, and his pale little face was set and stern as, heedless of the direction he was taking, he passed through the crowded Plymouth streets, and at length found himself on the Hoe, overlooking the sea, a great sheet of silvery blue with scarcely a ripple on its surface.

The poor child wandered about aimlessly for a while; then, weary in body and mind, he sat down on an empty seat, every pulse and nerve in his body throbbing painfully. He was not as yet sufficiently composed to think with anything like calmness; but on one point he had come to a determination, and that was that he would never sleep another night beneath his stepfather's roof. No, he would go to his grandfather. He was sure it would not take him many days to walk to Newlyn, and he would beg his bread by the way and sleep out of doors in sheltered nooks in the woods or under hedges, and God would take care of him.

Never, surely, had anyone been treated so cruelly before! His stepfather had known the purpose for which he had saved his money, and had even expressed approval of the holiday plan. Then why had he served him thus? Oh, he could never forgive him! He felt he should hate him as long as he lived. His brain seemed a fire as he dwelt on this great trouble which had befallen him, and he rested his aching head in his hands, whilst tears gushed from his eyes and his slender form was shaken with sobs. He had taken so much pleasure in saving his money, and the thought of how he would spend it had occupied his mind for weeks. He had intended that his mother should have such a happy time; and now a treacherous hand had robbed him, and he was enduring the heaviest disappointment he had ever been called upon to face during his ten years of life.

His heart ached sorely as he thought of his mother and remembered the look of anguish he had seen on her face when she had made the discovery that his earnings were gone. Poor mother! She had had more than enough to bear.

"Well, and pray what may you be doing here?"

Robin uncovered his face and raised his head with a start at the sound of a familiar voice addressing him, and encountered the concerned gaze of Miss Maggs. He made no answer, so she proceeded:

"It's about time you went home, I should say. Do you know that it's past eight o'clock?"

"Yes," admitted Robin dejectedly. "I suppose it must be; but I'm never going back to Sun Court any more."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Miss Maggs. She seated herself by the little boy's side, and gave him a long, steady look. "Humph!" she grunted by-and-by. "You're in trouble, I see."

"Yes," he assented, with a sob he could not restrain.

"And you've made up your mind to run away from the trouble, I suppose—to turn your back on it? I'm surprised—yes, very surprised. I thought there was real grit in you, though you're only a peaky little chap to look at; I thought—but it seems that I was mistaken—that you were made of staunch stuff."

"Oh, let me tell you what's happened, and then I'm sure you won't blame me for deciding not to go home again," broke in Robin, who saw that Miss Maggs looked sympathetic, though her words sounded otherwise; and forthwith he poured into her ears the story of the great wrong which had been done him.

"I never thought he was wicked enough to steal the money, or I'd have hidden it," he said in conclusion, after he had given vent to his wrath against his stepfather in a flow of bitter words; "but no one else could have taken it."

"Are you certain of that?" Miss Maggs asked thoughtfully.

"Oh, yes! No one else knew where the money was kept, not even Mr. Blamey."

"Humph! I expect your stepfather was the worse for drink when he took it—'if' he took it, I should say. The case is not proved against him to my mind; but, of course, you may be right. I admit it looks as though he's the culprit. And your mother suspects him, too?"

"Oh, yes! She didn't say so, but I read what she was thinking in her face."

"Oh, what a curse drink is!" exclaimed Miss Maggs, knitting her brows into a heavy frown. "Tell me, Robin, if you're not going back to Sun Court; what do you intend to do? You've made some plan, I suppose?"

Robin explained about his grandfather's letter, and that he meant to go to Newlyn, where he was confident that he would receive a hearty welcome upon his arrival.

"I couldn't have left mother but for this," he said, his voice tremulous, his eyes once more dim with tears; "but I must go now—yes, I must! Do you think I could live with my stepfather after his serving me this cruel trick? I don't want ever to see him again. I can't forgive him, and I hate him, though I suppose it is wicked of me. 'He' has made me wicked then! He has been such a brute!"

"A brute? Yes. The drink's made him that; it's sure to slay the humanity in everyone it masters. Can't you find it in your heart to be a little sorry for him? Sorry because he's been so weak and led so far astray? I'll be bound to say that, if he stole your money, he repents having done so by this time, poor man!"

"Poor man!" echoed Robin. "How can you pity him, Miss Maggs?"

"Because he's wandered away from Christ's fold. Don't you think the Good Shepherd grieves for him? I am sure He does. 'The Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy.' Ay, indeed he is! And surely all true Christians must have some reflection of His love for even the worst of sinners in their hearts. There's one verse in particular in the Bible I like to remember—this:

   "'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.'

"There's hope and comfort in that."

"Why, how strange! Mr. Blamey reminded me of that verse one day when he and I were talking of father."

"Who is Mr. Blamey?" inquired Miss Maggs.

"An old cobbler who lives next door to us, ma'am. He's a very kind neighbour, and has done us many a good turn before now. Folks—that is, some folks who don't understand him—call him mazed because he talks to them about Jesus; he knows they do, but he goes on talking to them all the same."

Miss Maggs nodded her head comprehendingly. "Does he talk to your stepfather?" she inquired.

"Sometimes, but not often. Father keeps out of his way as much as he can. He knows Mr. Blamey hears him when he comes home the worse for drink and kicks up a row, and I believe he feels ashamed to face him. Oh, Miss Maggs, you don't realise what mother and I have had to put up with from father! Why, not two months ago he pawned my one sound suit of clothes; so, you see, if he never robbed me of money before, he has robbed me of other things, and I can't forgive him, I really can't!"

"I am sorry to hear you say that, Robin," Miss Maggs responded. "I think, at any rate, that you should try to forgive him."

"It's no good trying; I know I can't." Robin's tone was firm.

"I don't, as a rule, go out at this time of day," remarked Miss Maggs after a brief silence, during which she had studied her companion's woebegone countenance with much concern; "but after I'd cooked my lodgers' dinner to-night the sweet summer air enticed me out. How beautifully blue and calm the sea is! You haven't noticed it, perhaps? Well, look at it now. Isn't it a peaceful scene? I'm so glad we've met and had this talk, Robin; it's always better to speak of a trouble than to keep it to oneself. And now I want you to do something to please me; will you?"

"If I can," Robin replied, thinking of the many kindnesses he had received from her, and quite eager to be able to do something to please her in return.

"You can. I want you to promise me to go home. Don't put an additional weight of trouble upon your poor mother. You can go to your grandfather in due course, but I beg you to return to Sun Court to-night. Will you promise me to do so?"

"Yes," the little boy said, very reluctantly, after a few minutes' hesitation. "I will promise that. I don't want to make mother unhappier than she is already," he added, with a sob.

"I am sure you don't. You mustn't imagine that I don't fully sympathise with you, my boy, or that I can't enter into your feelings. I know what it is to be robbed myself. I shouldn't be working hard for my daily bread now if I'd been fairly treated in the past. There was someone very nearly related to me—my own brother, in fact—who spent all my money."

"Was it a great deal?" Robin ventured to inquire, as Miss Maggs stopped abruptly, with a sigh, and looked dreamily out over the sea.

