*CHAPTER XVII.*
*A STARTLING SURPRISE.*
The next fortnight was about the happiest time Jim had passed since thenews arrived of his father's death. Thanks in some part to his wages,they had tided over the worst of the crisis; and his mother, who wasreally a skilful needlewoman, had now no lack of employment.
At the Deanery School he had quite recovered his popularity. The boyssought his advice as in the old days; and one half-holiday the FootballCommittee begged him to assist the team in an important match. Mr. Broadreadily granted him an extra hour's leave, and much to the delight ofhis numerous admirers, he had the satisfaction of kicking the winninggoal for the school.
"There's an end to my football in Beauleigh," he said, as he left thefield with his chum.
"And a very good finish!" laughed the Angel. "The Deanery fellows willmiss you at cricket next season."
"I expect they'll miss us both. I hope, though, they'll keep theshield."
"They're bound to!" said Dick, with a grin. "Haven't they got Simpson?"
"Of course; I'd forgotten him. Have you heard from Sir Thomas Arkell?"
"Yes; I'm to begin work on the morning they reopen after the holidays.I can hardly believe it now."
"I understand the feeling. D'you know, I think we've been awfullylucky, Dick."
"The reward of merit!" murmured the Angel; and a stranger, judging bythe tone of his voice, would have thought he really meant it.
Jim, however, knew him better, and greeted the remark with a laugh,saying, "Well, every one who deserves the reward doesn't get it,anyhow."
"Only one week more," cried Dick, flying off at a tangent--a by no meansunusual proceeding on his part. "I'm counting the days now."
That week seemed a long time to the eager boys; but it came to an end atlast, and the Deanery scholars assembled in the large hall fordismissal. It was the head-master's custom to speak a few words beforethey separated, and he did so now.
That part of the speech which met with the greatest attention referredto Mr. Laythorne's approaching departure. The boys were sorry to losehim, as he was very popular, and they punctuated every sentence withringing cheers. But the greatest applause was reserved for theunveiling of the handsome presents which boys and masters alike hadsubscribed for; and when Mr. Laythorne stepped forward to express histhanks, the cheering became deafening.
"Three cheers for Mr. Laythorne, and one cheer more!" yelled the Angel."Hurrah!"
It was a breaking-up scene such as had rarely occurred at the Deanery,and one to be long remembered. Mr. Laythorne made a modest littlespeech, and then, unchecked by the masters, the Angel led off with "Forhe's a jolly good fellow!" and was strenuously backed up by the vocalpowers of three hundred enthusiastic boys. It was not, perhaps,strictly orthodox, but it was undoubtedly genuine; I fancy Mr.Laythorne, though not a demonstrative man himself, was rather pleased bythe warmth of his reception. When the boys were dismissed, he calledJim, to give him his final instructions.
"My arrangements are quite complete," said he, "but I shall write in thecourse of a week or two. Most likely I shall want you to come over a fewdays before school begins."
"I shall be ready, sir, whenever you send."
"Well, good-bye! Have a good holiday, because there will be plenty ofwork when you get to Portsmouth."
A good holiday! How surprised both would have been had they known thekind of holiday which was in store for Jim!
Instead of going straight to work, the boy ran home with his bag ofbooks, and stayed a few minutes with his mother, chatting of thesplendid send-off to Mr. Laythorne.
"Dick led the cheering," said he, "and we all sang, 'For he's a jollygood fellow!'"
"So he is," said Mrs. Hartland, smiling--"none better, as far as we areconcerned."
"Well, I must be off," remarked Jim, "or Mr. Broad will wonder if I'mlost."
They were very busy at the shop, and the boy worked away with a will.Perhaps the breaking-up scene had put him in good spirits; at any rate,the stationer remarked on his cheerfulness. While they were waiting forthe evening papers, Jim, anxious not to waste time, sat down in a recessand began addressing a pile of labels.
Suddenly he saw a man pass the window, stop as if hesitating, and thenenter the shop. Knowing his employer was at the counter, he went onwith his work, not thinking he would be required.
