Chatterbox, 1905 Part 59

'No,' I said, 'I never saw him give any fellow a licking; but, still----'

'Anyhow,' Mr. Westlake continued, 'I have decided to write to Major Ruston, and tell him all the circ.u.mstances, offering to do anything on your behalf which he wishes; then I shall take a train to Castlemore the first thing to-morrow morning and have a chat with Mr. Turton.'

'I wish you wouldn't,' I exclaimed.

'That is what I feel compelled to do,' he said, 'and what I hope will happen is this. I hope that Mr. Turton will take you back and promise me to treat you well until there's time to get an answer from Madras. If that answer is unfavourable, though it is not in the least likely to be, I shall see Mr. Turton again. In any case, we must have no more wanderings. There has been enough of that. Supposing that Major Ruston cannot do anything, and Mr. Turton declines to keep you, we must make the best of a bad job. No doubt I can find you employment in a firm with which I am connected, and you ought to have sense enough to see that this is the very best thing to be done in the circ.u.mstances.'

'Couldn't you find me work at once, and not tell Mr. Turton?' I suggested eagerly, while Mrs. Westlake fixed her eyes on his face. But he slowly shook his head.

'Understand,' he said, 'I don't intend to lose sight of you again. At the worst, you will have to work for your living; but, in the meantime,'

he added, 'I am going to put you on your honour. You must give me your word not to attempt to leave the house alone until my return.'

Of course I gave my word, but I felt that my last hope had gone. All that I had done, all that I had pa.s.sed through, had been to no purpose.

I might as well--far better--have stayed at Castlemore, since there seemed little doubt that I should be taken back to Ascot House to-morrow. I could imagine Augustus's triumphant sn.i.g.g.e.r, and all the humiliation of the return.

'I should not be surprised,' said Jacintha, later in the afternoon, 'if Mr. Turton refused to take you back, and if he does,' she exclaimed, 'Father is going to see whether Mr. Windlesham will have you until he hears from Major Ruston.'

'I should not mind that,' I answered. 'I shall not mind anything if I don't go back to Mr. Turton's.'

I went to bed early that night, and slept perfectly until one of the maids knocked at my door the next morning. But when--as soon as we had finished breakfast--Mr. Westlake was driven away from the door in a hansom, I felt that my own departure might be only a matter of a few hours. During the morning Mrs. Westlake took me out for a drive with Jacintha, but try as I might it was impossible to show them a cheerful face, and while I understood that Mr. Westlake was doing what he considered the best for me, it seemed difficult not to regard him as an enemy. That afternoon I sat in the dining-room, unable to attempt to make my escape because of the promise which I had given Mr. Westlake, yet feeling that there were few things I would not endure rather than eat humble pie and go back to Mr. Turton.

Four o'clock had struck, and Mr. Westlake might arrive at almost any moment with the news of my fate.

'Do you think,' suggested Jacintha, 'that Father will bring Mr. Turton with him?'

'I should not be a sc.r.a.p surprised,' I answered, dismally. 'Then I shall sleep at Ascot House to-night.'

'Mind you write,' she exclaimed, 'and tell me everything that horrid Augustus says, and all about things.'

A little later, as the clock struck half-past four, Mrs. Westlake entered the room.

'I think Mr. Westlake must have missed the train which he expected to catch,' she said. 'The next will not bring him home until about half-past six.'

'We were wondering whether Father would bring Mr. Turton with him!'

cried Jacintha.

Mrs. Westlake came to my side, resting a hand on my shoulder. 'You know,' she said, gently, 'that at the very worst you will only stay at Castlemore until we hear from Mrs. Ruston.'

But, for some reason, I placed very little confidence in Aunt Marion, who, I felt certain, had entirely washed her hands of me before her marriage. Presently Jacintha suggested that we should go to another room where there was a chess-table, but it was impossible to fix my thoughts on the game, and she checkmated me twice in ten minutes.

'It's no good,' I exclaimed. 'I can't think of anything but Mr. Turton.'

When the clock on the mantelpiece struck six, I rose from my chair and began to fidget about the room, looking every few minutes to see how the time was pa.s.sing.

'I think I heard a cab or something stop at the door!' cried Jacintha presently.

'So did I!' I muttered.

'I wish I knew whether Mr. Turton had come,' she said.

'Can't you find out?' I suggested.

'Perhaps I can see from the hall,' she answered, and as the front door bell rang again she left me alone in the room.

A few seconds later she hastily re-entered.

'There _are_ two!' she cried, excitedly.

'Is one of them Mr. Turton?' I demanded.

'I could not see distinctly through the gla.s.s door,' she said. 'Only I am quite positive there are two.'

As she spoke, and I gave myself up for lost, the butler hastened past the open door of the room in the act of thrusting his left arm into his sleeve. The bell was rung a second time.

'Do have another look!' I urged, and once more Jacintha darted out of the room, while I felt, for my own part, as if my feet were riveted to one particular part of the carpet.

'It isn't Mr. Turton,' she exclaimed, returning the next instant, and this was at least a reprieve.

'Perhaps he wouldn't have me back after all,' I answered, and then I felt suddenly cold from head to foot, for the voice of Mr. Westlake's companion sounded remarkably like one which I had never hoped to hear again. Unable to restrain myself, I ran out to the hall, and there stood Captain Knowlton giving his hat and stick to the butler.

'Ah, Jack!' he said, with one of his casual nods; and he took my hand as if he had parted with me yesterday, and had been expected back as a matter of course to-day. But I began to laugh and cry by turns, clinging to his hand as if I were fully determined never to let him go again.

(_Continued on page 187._)

A SPARROW'S COOLNESS.

Our commonest bird is the sparrow, that plucky, impudent, little creature which hops about in our gardens and yards, and twitters upon our roofs all day long. It seems rather difficult at first to understand why it should be so much more common than other birds. It is not large or strong, or swift on the wing, and it seems to have none of those advantages which would help it to defend itself against enemies. It is not handsome, and it is not a sweet songster, so that man is not disposed to give it much protection. He is often prompted to destroy it, because of the injury which it does to his gardens and his crops.

But in spite of all its difficulties, the sparrow thrives, and brings up a numerous family, because it has less fear of man than other birds have. It frequents the haunts of men, while other birds are scared away from them. It requires some courage to brave the noise and tumult of a town, but the sparrow possesses this courage, and is rewarded accordingly. As other birds are too timid to trust themselves to a life among houses and streets, the sparrow needs no protection from them.

Ordinary as the sparrow is in almost every respect, we cannot but admire its courage and its wariness. It is surrounded by many dangers, and it is not only surprising how it braves them, but also how watchfully it looks out for them, and how cleverly it learns to avoid them. We all know how it watches the cats and the dogs, and even a man with a gun, and seeks a place of safety at the first sign of danger.

One of the newspapers recently gave a very striking instance of a sparrow's confidence and coolness. A pa.s.senger who was waiting for a train in one of the Underground Railway stations observed a sparrow hopping upon the rails in search of crumbs. A train came into the station from the direction in which the pa.s.senger wished to travel, and he had leisure to watch the sparrow. It allowed the engine to come within a few feet of it, and then, instead of flying away, it quickly hopped off the rail upon which it stood, and hopped into the s.p.a.ce between the rails. There it lay until the train puffed out of the station, when it jumped upon the rails again, and resumed its search for crumbs. Presently another train entered the station, and the sparrow was seen to repeat its previous action, and to take refuge once more between the wheels of the train.

W. A. ATKINSON.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "It hopped into the s.p.a.ce between the rails."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The woodp.e.c.k.e.r fled in fear."]

THE INTRUDING SQUIRREL.