"Yes," she assented, "many hundreds of pounds."

"Many hundreds of pounds!" he echoed. "Oh, Miss Maggs, how wicked of your brother!" Then, after a brief reflection, he inquired, rather timidly. "And have you forgiven him?"

"Yes," she answered. "Else, Robin, how could I ever say the Lord's Prayer and ask God to forgive me?"

The little boy's head drooped and his colour rose. "I never thought of that," he murmured.

"Well, think of it now," advised Miss Maggs. She rose as she spoke, and Robin followed her example. "I must be going," she said, "and so must you. I expect it's nearly your supper-time."

For a short distance their way was the same, and when they parted, it was with the understanding that Robin was to go straight home. He was beginning to wonder what he would say and how he would act on meeting his stepfather. He knew that it was bound to be a painful meeting.

The evening was drawing to a close now, and it was quite dusk before Robin reached Sun Court. At the entrance of the court he was accosted by Dick Farrant, who, with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his lips, looked a picture of indolence.

"Hulloa, youngster, what's up?" cried Dick, not unkindly. "You've been blubbing!" He pulled his right hand out of his pocket as he spoke and grasped Robin by the shoulder. "What's the trouble?" he asked.

"Nothing I can tell you," Robin answered. "Let me go!"

"Has the old man been walloping you?" By 'the old man' Dick meant Richard Burt.

Robin shook his head.

"No, it's not that; it's something worse than that."

"Well, out with it! You may as well. I sha'n't let you go till you do."

Robin gave a wriggle to try and free himself from the other's grasp, but in vain. Dick held him firmly, and only laughed at his attempt to escape.

"Has that bully Sam Brown been hitting you about?" he questioned. "If so, he'd better not show himself near Sun Court, or it will be the worse for him. I know his tricks!"

"Oh, you're quite wrong!" broke in Robin. "I haven't seen Sam Brown to-day."

"Then what's amiss?"

"I—I've been robbed."

"Robbed!" Dick's grasp on the other's arm suddenly slackened. "Robbed!" he repeated.

"Yes—of the money I earned by being a model for that lady who came here to see my mother. Don't you remember? You saw her. Well, someone's stolen all the money she paid me; it was more than ten shillings. And now I sha'n't be able to take mother for the holiday I had planned to give her for a treat, and—oh, isn't it hard?"

Dick withdrew his hand from Robin's arm and stared at him in silence.

"I had given mother the money to keep," the little boy proceeded, "and she had put it away in her workbox on the dresser, where we thought it would be safe, and this evening we found the lock of the box had been forced, and—and all the money's gone!"

He turned aside and brushed his sleeve across his eyes to wipe away his tears. No word of sympathy did Dick Farrant speak; instead, he slipped quietly past his companion, who, a minute later, looked round to find himself alone.

CHAPTER VII

A POLICEMAN IN SUN COURT

ROBIN was naturally greatly astonished at Dick Farrant's erratic conduct, but it was a relief to find that the lad had gone; for, though he had told him of the robbery, he had had no intention of saying whom he believed to be the thief, and, very probably, he reflected, Dick would have asked him if he had any idea who had taken the money. Robin did not altogether dislike Dick, though he was fully alive to his bad qualities, which were indeed apparent to everyone. But Dick generally had a friendly greeting for his little neighbour on meeting him, and on more than one occasion he had interfered when Sam Brown had been bullying him. There was nothing cruel about Dick Farrant; but the good that existed in his character was overshadowed by so much that was evil that it very seldom shone forth.

"Well, I suppose I'd better go home," thought Robin; "I expect father's returned by this time. I wonder what mother's said to him—if she's told him we've found out what he's' done?"

He ran down the dark passage and into the court. No one was about; but as he passed by the cobbler's, he glanced into the downstair window, the blind of which was up, and saw Jasper reading his Bible by the light of a candle. It was later than he had imagined, he concluded, for the old man had evidently had his supper and was reading his evening portion of the Holy Scriptures before going to bed.

Robin had reached his own door now. He had his hand on the handle when the door was opened from within, and he found himself standing face to face with his stepfather, who looked decidedly relieved at the sight of him.

"Your mother's been in a fine state of mind about you," said the man, as he drew aside and Robin entered the kitchen. "Where have you been?" he asked, closing the door.

Robin made no answer.

His mother, who had been seated in a chair by the table, had risen at the sound of her husband's voice addressing him, and greeted him with a look which told how thankful she was that he had returned. Her eyes were red with weeping, and her lips quivered nervously. How could he have dreamed of leaving her? the little boy asked himself.

"Where have you been?" Richard Burt repeated. "You have given your mother quite a scare. She thought you had run away—"

"I did mean to run away," Robin broke in; "I meant never to come home again; but, but-oh, father, how could you have done it?" he cried, a wail of sorrowful reproach in his voice.

"I didn't do it, Robin," the man said solemnly. "No, I declare I did not," he continued, as the little boy regarded him with incredulous eyes. "I know no more who has stolen your money than your mother or yourself. I really do not. Surely you'll take my word?"

"Oh, Robin," cried Mrs. Burt, "I am certain he is speaking the truth. If you had seen how surprised and shocked he was when I showed him my workbox you wouldn't doubt him."

"I'm a bad lot," admitted Richard Burt, in accents which were unaccountably tremulous, seeing that he was quite sober, "and when I've had a drop of drink I often do things I wouldn't dream of doing at other times, but I never touched your money, Robin; if I had, I would say so."

"Then—then who took it?" gasped Robin. It was beginning to dawn on him that it was possible he had done his stepfather an injustice.

"That I can't say," replied Richard Burt, "and probably we shall never find out, for it appears nothing has been taken but money, and that can't be traced. However, I'll go to the police-station presently and give notice of the theft; there's nothing else to be done as far as I can see. Someone must have found out where your savings were kept, Robin; I daresay you've told folks, haven't you?"

"No, I haven't," declared Robin, "I've never told anyone. Mr. Blamey knew mother was keeping my money for me, but I did not tell even him where she had put it."

Robin was feeling utterly bewildered and found it difficult to believe that he had misjudged his stepfather, and yet Richard Burt had not the appearance of a guilty man. The little boy glanced dubiously at his mother, and met her anxious gaze. It was evident that she now believed in her husband's innocence in spite of the fact that she, too, had been quick to suspect him of the theft.

"You and your mother both seem to have formed a pretty bad opinion of me," observed Richard Burt, after a few minutes' silence; "well, that's my own fault, I suppose. When I married your mother, Robin, I meant to be a good father to you, but I haven't been. I realise that. It would have been better for you if your mother and I had never met. It's no use saying I'm sorry I haven't been steadier, for I don't suppose you'd believe me—though it's so. I've never ill-treated either of you in my sober senses, have I? It's always been the drink that's been to blame."

"Why don't you give up the drink?" said Robin eagerly, surprised beyond measure at the earnestness of his stepfather's tone.

"It's too late in the day," was the gloomy response; "what's done can't be undone."

"Are you thinking of—of the money?" asked the little boy hesitatingly.

"Ah, you still believe I took it!" exclaimed the man.