"I can polish these things off to-night if I peg away at them," he saidto himself. "Where's that other book of addresses, I wonder? Oh, Isee!"
He got up to fetch the volume. From where he stood he could just seethe top of Mr. Broad's head, but nothing of the customer. He heard hisemployer say "Good-evening," to which the stranger replied in a tonethat made Jim jump.
He placed the book on the table, and sat down. It was no business ofhis, but he felt compelled to listen to the conversation. The firstwords brought the blood to his face with a rush.
"Have you a boy named Hartland employed here?" asked the stranger.
"I have."
"James Hartland?"
"That is his name. Why?"
"I should like to speak to him for a minute, if I may."
"Is it anything important? because he is busy at present."
Jim thought the man laughed; but he said aloud, "I think it's importantenough for me to see him."
"Hartland!" cried his master, "here's a gentleman wishes to see you!"And Jim, half dazed by surprise and doubt and fear, moved slowly towardthe counter.
The man on the other side of the counter was of medium height, wellproportioned on the whole, but with a great breadth of chest. He wasdressed in heavy serge of a dark-blue colour, and wore a peaked cap.His hair was short and curly; a few silver threads sprinkled the tawnybrown of an ample beard. His eyes were gray; his face was white, andrather drawn. An observant critic would probably have called him astrong man just recovered or recovering from a severe illness.
For a moment he looked hard at the boy; then a tender smile overspreadhis face, his lips parted, and in a soft voice he whispered, "Jim!"
I do not know that the stationer ever complained; he might have done sowith reason. Jim was a good all-round athlete, who, on ordinaryoccasions, could vault over the counter with ease. Now, dizzy withexcitement, he made an erratic kick, sweeping papers, books, andstationery to the floor. Neither did he stop to repair the mischief,but flung himself with a cry of joy into the man's outstretched arms.
Presently the man looked round on the pile of wreckage, and smiled.
"Come, Jim," said he, "let us put this straight." And while Mr. Broadlooked on in undisguised amazement, the pair proceeded to pick up thefallen articles.
"If," said the stationer, slowly rubbing his hands, "I were in the habitof guessing, I should say you are Mr. John Hartland, who was drowned offCape Horn."
"Right you are, sir!" returned the man, smiling pleasantly; "I am JohnHartland, and this is my boy. I'm just down from London. I heard Jimwas up here, and I've come to borrow him. You see, he has to tell hismother. I've kept it out of the papers, and no one but the owners ofthe _Morning Star_ know I'm still in the land of the living."
"Take him, my good sir!" said the delighted stationer. "Take him, andgood luck to you both! But come to see me, Jim; come to see me!"
"I'll tide you over the busy time, sir!" exclaimed Jim; "I won't leaveyou in the lurch. But I must go now. Oh, _how_ shall I tell mother?"
People stopped to look at them in the streets--they were so patently, soundeniably happy. John Hartland clutched his boy's arm tightly, andevery now and then Jim smiled up into his father's face.
"We're living in Brook Street now, father," he remarked.
"Yes, I know. I've made inquiries," replied his father. "How isSusie?"
"She's in the Children's Hospital, and getting better. The doctor saysshe is going to walk in a few months. O father, I can hardly believeyou are here!"
"Can't you? Jus
t feel this!" And he squeezed the boy's arm. "How ismother living?"
"By her needle. She does beautiful needlework."
"I know! I know!" said the man abruptly. "Isn't this Brook Street? Yougo on, and I'll wait here a bit. But don't be long, Jim, don't be long!My patience will soon bubble over. I've been burning to get a peep ather."
Jim smiled brightly, ran a few yards, and then walked soberly to thehouse. His mother was busy with her work, and she looked up at him insurprise.
"What is it, my boy?" she asked. "Why aren't you at the shop?"
"It's all right, mother," answered the lad; "there's no bad news. Mr.Broad said I might come. I've something to tell you--somethingpleasant, that will make you very happy."
"Yes?" she said wonderingly, and looking straight into his eyes.
"A marvellous thing, mother--more marvellous than you ever dreamed of.Only Susie said it could be true, and even her faith failed."
