Brave and True Part 5

"Trust herself to me," said Bernard valiantly.

Dolly laughed. "Why, you ain't sixteen, Mr Bernard, and not done with your schooling. But, as parson said, so strange-like, on Sunday, for his text--'the only son of his mother and she was a widow'--you're all she has left."

When Mrs Gray and her son were alone she told Bernard the whole history of their misfortunes. An unfortunate speculation on the part of their trustee had left them almost penniless. "There is nothing left to us,"

she said, "but this little cottage and seventeen pounds in the cash-box.

But, Bernard," she added, "I grieve over nothing but your school. You had such a brilliant future, and so many friends."

"Oh, but there were to be so many new fellows next term--nearly all my chums were to leave, so don't grieve over that," answered Bernard, ignoring her words about his future. Then he explained his "experiment."

"I have decided," he said, "to sweep a crossing."

"Sweep a crossing! Ah, that is what so many people say, but they would never do it when it came to the point."

"It's what I mean to do," said Bernard quietly. "It's an inspiration, Mother, I a.s.sure you. You say this cottage is freehold, is it not, and worth--how much?"

"I have been offered one hundred pounds for it, but it is too near the railway, and too much out of repair to be valuable."

"We shall do better than that. Do you know how many people go down this road daily to the station since all those new villas were built?"

Mrs Gray shook her head.

"Five hundred, and the place is growing like--well, like old boots.

Now, Mother, this is my scheme. You know how bad the approach to the station is. You know, also, that the new asphalt path from the new blocks of houses comes to our very garden gate. Well, people can come so far without muddying their boots. Now, our garden abuts almost on the railway-platform, so I propose sweeping a path straight across from the road, putting up a gate at each end, and saving people five hundred yards of quagmire, and a good five minutes in time, and a lot of swear-words, and my charge for all these improvements will be one penny!"

The next morning, at half-past seven, the new path of forty yards was swept from end to end, some of the palings were pulled down near the railway-bank, and another small path swept up to the platform.

An old door was placed lengthwise over the front gate and painted white, and on it, in somewhat clumsy printing, was the announcement:--"Quickest way to Endwell Railway-Station. Dry all the way. Admission, one penny."

About eight o'clock the business men came hurrying along under their umbrellas, for it was still drizzling. They looked at Bernard in a curious way and then at the signboard, but they scarcely grasped the situation, and plunged heroically into the five hundred yards of mud.

At nine o'clock a wealthy stockbroker came panting along, late for his train; so Bernard shouted to him: "Come my way, Mr Blunt; it will save you five hundred yards and all that horrid mud!"

"Hullo, Gray; back from school?" he gasped. "What's the idea, eh?"

So Bernard told him his scheme in as few words as possible.

"Then I'll be your first patron, my boy," and Mr Blunt held out a s.h.i.+lling. "There's your first capital."

"Only a penny," laughed Bernard, pus.h.i.+ng back the kind hand, and pointing to his signboard.

"Oh, we are proud," said Mr Blunt. "Well, I wish you luck! Through you I shall catch my train, and it means a little matter to me to the tune of three hundred pounds."

A week after this, scores of people went through Bernard's garden morning and evening, and the whole place rang with his plucky experiment. "Four pounds, five and sixpence for the first week, Mother; but we will do better yet," said Bernard.

Many people came through the gates from sheer curiosity, and nearly everyone preferred paying him the penny toll, instead of walking the five hundred yards of uneven road, even on dry days! In the following spring, Endwell suddenly grew into such an important place that the railway company was compelled to enlarge the station, and a director being informed of Bernard's experiment, and the distinct value of a shorter approach, came to see Mrs Gray about her little property, but she would not be "talked over" by the smart director. Then an enterprising builder came, and made a very tempting offer. Still she resisted. At last, however, the railway people offered a price which it would have been folly to refuse, so Bernard was forced to give up his "scheme."

Mrs Gray now lives in a pretty flat in South Kensington with her faithful old Dolly, surrounded by many of her former luxuries, but she is happiest in the possession of such a brave and n.o.ble son. Bernard's future is a.s.sured, for he showed all the qualities that command success in his last _experiment_.

CHAPTER TEN.

TOBY THE CLOWN, BY ANON.

Toby's the most famous clown, In the country or the town; Never was a laugh so ringing, When the children hear him singing!

See, he stands upon two legs, With his hat for coppers begs; Do you think that you, if you Were a dog, as much could do?

Little maid and little man, Throw him all the pence you can!

When perhaps he'll show you how He says "Thank you," Bow! wow! wow!

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A CHRISTMAS PARTY, BY JOHN STRANGE WINTER.

It was getting very near Christmas-time, and all the boys at Miss Ware's school were talking excitedly about going home for the holidays, of the fun they would have, the presents they would receive on Christmas morning, the tips from Grannies, Uncles, and Aunts, of the pantomimes, the parties, the never-ending joys and pleasures which would be theirs.

"I shall go to Madame Tussaud's and to the Drury Lane pantomime," said young Fellowes, "and my Mother will give a party, and Aunt Adelaide will give another, and Johnny Sanderson and Mary Greville, and ever so many others. I shall have a splendid time at home. Oh, Jim, I wish it were all holidays, like it is when one's grown up."

"My Uncle Bob is going to give me a pair of skates--clippers," remarked Harry Wadham.

"My Father's going to give me a bike," put in George Alderson.

"Will you bring it back to school with you?" asked Harry.

"Oh, yes, I should think so, if Miss Ware doesn't say no."

"I say, s.h.i.+vers," cried Fellowes, "where are you going to spend your holidays?"

"I'm going to stop here," answered the boy called s.h.i.+vers, in a very forlorn tone.

"Here--with old Ware?--oh, my! Why can't you go home?"

"I can't go home to India," answered s.h.i.+vers. His real name, by the bye, was Egerton--Tom Egerton.

"No--who said you could? But haven't you any relations anywhere?"

s.h.i.+vers shook his head. "Only in India," he said miserably.

"Poor old chap; that's rough luck for you. Oh, I'll tell you what it is, you fellows: if I couldn't go home for the holidays--especially Christmas--I think I'd just sit down and die."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't," said s.h.i.+vers; "you'd hate it and you'd get ever so homesick and miserable, but you wouldn't die over it. You'd just get through somehow, and hope something would happen before next year, or that some kind fairy or other would--"

"Bos.h.!.+ there are no fairies nowadays," said Fellowes. "See here, s.h.i.+vers: I'll write home and ask my Mother if she won't invite you to come back with me for the holidays."

"Will you really?"