"Robin, I am positive he did not," said Mrs. Burt; "like you, I thought at first that he had; but he has quite convinced me that he knows nothing whatever about it. Do believe him, my dear!"

"It's too much to expect of him," said her husband; "he thinks me capable of anything, and he hates me—little wonder if he does," he added with a sigh. Then, as Robin did not contradict him, he addressed himself to him again and said, "Your mother's been telling me of the letter she's received from your grandfather, and the offer he's made to take you to live with him. Well, you'd better go to Newlyn—it will be best for you. One thing I'll promise which 'll make you more satisfied to leave your mother, and that is that I'll never lift my hand against her again. God help me to keep my word," he supplemented, in a lower tone.

"Oh, do you mean that?" cried Robin. "Oh, father, if you ask God, He 'will' help you to keep your word! Oh, father, I don't hate you! I thought I did, but I don't." And, overcome with the intensity of his feelings, the little boy burst into tears. "I don't want to go to Newlyn now," he sobbed; "I can't leave mother, and—and when you're like this, I don't want to leave you. If you'd only give up the nasty drink we might be so happy together—we three."

"What, when you think that I've robbed you?" said Richard Burt somewhat bitterly.

"I don't think it—now," Robin answered. "Oh, how glad I am I came home to-night! What a good thing it was I met Miss Maggs."

"Miss Maggs?" echoed Mrs. Burt. "Where did you see her, my dear?"

"On the Hoe, mother. We sat on a seat for a long while, and talked."

"Did you tell her about the loss of your money?" inquired Mrs. Burt.

"Yes;" Robin coloured and glanced deprecatingly at his stepfather. "But she couldn't believe father had taken it," he continued eagerly, glad to remember that, "and she made me promise to go home. To-morrow I'll call at her house and—and explain everything," he concluded in some confusion.

Richard Burt made no remark, but a minute later he took up his hat and went out. Mother and son were silent until the sound of his footsteps had died away, then the former said:

"He's gone to the police-station, I expect. He's dreadfully upset about this business. He seemed quite stunned when I showed him my workbox.

"'Oh, poor little chap!' he exclaimed, meaning you, of course. He was thinking of your disappointment about the holiday.

"Oh, Robin, we were wrong to believe the worst of him so quickly! We ought not to have jumped to the conclusion that he had taken the money. If only you had not rushed off in that impetuous way and we had talked the matter over, how much wiser it would have been!"

"Yes," admitted Robin. "Did father mean what he said about my going to Newlyn to live with my grandfather?" he inquired a minute later.

"I hardly know; I think perhaps he did. He didn't say much when I told him about your grandfather's letter, only that we should miss you if you went. You had better have your supper now and go to bed. You're looking very, very tired."

"I don't want any supper," Robin replied.

He was too excited to be hungry, but his mother cut him a slice of bread and a small piece of cheese, which, to please her, he ate. He had just finished doing so when his stepfather returned, accompanied by a policeman, who examined Mrs. Burt's workbox very carefully, asked a lot of questions, made several notes in his notebook, and then left, remarking that he feared there was no chance of discovering the thief.

The news that a policeman had been seen to enter the Burts' house had caused a great sensation amongst those inhabitants of Sun Court who happened to be at home, and the officer of the law was observed with mingled curiosity and dislike as he took his departure by a group of men, women and children, who had assembled near the entrance of the court, whilst from a top window of the Farrants' house Dick Farrant watched him, with bated breath and a sickening feeling of dread. Dick had reasons of his own for the awe with which he always regarded a member of the police force.

As soon as the policeman had gone, Mrs. Burt told Robin to go to bed, and, having said good-night to her and his stepfather, he obeyed. He lay awake for a long while, listening to the murmur of voices in the kitchen below, and grew quite feverish wondering what was being said, for he guessed that his grandfather's offer was under discussion. He scarcely knew what he wished himself, though a short while before he had been so eager to turn his back on Sun Court for ever. He had experienced a strong revulsion of feeling during the past hour, and had spoken the truth when he had said that he did not think his stepfather had robbed him, for there had been something convincing in the man's manner and earnest words.

"I thought I hated him," he mused, quite surprised at the discovery he had made that there was a tender spot in his heart for his stepfather after all, "but I believe I'm really very fond of him. I can remember lots of times when he's been good to me."

Memory was busy with him now. He recollected an illness—some childish complaint—he had had, and long nights when his stepfather had watched by his side, always patient and ready to anticipate his wants, though he had been fretful, he knew. He could not remember an occasion on which Richard Burt had been other than kind to him, or to his mother either, unless he had taken too much to drink, though he had frequently ill-treated them both when in a state of intoxication, generally because his wife had reproached him for his condition.

"God's love may reach him yet," Jasper Blamey had said, and, as the old man's words returned to Robin's mind to-night, they brought with them a sense of hope, and he prayed for his stepfather with all the fervour of his heart. He was grieved that he had misjudged him that day, and he was—oh, so thankful that he had not followed his impulse to run away from home, and that God had sent Miss Maggs to point out his duty to him!

At length he told himself he really must think no more but try to go to sleep; but then he thought of the empty workbox and a flood of misery swept over him. Gone was the hope of a holiday with his mother on the moor; he had saved his earnings in vain. Oh, it was cruelly hard! He pulled the bedclothes over his head to stifle the sound of the choking sobs which he could not restrain, and wept passionately; and, by-and-by, utterly worn out, he cried himself to sleep.

Robin was lying in a heavy slumber when, a short while later, his mother, candle in hand, crept softly into his room. She was followed by her husband; and, as she drew back the sheet to press a kiss on her son's flushed cheek, they both noticed that his pillow was wet with tears.

"Poor little chap," murmured Richard Burt huskily, "it's a terrible disappointment for him. Poor little chap!"

CHAPTER VIII

MISS MAGGS IN SUN COURT

"GOOD afternoon. Will you kindly tell me where Mrs. Burt lives?"

Jasper Blamey glanced up from the shoe on which he was engaged in placing a neat piece, and saw a tall, gaunt, elderly woman, clad in rusty black, who had paused directly outside his window. It was the day subsequent to the one on which the discovery of Robin's loss had been made.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied courteously, "she lives in the house at the left; but she's not at home, she's gone out to do a few errands."

"Then I'm afraid I sha'n't see her this afternoon, for I haven't much time to spare and sha'n't be able to wait long. You're Mr. Blamey, I presume?"

"Yes," assented Jasper, looking surprised; "I wonder how you know that?" he added with a smile.

"Oh, I've heard of you from Mrs. Burt's little son. You may perhaps have heard of me—Eliza Maggs?"

"To be sure, ma'am! Robin has often spoken of you to me." Jasper's tone expressed both interest and cordiality. "Will you come in and wait for Mrs. Burt?" he inquired.

Miss Maggs shook her head. "No, thank you," she replied, "I'll stay where I am for a few minutes, and then if Mrs. Burt has not returned, I must go home, for I've two dinners to prepare and cook before seven o'clock. Humph!" she exclaimed, glancing around the court. "This seems a quiet place—dull and stuffy, of course, and not too clean, but it might be worse."

"That's true, ma'am," agreed Jasper.

