Me and Nobbles Part 3

'Come in!'

How often he had rehea.r.s.ed his answer to the knock! Why was it that his voice was so husky? Why were his knees trembling so? He was out of his bed now, standing in the middle of the room, a pathetic little figure with his pink bare feet and tumbled curls, and n.o.bbles clasped in his arms.

The door opened. Bobby drew a long, s.h.i.+vering sigh. A huge, black-bearded man in a striped blanket came in. He carried a gun, and an axe was fastened to his belt. He was very tall, and his voice was very gruff.

'Are you Robert Stuart Allonby? I have come to take him away.'

In an instant, with outstretched arms, Bobby sprang forward, 'Father!

I'm ready!'

That was all he said; but as the big man lifted him up Bobby buried his face in the bushy black beard and clasped him round his neck, and a quiver ran through his little body as he whispered in a fervour of joy, 'I'll come with you. Why have you been so long? Oh, father, darling, take me quick, and never let me come back to this old house again.'

'Are you ready to camp out amongst fierce Indians in the wild woods?'

'I'll love to.'

'Where the wolves prowl round at night?'

'I'll be with you.'

'You'll have to ride a wild pony; you will be out in the rain and cold.

You'll have to cut down trees and earn your bread. Sometimes you'll be hungry and cold and tired; there'll be no one to look after you.

You'll have to rough it. So you want to come? Now? Right away?'

'Right away!' repeated Bobby, squeezing tighter round the stranger's neck. 'I'll be with you, father. You'll never leave me again!'

There was such infinite trust and tenderness in the child's voice that the big man wavered, put Bobby down on the floor, tore off his beard and blanket, and revealed himself as Master Mortimer. 'Upon my word you're a plucky little 'un!'

Bobby stared up at him with horror-struck eyes. For the s.p.a.ce of a moment his uncle felt thoroughly ashamed of himself, much as if he were meeting the gaze of a faithful dog he was ill-treating, for the look on the child's face was a broken-hearted one. He stood there with a quivering lip in perfect silence; then turned, crept into his bed again, and lay down with his face to the wall.

n.o.bbles was left upon the floor.

His uncle took a quick step up to the bed.

'Sorry, old fellow; it was a piece of fun. I didn't think you would take it so hard. Did you really think it was your father? I hoped I might put you off him.'

Bobby did not raise his head; he was terribly ashamed of tears, but his little chest was heaving with the bitterness of his disappointment, and he had stuffed a corner of his pillow into his mouth to stifle his sobs.

His self-restraint made his uncle feel more uncomfortable. He sat down by his bed and lifted him out bodily upon his knees, and he tried to soothe him as a woman might.

'I declare, if you were a little older you and I would go off on a tour round the world and search for this runaway father of yours.'

This idea was a risky one to propose, but he felt desperate at the sight of the child's grief.

Bobby raised his eyes for the first time. The tears did not hide the dawn of hope springing up in them.

'I'm old enough,' he said, choking down a sob; 'please take me.'

'It wouldn't do, and we might miss him; he might arrive after you had gone.'

'Me and n.o.bbles could go and look for him our own selves,' Bobby said very thoughtfully. 'We would just ask and ask till they told us where he was.'

His uncle began to feel uneasy. 'No, that's quite the wrong way about.

He must come to you, not you go to him.'

'But,' said Bobby pitifully, 'he never comes, and I'm tireder and tireder of waiting.'

'You go to sleep, and perhaps you'll dream where your father is.

Dreams are rummy things, and n.o.bbles is wanting his sleep, I know.'

Bobby was deposited in bed with his beloved stick, and his eyelids began to droop at once. In a minute or two, worn out with his excitement and consequent depression, he was fast asleep.

His uncle picked up his masquerading attire and left the room muttering, 'I never will play the fool again; it doesn't pay.'

A day or two after this his Uncle Mortimer departed. Bobby was very unhappy at losing him, for uncle and nephew were close friends, and not a day pa.s.sed without their spending some of it together. The uncle promised to look for Bobby's father and send him to him as quickly as possible, and the child's hopes rose high, and he firmly believed that his father's return home would be hastened.

Upon the morning that his uncle left, Bobby's grandmother called him to her when she came into the nursery for her usual visit.

'I want to speak to you,' she said, putting on her gold spectacles and sitting down in Nurse's easy chair.

Bobby stood before her, his hands clasped behind his back.

'Are you not happy with us?' was the question put to him next, a little sharply.

'Yes, gran'ma.'

'Who has been talking to you about your father?'

Bobby was silent.

'Answer me, child.'

'I dunno--Master Mortimer.'

'Do you mean your Uncle Mortimer? He has only just come here. You have some absurd fancy in your head about your father fetching you away from us.'

'Yes, gran'ma.'

'It is quite ridiculous. Your father would not think of doing such a thing. You have been given over to me entirely, and he doesn't trouble about you in the least. I expect he forgets that he has a son. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, gran'ma.'

'I am only telling you this for your good. The sooner you stop thinking about such a foolish thing the better.'

'Yes, gran'ma.'

'You ought to be a very happy grateful little boy. You have a kind nurse and a comfortable home, and everything to satisfy you. Soon you will be going to school, and I hope you will try to grow up a credit to us.'