A Dog with a Bad Name Part 62

Do take warning, Jeffreys, and avoid the bad habit of asking inconvenient questions. You have no idea of the pain they may cause.

Mr Rimbolt's question pained me excessively. Because my ward's money, like himself, had gone to the bad. That would not have been of much consequence, were it not that I was responsible for its going to the bad. It was most inconvenient altogether, I a.s.sure you. It made me feel as if I had behaved not quite well in the matter; and you know how depressing such a feeling would be. Still more inconvenient at the time when I had this talk with Rimbolt about six months ago, I had just come back from America with my finances in not at all a flouris.h.i.+ng condition, so that if even I had been disposed to refund my ward, I could not have done it. Happily he was lost. It was an immense relief to me, I can a.s.sure you.

"Two months ago my finances looked up. I had news that some of my Yankee speculations were turning out well, and I unexpectedly found myself a man of means again. Rimbolt, who certainly has the knack of making ill-timed suggestions, proposed that that would be a good opportunity for making good what properly belonged to my ward. I urged in vain that my ward was lost, and that the money properly belonged to me as a reward for the trouble I had had in the matter. He actually insisted that I should deposit with him, as trustee for my ward, the full amount of what belonged to him, with interest added to date, promising if by any unfortunate accident the fellow should be found, to see it came into his hands. One's obliged to humour Rimbolt, so I did what he wanted, and that's how it stands. If ever this unprofitable ward turns up, he'd better keep his eye on Rimbolt.

"There, you see, Jeffreys, that's just a little anecdote to show you how easy it is, by being inconsiderate, for one person to make another uncomfortable. But now tell me how you like c.u.mberland. You must be quite a mountaineer by this time."

Jeffreys admitted he was pretty good, and had the tact to suit his humour to that of his guardian, and not refer further to the lost ward or his money.

Mr Halgrove stayed two days, and then departed for the Great West, where it is possible he may to-day carry a lighter heart about with him for his latest act of reparation.

Before the trio at Wildtree returned to London, Jeffreys, greatly to Percy's terror, asked leave to go for two days to York. The boy seemed still not quite sure that he had got back his friend for good, and highly disapproved now of putting the temptation to "bolt again," as he called it, in his way. However, Jeffreys "entered into recognisances"

to come back, and even offered to take Percy with him on his journey.

The offer was not accepted, for Percy knew Jeffreys would sooner go alone. But it allayed the boy's uneasiness.

Jeffreys had much trouble to discover Mrs Trimble. Galloway House was still an educational establishment, but its present conductor knew nothing of the lady whose "goodwill and connection" he had purchased so cheaply two years ago.

Finally Jeffreys decided to call at Ash Cottage. The walk up that familiar lane recalled many a strange memory. The bank whereon he had sat that eventful early morning was unchanged, and had lost all traces of Jonah's excavations. The railway embankment he had half thought of helping to construct was already overgrown with gra.s.s, and thundered under the weight of trains every few minutes.

Ash Cottage had not changed a plank or a tile since he last saw it.

There were the same cracks in the wall of the shed, the same bushes on either side of the gate--nay, he was sure those wisps of hay clinging to the branches of the holly had been there two years ago.

As he walked somewhat doubtfully towards the house--for he could hardly forget under what circ.u.mstances he had last seen Farmer Rosher--he heard a boy's shout behind him, and looking round, perceived Freddy and Teddy giving chase.

"It _is_ Jeff!" shouted Freddy. "I knew him a mile away."

"I saw him first. We knew you'd come back, Jeff; huzzah!"

"That tricycle wants looking to awful bad. Our feet touch the ground on it now, Jeff."

"Come on to the shed, I say, and put it right. _How_ brickish of you to come back, Jeff!"

A long afternoon the happy Jeff spent over that intractable tricycle.

It was past all repair; but no feat of engineering was ever applauded as were the one or two touches by which he contrived to make it stand upright and bear the weight of a boy. Before the work was over Farmer Rosher had joined them, well pleased at his boys' delight.

"Thee's paid oop for thy sin, lad," said he. "I did thee and the lads more harm than I meant; but thee's a home here whenever thee likes, to make up for it; and come away and see the missus and have a drop of tea."

From the farmer, who may have had good reason for knowing, Jeffreys learned that Mrs Trimble was comfortably quartered in an almshouse; and there, next morning--for there was do escaping from Ash Cottage that night--he found her, and soothed her with the news he had to tell of her poor prodigal.

"Well, well," she said, "G.o.d is merciful; and He will reward you, John, as He had pity on the lad. And now will you be sure and take a mother's blessing to the sweet lady, and tell her if she ever wants to make an old woman happy, he has only to come here, and let me see her and kiss her for what she has done for me and mine?"

That message he delivered a week later as he walked with Raby one afternoon in Regent's Park. It was not exactly a chance walk. They had both been up to the orphanage at Hampstead with the reluctant Tim and his brother, to leave them there in good motherly hands till the troubles of infancy should be safely pa.s.sed.

It was Tim who had insisted on having the escort of both his natural guardians on the occasion; and at such a time and on such an errand Tim's word was law. So they had gone all four in a cab, and now Raby and Jeffreys returned, and with a sense of bereavement, through the Park.

"I will certainly go and see Mrs Trimble when next I am North," said Raby, "though I wish I deserved half her grat.i.tude."

"You deserve it all. You were an angel of light to that poor fellow."

They walked on some way in silence. Then she said--

"Storr Alley is so different now, Mr Jeffreys. A family of seven is in your garret. You would hardly know the place."

"It would be strange indeed if I did not, for I too saw light there."

"How wonderful it all was!" said Raby.

"When Jonah was telling me about his good protector, John, how little I dreamed it was you!"

"And when you wrote this little letter," said he, showing her the precious sc.r.a.p of paper, "how little you dreamed who would bless you for it!"

"The blessing belonged, did it not, to Him Who has been leading us all, in mercy, in His own way?"

Again they walked in silence.

Was it accident, or what, which brought them, without knowing it, to a spot which to each was full of painful memories?

Raby was the first to stop abruptly.

"Let us go another way, Mr Jeffreys, if you don't mind. I don't like this avenue."

"No more do I," said Jeffreys, who had stopped too.

"Why?" she asked.

"Need I say?"

"Not if you don't like."

"I have not walked down here since an afternoon last October. There was a sudden storm of rain--"

"What! Were you here then?"

"I was. You did not see me."

"You saw me then. I was with Mr Scarfe."

"Yes. You were--"

"Miserable and angry," said she, her face kindling at the recollection.

He darted one glance at her, as brief as that he had darted on the afternoon of which they spoke.

Then, he had read nothing but despair for himself; now, though her eyes were downcast and her voice angry, he thought he read hope.

"Suppose," said he, in a little while, "instead of running away from the path, we just walk down it together. Would you mind? Are you afraid?"

"No," she said, smiling. And they walked on.

THE END.