"You've lived here most of your life, I understand?" interrogated Miss Maggs. She had a sharp way of putting questions, which some people resented, but the old cobbler had heard enough about her from Robin to know that beneath a decidedly unpolished manner she hid a heart of gold.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, "and now I shouldn't care to live anywhere else."

"Humph!" Miss Maggs looked as though she thought he had peculiar taste. "You know the Burts well?" she asked.

Jasper nodded. "Yes," he said; "Mrs. Burt's a very worthy woman, who's bringing up her boy the right way; I've seen enough of her to know that."

"What about the man?"

"He's all right at heart, ma'am, but undependable like everyone who drinks; I don't believe, though, that he stole the youngster's money."

"You don't? I'm glad to hear that—more glad than I can say."

Miss Maggs looked it. The grim expression of her countenance had given place to one of satisfaction. "I met Robin on the Hoe last night," she proceeded to explain, unaware that her companion had already been informed of that fact by Robin himself, "and he seemed certain that his stepfather had robbed him; but this morning he came to see me, and appeared equally confident that the money had been taken by some outsider. I did not know what to think, so I decided I'd come and see Mrs. Burt, and hear what she has to say. Perhaps you'll consider it's no business of mine, and of course it isn't, but I take an interest in Robin and his mother, and, indirectly, in him who's been the cause of their troubles."

Jasper nodded understandingly. "I believe some outsider must have found out where the money was kept and waited for an opportunity to get at it," he said; "I don't suppose we shall ever know who the thief was, for there's no likelihood of the money being traced. I wish it could be, for, unless it is, Richard Burt will always be credited with having taken it. He reported the matter to the police himself, but from remarks that have been made to me by the neighbours to-day I quite see that he is believed to have been the thief."

"You have your reasons for thinking him not guilty?" said Miss Maggs questioningly.

"Yes, ma'am; the fact is if he'd had money to spare in his pocket, he'd have had a drinking bout for certain." Jasper looked very sad as he spoke. "I've tried many a time to induce him to take the pledge," he continued, "but it was all no use; and lately I haven't spoken to him about it, for I've noticed he's kept out of my way, and I don't want him to shun me."

"He's incorrigible, I fear."

"I won't go so far as to say that, ma'am. I've known many a worse man than he is repent and turn to God. When I see I'm doing harm instead of good by interfering with folks, I just hold my tongue—that's the best plan, I find, but I pray for them all the same."

Miss Maggs nodded her head in approval. "There's a deal of power in prayer," she remarked, "and I agree with you—if one can't see one's way to help people one must leave them to the Lord. Our Father in Heaven knows what's best, and I don't believe He ever turned a deaf ear to the feeblest prayer offered in a right spirit. Ah, here's Mrs. Burt!"

Mrs. Burt was extremely surprised to see Miss Maggs, who greeted her very cordially and accompanied her into her house for a few minutes' private conversation.

"And have you decided whether or not to let Robin go to his grandfather?" inquired Miss Maggs, after the subject of the robbery had been fully discussed.

"Yes, ma'am. We have talked the matter over and decided that he must go. I have not written to his grandfather yet, but I shall do so to-morrow if all's well. I do not know how I shall get on without him, but I am sure it will be better for him to be at Newlyn. He does not wish to leave us, although he did think of running away the other night when you found him on the Hoe. Yes, but for you I believe he would have gone." Mrs. Burt's eyes were full of gratitude as she looked at her visitor.

"Ah, poor child!" exclaimed Miss Maggs. "I do indeed sympathise with him over the loss of his money. How sorry Mrs. Groves would be if she knew!"

"It has been a great blow to him," said Mrs. Burt. She was near the window, and, glancing out, she saw her little son crossing the court.

Robin was looking pale and heavy eyed, but his countenance brightened as he entered the kitchen and saw Miss Maggs, who was on the point of leaving. He begged her to stay a little longer, but that she was unable to do; so he asked if he might walk a short distance with her on her way home.

"I shall be glad of your company," she told him; and, having said good-bye to Mrs. Burt, she preceded her young escort out of the house.

The old cobbler was still at work inside his open window. He glanced up with marked interest in his expression as Miss Maggs and Robin passed by. The former nodded and smiled at him, and afterwards remarked to Robin that she was glad his neighbour was such a nice old man.

"I made myself known to him this afternoon," she said, "and we had a little talk which I shall not forget. Why, goodness me, what have we here?" she cried sharply, with a sudden change of tone.

They had reached the passage leading from the court, where they had come across two big boys—one, Dick Farrant, the other, a boon companion of his—engaged in a game of "pitch and toss." This was no unusual sight for Robin, but it filled Miss Maggs with intense indignation, and she immediately addressed herself to Dick, the elder of the two lads.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you great, strong fellow, you, to be idling away the precious hours like this," she cried, shaking a rebuking finger at him; "playing a gambling game, too! Have you no work to do?"

"What's that to you?" demanded Dick, not angrily, but with a sort of good-humoured insolence. "Oh, I see," he went on, "you're the person who was talking to old Jasper Blamey just now, you're one of his sort, I suppose—and a friend of Robin's too. I'm not in your way, ma'am. You can pass on."

"No, I can't," said Miss Maggs, "because I've a word to say to you two." She nodded from one to the other of the lads, and forthwith proceeded to lecture them roundly on the vice of gambling.

"Look here," broke in Dick, "you'd better mind your own business—"

"Just what I'm doing," declared Miss Maggs, interrupting in her turn; "it's the business of every Christian to protest when they see folks doing wrong."

"Oh, so you're a Christian, are you?" said Dick, whilst the other boy, who was not an inhabitant of the court, slunk along the passage and out into the street.

"I hope I am," she replied. She paused momentarily, and looked searchingly at Dick. "You appear a good-tempered lad," she observed, and then she asked him again if he had no work to do.

"Oh, he really does work sometimes!" Robin cried eagerly. "Don't you, Dick?"

"Sometimes," grinned Dick, who still appeared more amused than angry at the scene in which he was playing such a conspicuous part. He shuffled his feet uneasily, and his eyes fell beneath Miss Maggs's searching gaze, which seemed to be summing him up, so he thought.

"I don't see why you need have interfered with us," he remarked; "why couldn't you have passed on? We weren't doing any harm."

"I'm not so sure of that," she told him; "gambling in any shape or form is harmful. That's been my experience. You take my advice, my lad, and give it up. Now, I've told you my mind—if I hadn't, it would have troubled me afterwards. Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon," Dick returned. It was not until she and Robin were gone that he wondered why he had answered her, and then he laughed at the remembrance of her concerned countenance. Nevertheless he could not forget her earnest, warning words.

When Robin, having accompanied Miss Maggs nearly to her own door, returned home, he found Dick Farrant standing at the entrance of the court, evidently on the watch for him, for he greeted him with the question:

"I say, who's that queer old body?"

"She's called Maggs,' replied Robin; she keeps a lodging-house on the Hoe, and Mrs. Groves lodged with her. She's a very nice woman."

"Oh, is she? Shouldn't have thought it. Did she come to Sun Court to see you?"

"To see my mother. She's a real good sort, Dick. You'd say so, too, if you knew her better."

"Don't wish to know her better," Dick responded, with a grimace. "I can't bear people like that," he added.