The woman had put down her work. Her face was white, her lips twitchednervously.
"Jim," she said pathetically--"Jim, this can only be one thing. Tell mequickly! O Jim, I can't bear it!"
"It's true, mother!" cried the boy. "It is the one thing. Yes, fatheris alive; there's news of him. He's coming home--coming to Beauleigh!"
Mrs. Hartland slipped to the floor, clasped her hands, and offered up asilent prayer to Heaven. She could not speak, but the joy and the praiseand the thanksgiving were all there.
And then! Then they heard a click at the little gate, and a firm stepon the path, and the front door was gently pushed open.
"O mother," cried Jim, "try to bear up! It is father!"
He came along, slowly and with even steps at first; but, in his ownwords, his patience bubbled over, his feet broke into a run, and thenext instant he was within the kitchen clasping his wife in his arms.
"Mary!"
"John!"
Nothing more than that was heard for a long time, but no words wererequired to express their joy. Later in the evening there were numerousquestions to be asked and answered, and the returned sailor's account ofhis wonderful escape to be given.
I cannot set the story down in his own words, though it was full ofinterest to his eager listeners, but the outline is simple enough. Theman Davies's account proved correct in the main, though John Hartlandwas astonished to find he had survived. As for himself, being a goodswimmer, he had struck out for the shore, which, for a time, it appearedhe would in all likelihood reach. Then his strength failed, and hecould do no more than turn on his back and endeavour to float in therough sea.
The waves tossed him where they listed; he was worn out and exhausted bythe prolonged struggle; but for the thought of the loved ones at home,he would have sunk down, down to the depths, like a weary child layingits head on the pillows. Only for the sake of his wife and children hefought on, though with ever-increasing weakness, until the roar of thesea was meaningless in his ears, and his upturned eyes gazed at the sun,without sight.
Death was then very close at hand. He never knew the exact manner ofhis rescue or the period of his unconsciousness. He came back to lifein a wretched hut on a desolate coast. Several natives stood aroundhim. They were ill clothed, miserably poor, and, to our way ofthinking, absolutely without the necessities of life. However, theytreated the white man to the best of their ability, lighting a fire forhim, gathering shell-fish for him, even giving up to his wants theirgreatest dainty--an occasional bird.
From this savage condition he was rescued by an American whaler; andafterwards, joining a Chilian ship at Valparaiso, he worked his wayround to Rio. Thence he got to the West Indies, where, by a fortunateaccident, he secured a mate's berth in a homeward-bound vessel.
Then Mrs. Hartland had to tell her story; and as she praised Jim'sunselfishness, the sailor kept patting him on the shoulder andmurmuring, "Good boy! Good boy, Jimmy! You did well!"
"As to this young schoolmaster," said he, "he's a regular brick! Thankgoodness we can pay him for Jim's upkeep and all that, but we can neverrepay his generous thoughtfulness. Money's no good for that part of thecase."
"No," remarked his wife; "and money will not repay Dr. Stewart either.We have had much to be thankful for, John."
"'Pon my word!" exclaimed the sailor, bringing his great fist down onthe table with a mighty bang, "I did not think, lass, there was so muchkindness in the world. When shall I be able to see Susie?"
"We must consult the doctor," said his wife. "The sudden shock may notbe good for her."
"Ah," said he with a sigh, "we must be careful; but my heart's sore tosee the little lass."
True to his promise, Jim was early at the shop next morning, and forseveral days he toiled early and late until his employer's busy time wasover. It was one way of showing his gratitude, and he had no thought ofreward.
The news of his father's return quickly spread through Beauleigh, and hereceived the congratulations of all kinds of people. Dick Boden, ofcourse, found his way to Brook Street, where, it is perhaps hardlynecessary to state, he was warmly welcomed.
"I shan't forget you in a hurry, my son!" exclaimed the jovial sailor,"nor what you did for Jim. I've heard the yarn. Just wait till I comeback from my next voyage."
"I hope," observed Dick, with the usual innocent expression on his face,"that it won't take quite as long as the last." And the sailor laughed.