"People like what?" questioned Robin, rather puzzled.

"People who interfere with others. You heard what a lecture she gave me? Old Blamey said pretty much the same to me the other day. Impertinence I call it. I can't bear Christians."

"Oh, Dick!"

"Well, I can't. They give me an uncomfortable feeling. I daresay I'm bad—I know it, for that matter—but I don't want to think about it."

He seemed about to add more, but, catching sight of a policeman approaching them, abruptly turned on his heel and disappeared into the court.

CHAPTER IX

POOR FATHER!

"WHAT do you think of Miss Maggs, Mr. Blamey?" asked Robin, some hours later, as he leaned against the cobbler's window-sill. It was between eight and nine o'clock, and the atmosphere in Sun Court was less close than it had been all day; indeed, Jasper had remarked a few minutes previously that he had caught a whiff of sea breeze.

"She appears a very straightforward sort of person," replied the old man; "a true friend, I'll be bound to say."

"Yes," nodded the little boy. He proceeded to recount what had taken place between Miss Maggs and Dick Farrant, and then went on: "I don't believe Dick's done any work for nearly a week. I heard his mother talking about it this morning."

"What did she say?" inquired Jasper, his tone betokening interest.

"That she didn't know where he got his money." Robin glanced around to make certain that no one was near to overhear him, and continued: "Of course, I know Dick's a bad boy, Mr. Blamey—mother's often said that the less I have to do with him the better—but somehow I can't help liking him; he's really kindhearted, and he's not a bully like Sam Brown."

"He has his good qualities, I have no doubt, Robin. By the way, has your stepfather returned yet?"

"No; he's working long days now. He'll be home about nine o'clock, I expect. Mother's beginning a letter to my grandfather; she asked me to leave her by herself, so I thought I'd come and have a word with you. Oh, Mr. Blamey, I don't know how I feel about going to Newlyn! I've begged mother to let me stay with her, but she seems quite determined to send me to my grandfather. Do you think I really ought to go? I remember your saying once that my post of duty was here in Sun Court."

"Circumstances alter cases, Robin. When I said that, you were talking wildly about running away from home. If you go to your grandfather now, it will be a different matter altogether. Your first duty is to obey your mother. She knows what's best."

"Things are very hard!" sighed Robin. "It is so dreadful that my money should have been stolen. I don't suppose mother and I will ever have a holiday together now." He blinked away a tear as he spoke.

"We never know what's in store for us, my boy," Jasper observed, his dark, bright eyes tender with sympathy. "We must just take the days as they come, and make the best of them. Maybe there's a happier time coming for you and your mother, too. Your stepfather has certainly been much steadier of late. That shows he could give up drink altogether if he liked, and I am hopeful that he will."

"Are you?" said Robin, in surprise. "I know mother's often tried to get him to take the pledge, and so have you, haven't you, Mr. Blamey?"

"Yes, but I never speak to him about it now because I found I was doing more harm than good. I don't forget to pray for him though, Robin, nor must you. When I was talking to your friend Miss Maggs this afternoon, she said that there was a deal of power in prayer, and she's right. Why, it's the greatest power in the world! It's the link between earth and Heaven—between God and His children. If you can't do anything else to help people, you can always pray for them."

The cobbler had been gathering together his tools as he talked, and, having tidied his bench to his satisfaction, he went to a cupboard and took out a loaf of bread and a pat of butter. Seeing he was preparing for supper, Robin was turning away, when he called him back.

"I wonder if you'd fetch a couple of bloaters for me?" said the old man. "I feel I could relish one to-night."

"Oh, yes! I'll go now," answered Robin, "and I'll be back in no time."

"Oh, there's no great hurry!" smiled Jasper. "Here's the money—two for three halfpence, I expect they'll be." He handed Robin a sixpenny-bit as he spoke.

The little boy went off on his errand, and five minutes later found him making his way along the pavement of the narrow street which adjoined Sun Court. Being a back street, in a low-class district, the shops on either side had nothing very attractive in their windows; so Robin was somewhat surprised at finding quite a crowd before a corner shop where only newspapers were sold. Curiosity impelled him to linger to try and ascertain what was going on, but he could not get sufficiently close to the window to see anything; so he presently pursued his way, and, having made his purchase of the bloaters at a grocer's, was retracing his footsteps when someone laid a hand on his arm, and he looked up into the face of Dick Farrant, which wore its most good-humoured expression.

"Hulloa, youngster, where are you off?" asked Dick.

"I've been on an errand for Mr. Blamey to buy some bloaters for his supper," explained Robin, noticing that the other's eyes were resting inquiringly on his parcel. "What are all those folks waiting outside the newspaper shop for?" he questioned.

"Oh, they're waiting to see if they've made their fortunes!" laughed Dick, with a knowing wink.

"I don't understand what you mean," said Robin, much puzzled.

"I daresay not; you're such a little innocent! Well, in plain language, they're waiting to find out the result of a horse-race. Presently a telegram will be stuck up in the window, giving the name of the winner of the race. It's no great interest to me, for I don't happen to have any money on it."

"Oh!" cried Robin comprehendingly. He looked at his companion with an inscrutable expression in his big grey eyes.

"I'll put you up to a thing or two when you're a bit older, young 'un," said Dick, in a patronising manner.

"No, no!" cried Robin. "Oh, Dick, what a pity you should bet! You know it's wrong!"

"Don't know any such thing! Look here!" Dick thrust his hand into his trousers pocket, and drew out a shilling. "That's for you," he said.

But, contrary to his expectation, Robin's face showed no sign of pleasure, nor did the little boy attempt to possess himself of the coin.

"I don't want it, thank you!" he exclaimed quickly. "No, I really can't take it," he went on, "though it's very kind of you to wish to give it to me, but—no, thank you!" His tone was decided.

"Oh, nonsense!" Dick's manner grew suddenly most unaccountably embarrassed. "Look here, do have it!" he said, almost imploringly. "I-I've been sorry for you about—about the loss of your money, you know. I—I've thought of it a good deal, and I—I wish I could make it up to you. Do take this shilling, Robin! I daresay I shall be able to give you another in a few days. Come, between friends, you know—" He broke off, an expression of marked anxiety on his face.

But Robin was not to be persuaded to accept the gift, though it really distressed him to refuse it.

"Don't be vexed with me," he said, observing that Dick looked both annoyed and disappointed. "I feel it's very, very kind of you!"

"It isn't!" the other interrupted brusquely.

"Oh, yes, indeed it is!" persisted Robin. "But I can't take it. Mother wouldn't like it if I did. I—I know—that is, I am afraid that it isn't good money."

"Good money?" echoed Dick. "What do you mean by that? It isn't base coin. It's right enough. Do you imagine I'd trick you?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure you wouldn't!" Robin cried distressfully. "But I expect you won that shilling by betting, and—and mother says money gained in evil ways is bad money, and it never brings a blessing with it, and Mr. Blamey says the same."

"Ah, Mr. Blamey!" broke in Dick, with a sneer. "You needn't repeat to me anything he may have said. I can't bear him."

"I am sure he never did you any harm!" exclaimed Robin reproachfully. "He's been a wonderfully good friend to mother and me."

"I daresay; but I'd rather he didn't try to be a friend to me. I like to go my own way. The other day he took upon himself to round on me because I'd spoken roughly—unbecomingly, he called it—to my mother, and I swore at him for his pains. It was on Sunday, and he was seated at his bench reading his Bible, or pretending to. Well, he never answered back; but I saw his lips moving, and I believe he was praying. Now, what right has he to pray for me, I should like to know?"

"I expect he was telling Jesus about you—asking Him to forgive you for having been a bad fellow," replied Robin simply.

They had reached the entrance to Sun Court by this time, and paused facing each other. The elder's countenance had lost the good-tempered expression it had worn at the commencement of their conversation, and was overshadowed by a heavy frown; whilst the younger's was flushed and troubled.

"Has old Jasper Blamey converted you, then?" Dick asked, with a laugh which he meant should sound insulting. Then, without waiting for a reply, he continued: "Oh, I know how he goes on with his talk about Jesus! The Friend of sinners, as he calls Him! As though Jesus cared for sinners! Good people are more in His line, I should think."

"Oh, but He does care for sinners!" Robin said impressively. "I used to think, like you, that He didn't; but I know now that He does. He cares for everyone. It says in the Bible, 'God commendeth His love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us.' Isn't it wonderful to think that He should have died for us all?"

Dick made no response. He stood looking steadily at Robin, whom he had never heard speak like this before. Evidently the little fellow was deeply in earnest. It was at this point that a motor-carriage rushed with a whirr around the corner of the street, and both boys turned involuntarily to watch it as it came towards them. At the same instant a little girl ran out of the entrance of Sun Court, and started for the opposite pavement; then, suddenly becoming aware of the approach of the motor-carriage, she stopped, apparently paralysed with fear.

"She will be killed!" shrieked Robin, beyond measure horrified, his fascinated gaze upon the little girl.

Even as he spoke, a man sprang towards the child and flung her out of harm's way into the gutter, where she set up a frightened wail. What followed Robin could never afterwards tell. The motor-carriage pulled up, and its occupants got out and went to the assistance of someone who lay, white and unconscious, in the middle of the street.

"Poor fellow!" murmured a pitying voice. "I'm afraid if he's not actually killed, he's seriously injured. It was a brave thing to do."

Impelled by curiosity, the boys joined the crowd which was already gathering around the prostrate form of the man who had saved the child. Then Robin caught sight of a marble-white countenance, and he gripped Dick by the arm.

"It's father! Oh, poor father!" he cried.

CHAPTER X

THE DAWN OF A HAPPIER TIME

A MONTH had elapsed since Richard Burt had been knocked down by the motor-carriage, which had hurt him so badly that he had lain at death's door for several days and was now only strong enough to sit out in an easy-chair in his bedroom for an hour or so at a time.

The accident having occurred close to Sun Court, the injured man had been conveyed to his own home instead of to a hospital, and the driver of the motor-carriage, who was its owner too, though he had been in no way to blame, had generously provided a trained nurse to take charge of him, and had given Mrs. Burt a sufficient sum of money to meet the expenses of his illness.

It was exceedingly hot in Sun Court on this cloudless July day, though, being afternoon, there was no sunshine there; but the air was close and oppressive, and Richard Burt sighed wearily as he sat close to his bedroom window alone. He was tired of his own company, and was half-inclined to call to his wife; but remembering that, when she had left him an hour previously, she had said she had some washing to do and the kitchen to clean, he refrained from summoning her upstairs without need. How he wished old Jasper Blamey would come and talk to him, as he had frequently done since the nurse had left and he had been well enough to see visitors! Time had been, and that not long since, when he had shrunk from conversing with the cobbler, but Robin's stepfather had altered greatly in the last few weeks. He had narrowly escaped from death, and that knowledge had caused him to think seriously about many things which he had never considered before, and he was now a deeply repentant man, desirous of leading a better life.

"Hulloa, father, awake?"

Richard Burt brightened and smiled at the sound of his little stepson's voice addressing him cheerily. He turned his hollow eyes towards Robin, who had crept upstairs with as little noise as possible, thinking the invalid might be taking a nap, and answered:

"Wide awake! I haven't been asleep all the afternoon. I've done nothing but think. I'm glad you're come, Robin. I was tired of being alone."

The boy smiled and came to the window, where he stood close to his stepfather, looking out into the court.

"Isn't it hot?" he said. "It was stifling in school this afternoon. I'm glad the holidays are so near."

"When do they begin?"

"On the 1st of August—that's next Tuesday. I saw mother as I came in; she's gone now to get some milk. I wanted to go for her, but she said she'd rather I kept you company, and that the air out of doors would do her good. She has a bad headache."

"Poor soul! She's looking ill," said the invalid, in a regretful tone. "She's had more than enough to pull her down. I hope God will let me live to try to make up to her for the past; but I'm shaky still."

"Oh, you'll soon get better!" Robin interposed brightly. "The doctor says so, only you mustn't worry."

"I worry about what's gone by, my boy. Folks have been very good to me during my illness. I haven't deserved such kind treatment as I've had. By the way, I've been thinking a great deal to-day about that letter your mother had from your grandfather. I thought she'd made up her mind that you were to go to Newlyn. How is it you haven't gone?"

"As if I could have gone when you were so dreadfully ill!" cried Robin. "Mother wrote and told grandfather she couldn't spare me then, and he quite understood. He wrote back so nicely about you—said he'd read of your brave act in the newspaper, and that he hoped God would soon restore you to health. Mother had a letter about you from Mrs. Groves, too. Why, you're a regular hero, father!"

"A hero?" the man exclaimed, his pale cheeks flushing suddenly. "Oh, Robin, 'you' to say that, and I've heard you call me a brute!"

"That was when you weren't yourself—when you used to hit poor mother. But I don't think you'll ever do that again. Mr. Blamey said to me yesterday:

"'Robin, I believe your stepfather will live to be a comfort to you and your mother yet.'

"And, father, I'm sure you will." The boy's tone was glad and confident, and his face bright with hope.

Richard Burt was deeply touched, and, being very weak, he could not restrain his emotion.

"I don't deserve that you should care anything about me, and yet you do," he said, tears trickling down his cheeks. "I've been a bad man, and treated you and your mother most cruelly, although when I married her I promised to do my best for you both. I've done my worst—yes, I know I have. The drink has brought me very low. Times and times your mother has tried to persuade me to take the pledge, and I'd never listen to her, but I've made up my mind that I'll do it now."

"What, take the pledge?" cried Robin, half incredulously. Then, as his stepfather nodded assent, he exclaimed, "Oh, how glad I am! This is good news indeed! Does mother know? Yes. And Mr. Blamey? Yes. Oh, how pleased they must be! I am delighted—simply delighted!"

He looked it, with his big grey eyes shining with happiness, and a deep flush on his usually pale cheeks. "Oh, here's mother!" he said, as, hearing a footstep in the yard, he glanced out of the window and saw Mrs. Burt. "I suppose she's met the postman, for she has a letter in her hand."