He would have felt quite happy now, had his little girl been at home.His heart yearned for the lass, but he was buoyed up by a wonderfulhope. With the doctor's permission, he had seen her at the hospital, andhad come away with the profound conviction that she was graduallygrowing stronger. Indeed, Dr. Stewart had said as much, and more also.
"Next summer," he had said, "in all human probability, Pussy will walk,and before the end of the year even go a short distance without the aidof crutches."
Mr. Laythorne had left the town at the beginning of the holidays, andJim could not communicate with him; but at last his letter arrived,directing the boy to join him at 7 Mortimer Gardens, Portsmouth, on thefollowing morning. Accordingly, Mrs. Hartland packed his things, Jimpaid a farewell visit to his sister, went to see Dick, who was nowinstalled in Sir Thomas Arkell's business, and then spent a quiet hourwith his parents.
"I'll come with you, my boy," said his father. "I wish to thank this Mr.Laythorne, and to have a little talk with him."
The schoolmaster was naturally somewhat surprised by the appearance ofthe sturdy, deep-chested sailor; but Jim soon explained matters, andthen his father said,--
"I am a plain man, sir, and not much used to figures of speech, but Iwant to thank you from my heart for your kindness. You've been a realSamaritan to my boy, and none of us will ever forget it. There is justone thing to be said. I mustn't trade on your generosity. The ownersof the _Morning Star_ have behaved very handsomely, so that I can wellafford to pay Jim's shot. Now that his father is home again, the boymustn't be a burden on you, sir. You see that?"
"Very well," said Mr. Laythorne; "that shall be as you please." Andbefore Jim's father left, the two drew up a fresh and eminentlysatisfactory arrangement.
"And now," said the sailor, "I'll just slip my moorings and runback.--Good-bye, my boy. Write often to your mother, and try to showthis gentleman you're worth the care he has bestowed on you.--Good-bye,sir. If Jim comes to be worth anything in the world we shall have youto thank for it."
They watched him go down the street; and then, turning to the boy, Mr.Laythorne said,--
"This is a happier start than I expected. Now let us go to the school;there are several things to be done before the boys return."
"Yes, sir," replied Jim, anxious to make himself useful, and to beginhis fresh start in life.
L'ENVOI.
Seven years have gone by since the events just recorded. It isChristmas Eve, and the streets of Beauleigh are ablaze with light.
People are hurrying to and fro, laughing, talking, pa
using now and againto wish each other the compliments of the season. Children stand at theshop windows, gazing in wonder and delight at the gorgeous toys, thepretty picture-books, and the numerous games which make them look likefairyland. The bright red berries of the holly shine and sparkle in thebrilliant light, the mistletoe hangs temptingly overhead, the turkeysand geese are garlanded with ribbons and decked with green.
Inside the shop of Messrs. Gotch and Parker, the eminent jewellers, ayoung man is buying an exquisite brooch.
"I think, mother, that this will please her," he remarks to thewell-dressed woman seated close by.
Look at the laughing blue eyes, the fresh-coloured cheeks, the winningsmile. Surely this young gentleman is an old acquaintance. Mr. Boden,the shopman calls him; but to us he is Dick, or Dicky, or the Angel,just as memory prompts.
"Thanks," he says, placing the tiny packet in his pocket. "Now, mother,lean on my arm."
Yes, it certainly is our light-hearted Dick, whom we will take theliberty of following, as he pilots his mother through the crowdedstreets, then into the quieter part of the town, and so to the foot of afairly steep hill facing the sea.
He is evidently well known in Beauleigh, and respected, too, one wouldimagine. Many people stop to shake his hand, and to wish him a "merryChristmas." Some are poor, other well-to-do; but their wealth orpoverty makes no difference in the warmth of his greeting. It is easyto see that things have prospered with him, but he is just as kind andgenerous and simple-hearted as in the old days.
"O my aunt!" he exclaims with a boyish laugh, looking at the hill;"fancy having this to climb! You'll need a rest, mother, by the time wereach the top!"
Mrs. Boden smiles, and glances proudly at the handsome young fellow onwhose arm she is leaning. It must needs be a steep hill she could notclimb with him to help her.
They are up at last, and a stream of light comes from the open doorwayof a large, old-fashioned house.
"There he is!" cries Dick excitedly; and the next instant he is shakinghands with another young fellow, who pulls him laughingly inside.
"Come along, old man!--Come along, Mrs. Boden!" he exclaims. "A merryChristmas to you both!"
"The same to you, Jim, and many of 'em. You're looking well, old chap,considering that heavy grind.--A merry Christmas, Mrs. Hartland! See,you have half killed mother! How? Why, by living up in the clouds.You ought to keep a special tramway for your guests--'pon my word youought."
"Quite right, Dick, my boy!" exclaims a deep voice; and a tanned,bearded man comes into the room with a sailor-like roll.
"Let me congratulate you on your appointment, Mr. Hartland," cries Dick."No more ploughing the salt seas for you!"
John Hartland has just procured the berth of traffic manager to theharbour board.
"It's almost a pity, though," says Mr. Hartland with a laugh, "that thehouse is perched up so high. I tell the wife we live in a sort ofeagle's nest. Still, it suits Susie remarkably well; I must admitthat."
"Isn't Susie here?" asks Dick innocently, looking round as if he hadonly just discovered her absence.
"She's upstairs," laughs her father, "putting on a few more fal-lals, Iexpect. The lasses are all alike in that respect."
Dick whispers to Mrs. Hartland, at the same time slipping something intoher hand, and the others smile at one another as she glides out of theroom. She reappears presently, followed by a young girl, the neck ofwhose dress is fastened by an exquisite brooch.
"O Dick!" she exclaims, running forward, "thank you very much. It isjust lovely!"
Dick, looking a trifle shamefaced, murmurs some reply, while Jim canhardly take his eyes from his sister's face. He has not been at homemuch of late years, and he can never quite restrain a thrill of surpriseon seeing the beautiful girl as she passes before him with all the graceof a young fawn.
Presently, when they are all quietly seated, Dick says, with a joyouslaugh,--
"By the way, I have a surprise packet for you. Barton, our manager, hasresigned, and Mr. Leverton has been appointed in his place. That leavesthe under-manager's berth vacant, and--"
"You haven't got it, Dick?"
"How can a fellow tell his yarn if he's interrupted in this fashion?But, just to relieve your suspense, I beg to state that the newunder-manager for Sir Thomas Arkell is Mr. Richard Boden, whom hisfriends call Dick, and sometimes Dicky."
How they laugh, and cheer, and congratulate him--almost like a parcel ofschool-boys! It certainly is a memorable Christmas Eve.
"That partnership is decidedly drawing nearer!" laughs Jim. "I shallsoon begin to look for the altered sign."
He himself has not done badly. He has passed through college withflying colours, has earned the right to place "B.A. (Lond.)" after hisname, and now, on returning to Beauleigh, has been appointed one of themasters at the Deanery School.
They are very proud of him at home, for he has more than fulfilled theirexpectations, and has brought some amount of credit to the good oldtown.
"Sometimes," he exclaims thoughtfully, "it all seems like a dream, and Ipinch myself to make sure that I am awake. I little imagined, dad, whenwe heard of the loss of the _Morning Star_, that things would turn outlike this. We have been very fortunate in finding good friends, and thebest one of all, as far as I am concerned, sits here," he says, pointingto Dick.
* * * * *
Draw the curtains now, light the gas, heap more logs on the roaringfire, and let us, before saying our final word of farewell, take onemore glance at the merry party. For the elders, the stress and storm oflife's battle has abated; they have glided into a peaceful haven, wherethey hear only the echo of the thundering waves outside.
As to the younger ones, who shall prophesy? Life holds many storms andtempests for them yet; but their barks are well manned and stoutlybuilt, and, I think, are likely to ride triumphantly through life'sseas, until they, too, come to a peaceful anchorage.
And so, farewell.
THE END.
* * * * * * * *