On entering the house Mrs. Burt came straight upstairs. There was about her an air of restrained excitement which caused her husband and son to look at her expectantly. She inquired how the invalid was, and, having been assured that he had not sat out too long, and was feeling much better, she turned her attention to Robin, and said:

"I've heard from your grandfather again—oh, he is a good, kind man!—and he wants you, at any rate, to spend your holidays with him, and asks when they begin. And oh, Richard—" here she addressed her husband—"he has actually invited you and me to pay him a visit! He says he has three bedrooms in his cottage, and the woman who does his housework goes home to sleep, so that he has two spare bedrooms. He thinks that a change of air for a month would set you up in health, and he says that he'll take you out in his boat, and if you don't care for that, you'll be able to sit on the beach, and—oh, do let us go!" she cried, in conclusion.

"I wish we could," her husband replied, "but I really don't see that it is possible. Where are we to get the money to pay our expenses? No, it's not to be thought of!"

"Oh, yes, it is!" she interposed, with a happy laugh such as had not passed her lips for years. "The money for our expenses is in my pocket. Yes," she nodded, as her companions regarded her with amazement and incredulity, "I mean it; I've had another letter you've not heard of yet."

She drew an envelope from her pocket as she spoke, and took therefrom a sheet of notepaper and a five-pound note. "Listen to this," she said, and proceeded to read aloud:

"The Retreat, Newlyn,
July 27, 190—.

   "DEAR MRS. BURT,—I am sending you a little present. I have long wished to make you one, but I have not been in the position to do so till now. The fact is, I have been so fortunate as to sell my picture, 'Ragged Robins,' to a rich American gentleman, who happened to fancy it, and I want the mother of the ragged Robin who proved such an excellent model to have a share in the profit it has brought. Please accept the enclosed five-pound note.

   "I trust your husband is making a good recovery, and that you and your little son are well. A change of air would do you all good. Hoping it may not be long before we meet,—

"Believe me,

"Yours very truly,

"ELLEN GROVES."

"Oh, mother, she knows of my grandfather's invitation!" cried Robin excitedly. "She would not have written 'a change of air would do you all good' if she had not! Oh, how very kind she is! Will five pounds be as much money as we shall want if we do all go to Newlyn?"

"Yes, my dear. We'll pay a month's rent ahead to keep our home here, and the remaining money will be sufficient to meet the expenses of our journey to Newlyn and back. I believe Mrs. Groves guessed how I should spend this five-pound note when she sent it—don't you think so, Richard?" And Mrs. Burt glanced at her husband smilingly as she spoke.

"Yes," he agreed, "I do; and I daresay a change of air might set me up in health. I don't think that I shall ever pick up my strength here in Sun Court; but at the same time, I don't feel I ought to share this money—"

"Oh, but I am sure Mrs. Groves intended that you should; you have admitted that yourself," interposed his wife. "Oh, Richard, let bygones be bygones!" she continued earnestly. "God knows I'm willing to do that. We haven't been happy together in the past, but let us look forward to a brighter future. We will start afresh."

He made no response in words, but he gave her a grateful glance, and in his heart he registered a solemn vow that, God helping him, he would never cause her trouble again. Conscious of his weakness, he appealed to his Father in Heaven for aid, for on his bed of sickness he had turned to Him who is very pitiful and of tender mercy, and he prayed that he might be granted the opportunity of making up to his long-suffering wife and her little son for some of the misery he had caused them in the past.

So it was decided that the invitation to Newlyn should be accepted, and Robin hastened to seek the old cobbler to take him into his confidence; he had fallen into the habit of carrying all his joys and sorrows to the kind neighbour who was ever ready to lend him an attentive and sympathetic hearing.

On this occasion Jasper listened to all he had to recount in perfect silence; but the expression of his countenance betokened his pleasure, and, when Robin had finished his tale, he did not speak for several minutes, but sat looking at the little boy, with a thoughtful expression in his dark, bright eyes.

"Ah, what did I tell you?" he exclaimed at length. "Did I not say that maybe there was a happier time coming for you and your mother?"

"Yes, I remember you did, Mr. Blamey."

"I think, my boy, that the beginning of that happier time has come. 'It is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes.' No one but the Lord could have brought your stepfather to repentance; you see we did not pray for him in vain?"

"No, indeed! Oh, Mr. Blamey, who would have guessed yesterday that such a treat was in store for us all as a month at Newlyn? Why, the reason I grieved so much about the theft of my money was because mother could not have a holiday! And I was only going to give her one day on the moor, and now she will have a whole month by the sea! And to think that Mrs. Groves should have sent us that five pounds! It is really wonderful!"

"Yes," agreed the old man, "that it is."

"It seems to me," said Robin, smiling, "that we have a great many friends."

His thoughts had flown to Miss Maggs, and from her they passed to Dick Farrant. Robin felt a deep sense of gratitude to Dick, who had been kind and sympathetic during Richard Burt's illness; and after tea that evening, he lingered about the court in the hope of seeing him, to tell him his news.

But Dick did not come home that night; and the following day it was known to everyone in Sun Court that the lad had been arrested by the police for having stolen a box of expensive cigarettes from a tobacco shop. He was brought before the magistrate the next morning, found guilty of the charge laid against him, and sentenced to ten days' imprisonment, so that Robin left Plymouth without seeing him again.

CHAPTER XI

AT NEWLYN

THE month of August had nearly run its course when, one hot afternoon, an old man, spare of figure and bent shouldered, with a knapsack at his back, paused to rest on the little bridge at the entrance of the village of Newlyn, and gazed about him fully appreciative of the beauty of the scene. Before him lay the village, a busy little port, with its two fine piers forming a safe harbour for the fishing fleet, whilst looking towards Penzance, from which town he had walked, his eyes rested on a sweep of wet sands, for it was low tide.

"It must be nearly five o'clock," thought the old man, who was no other than the cobbler from Sun Court on his annual holiday. "Time for me to be getting on. I must see about a lodging for the night; I daresay there 'll not be much difficulty about that; but, first of all, I'll call on my friends. I remember the cottage where Robin's grandfather used to live, and I don't suppose he's changed his abode; I'll soon find out, at any rate."

Accordingly half an hour later found him standing before a picturesque thatched cottage, situated in a steep street called Trewarneth Street, a name which means "the street of the hill." He waited a moment under the honeysuckle-covered porch, before making his presence known, to listen to the sound of voices which reached his ears from an open window—one a man's deep bass, the other a child's clear treble. He smiled as he recognised the young voice, and immediately knocked at the door; whereupon the familiar voice said,—

"I'll see who it is, grandfather."

And a moment later the door was opened and he found himself face to face with little Robin Rodway. The boy uttered a cry of mingled pleasure and surprise, and led him at once into the kitchen—a large, low room, with a stone floor and whitewashed walls.

"Grandfather, grandfather, here's Mr. Blamey!" he cried joyously. "Oh, how glad I am to see you, Mr. Blamey! Oh, how delighted mother will be, and father too!"

The cobbler looked from his young friend to Robin Rodway senior, the other occupant of the kitchen, who held out a friendly hand and greeted him warmly.

"I've heard a deal about you from my grandson here," said the old sailor, smiling down at his visitor, who was quite a head and shoulders shorter than himself. "Sit down; now do sit down and make yourself at home; you're looking pretty nigh done up, and no mistake."

"I've footed it all the way from Penzance," explained Jasper, as he took the chair Robin placed for him near the open window. "You'll maybe not remember me by sight, Mr. Rodway," he proceeded, "but I remember seeing you when I visited Newlyn some years ago. You've altered very little," he added, looking at the strong, upright figure and healthy, weather-beaten countenance of Robin's grandfather.

"I've not such a poor memory as you imagine," said the old sailor; "your face is quite familiar to me. Walked from Penzance, have you? You must be pretty well done up. It's been such a hot afternoon, too."

"Not too hot for me," said Jasper. "I took my time and enjoyed the walk. I'm not over-tired. I'm thin and wiry, and really very strong. I'm having a little holiday in Cornwall, and thought I would like to see how my Plymouth friends are doing, not having heard anything of them since they left Sun Court. Robin is looking most remarkably well; he seems to me to have put on pounds in weight these last three weeks, and he's burnt as brown as a berry. Newlyn air must suit him."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, for I mean to keep him here with me," said Robin's grandfather in a decided tone, and with an affectionate glance towards the boy.

"How is every one in Sun Court, Mr. Blamey?" asked Robin. Then, without giving time for a reply, he went on: "I thought so much of Dick Farrant whilst he was in jail and wondered what he was feeling. I suppose he's at home now?"

"He came home after his time was up, but he's gone again. I'll explain all about him by-and-by. Tell me, now, how's your mother? Quite well? That's good hearing. She was but poorly when she left Sun Court. And your stepfather?"

"Oh, he's ever so much better," replied Robin; "he said this morning that he felt just fit for work. Oh, Mr. Blamey, there's such a good piece of news to tell—"

"Perhaps your mother and her husband would like to tell Mr. Blamey their good news themselves, Robin," broke in his grandfather, as footsteps were heard approaching the cottage; "at any rate, give them the opportunity of doing so. Here they come. You must stay and have tea with us, Mr. Blamey."

"Oh, thank you," said Jasper, who felt that a cup of tea was what he most desired at present, for he was thirsty after his long walk; "you are very kind. I should like to stay."

A minute later Mr. and Mrs. Burt had entered the kitchen, and Jasper was shaking hands with them and explaining his presence there. They both expressed themselves delighted to see him, and their faces plainly showed they spoke as they felt.

It was a happy party that took tea in the old sailor's cottage that afternoon, for all its members were in the best of spirits. Never once did the conversation flag. It was evident that Richard Burt had nearly, if not quite, regained his usual health, and his wife had already faint roses in the cheeks which were certainly less thin than they had been three weeks previously. During the meal Jasper was told the piece of news which Robin had been about to impart when his grandfather had stopped him, and that was that Mr. and Mrs. Burt had been so fortunate as to obtain the posts of caretakers of a house not far from Newlyn, which belonged to a gentleman who was only in residence there for a few months during the summer. It was Mrs. Burt who explained all this.

"Robin is to live here with his grandfather," she said, with a tender smile at her little son; "so I shall see him very often. It won't be like giving him up altogether—you know, Mr. Blamey, how I dreaded doing that. Our new home is only a mile from here. Richard will have the garden to keep in order and the charge of a pony and some poultry, and I shall look after the house. We shall have plenty to do, but not too much, and I do trust we shall give satisfaction. Our master is an artist, and a very nice gentleman he seems."

"He is a friend of Mr. Groves," her husband explained. "Mrs. Groves interested herself to get us these situations, and I can't tell you how grateful we feel to her."

"I am very glad to hear of your good fortune," the cobbler said heartily, "but I am sorry to lose you as neighbours. How shall you manage about your belongings?"

"I suppose one of us will have to go back to Sun Court in order to get rid of our bits of furniture, which are not worth the cost of removal," Mrs. Burt replied; "we thought of letting a broker take them for what they are worth."

"I wonder if you would care to entrust that business to me?" asked Jasper.

"Gladly," she answered, glancing at her husband, who nodded his approval of the plan; "but I hardly like to trouble you—"

"Trouble? Nonsense!" broke in the cobbler.

"You leave the matter in my hands and I'll do the best I can for your interests."

And thus, after a little further talk, it was settled.

The pleasant meal was drawing to a close when Robin again mentioned Dick Farrant, and reminded the visitor that he had said he would explain all about him by-and-by.

"Well, so I will," Jasper replied; "not that there's much to explain, except that he's gone to Canada."

"To Canada!" every one echoed; and Richard Burt inquired: "How did he get the money to go?"

"It was provided for him by a friend," was the response.

"I did not know he had a friend sufficiently well-to do—" Mrs. Burt was commencing, when she paused suddenly, her eyes fixed full upon Jasper's face. "O Mr. Blamey, it is you who have done this!" she cried. "Oh, I do hope your money has not been thrown away."

"I hope not," the cobbler answered. "You see, it would have been most difficult for the lad to have turned over a new leaf in Plymouth," he went on; "so when he came home after his ten days in jail, I had a talk with him, and found that he was anxious to get away and make a fresh start in life somewhere else. I happened to know a couple of steady young men who were about to emigrate to Canada, and I asked Dick if he'd like to go too—I'd sounded them beforehand and found they wouldn't object to take him with them, and give him a helping hand, you understand. Well, Dick, he jumped at the idea, and he sailed from Liverpool two days ago. Everything was settled very hurriedly, but I hope and believe it will turn out for the best. Some folks, like some plants, do better for transplanting," he concluded quaintly.

"That's true," agreed Robin Rodway senior, "and I daresay it may prove so in this case. Canada's a fine country, and if a lad will work and keep straight, he can get ahead there. I've heard Robin talk a lot about this Dick Farrant, and according to his telling, he's not all bad."

"The soil of Sun Court didn't suit him," said Jasper gravely; "it brought out the worst of him; but I've a feeling that he will do better where he has gone."

"I should think his parents must be very grateful to you for having befriended him," remarked Mrs. Burt. "God alone knows from what you may have been the means of saving him. I believe he would have gone from bad to worse in Plymouth."

"I wish I had seen him to say good-bye," said Robin, with real regret in his tone. "I shall always remember that he was sorry when my money was stolen, and that he offered me a shilling—and wished me to take it, too."

At this point in the conversation, the cobbler produced a pocket-book from the breast pocket of his coat, and took therefrom a letter.

"Dick gave me this for you, Robin," he said; "he asked me to keep it for you till you returned to Sun Court—he did not know I should be visiting Newlyn."

"Dick wrote to me!" cried Robin in astonishment. He stretched out his hand for the letter as he spoke, and took it. It was addressed simply "Robin," in a large plain handwriting. "Fancy his having taken the trouble to write to me!" he exclaimed, glancing from his mother to his stepfather, who both appeared as surprised as he was himself.

"Read what he has to say, my dear," said Mrs. Burt.

Accordingly Robin opened the letter and commenced to peruse it slowly, for he found some difficulty in deciphering it. At first he looked pleased, then his expression changed to one of bewilderment, and from that to utter amazement. Finally the letter dropped from his hands on to the table, and he sprang excitedly to his feet.