From Squire to Squatter Part 15

"Well really, Archie," said Elsie, "you talk as earnestly as if you actually were going to die."

"Who said I was going to die? No, I don't mean to die till I've done much more mischief."

"Hus.h.!.+ Archie."

"Well, I'm hushed."

"Why do you want to make your will?"

"Oh, it isn't wanting to make my will! I am--I've done it. And the 'why' is this, I'm going away."

"To Oxford?"

"No, Elsie, not to Oxford. I've got quite enough Latin and Greek out of Walton to last me all my life. I couldn't be a doctor; besides father is hardly rich enough to make me one at present. I couldn't be a doctor, and I'm not good enough to be a parson."

"Archie, how you talk."

There were tears in Elsie's eyes now.

"I can't help it. I'm going away to enter life in a new land. Uncle Ramsay has told me all about Australia. He says the old country is used up, and fortunes can be made in a few years on the other side of the globe."

There was silence in the turret for long minutes; the whispering of the wind in the elm trees beneath could be heard, the murmuring of the river, and far away in the woods the cawing of rooks.

"Don't you cry, Elsie," said Archie. "I've been thinking about all this for some time, and my mind is made up. I'm going, Elsie, and I know it is for the best. You don't imagine for a single moment, do you, that I'll forget the dear old times, and you all? No, no, no. I'll think about you every night, and all day long, and I'll come back rich. You don't think that I _won't_ make my fortune, do you? Because I mean to, and will. So there. Don't cry, Elsie."

"_I'm_ not going to cry, Archie," said Rupert.

"Right, Rupert, you're a brick, as Branson says."

"I'm not old enough," continued Rupert, "to give you my blessing, though I suppose Kate would give you hers; but we'll all pray for you."

"Well," said Archie thoughtfully, "that will help some."

"Why, you silly boy, it will help a lot."

"I wish I were as good as you, Rupert. But I'm just going to try hard to do my best, and I feel certain I'll be all right."

"You know, Roup, how well I can play cricket, and how I often easily bowl father out. Well, that is because I've just tried my very hardest to become a good player; and I'm going to try my very hardest again in another way. Oh, I shall win! I'm c.o.c.ksure I shall. Come, Elsie, dry your eyes. Here's my handkie. Don't be a little old wife."

"You won't get killed, or anything, Archie?"

"No; I won't get killed, or eaten either."

"They do tell me," said Elsie--"that is, old Kate told me--that the streets in Australia are all paved with gold, and that the roofs of the houses are all solid silver."

"Well, I don't think she is quite right," said Archie, laughing.

"Anyhow, uncle says there is a fortune to be made, and I'm going to make it. That's all."

Archie went straight away down from that boy's room feeling every inch a man, and had an interview with his father and uncle.

It is needless to relate what took place there, or to report the conversation which the older folks had that evening in the little green parlour. Both father and uncle looked upon Archie's request as something only natural. For both these men, singular to say, had been boys once themselves; and, in the Squire's own words, Archie was a son to be proud of.

"We can't keep the lad always with us, mother," said Squire Broadbent; "and the wide world is the best of schools. I feel certain that, go where he will, he won't lose heart. If he does, I should be ashamed to own him as a son. So there! My only regret is, Ramsay, that I cannot send the lad away with a better lined pocket."

"My dear silly old brother, he will be better as he is. And I'm really not sure that he would not be better still if he went away, as many have gone before him, with only a stick and a bundle over his shoulder. You have a deal too much of the Broadbent pride; and Archie had better leave that all behind at home, or be careful to conceal it when he gets to the land of his adoption."

The following is a brief list of Archie's stock-in-trade when he sailed away in the good s.h.i.+p _Dugong_ to begin the world alone: 1. A good stock of clothes. 2. A good stock of a.s.surance. 3. Plenty of hope. 4. Good health and abundance of strength. 5. A little nest egg at an Australian bank to keep him partly independent till he should be able to establish a footing. 6. Letters of introduction, blessings, and a little pocket Bible.

His uncle chose his s.h.i.+p, and sent him away round the Cape in a good old-fas.h.i.+oned sailing vessel. And his uncle went to Glasgow to see him off, his last words being, "Keep up your heart, boy, whatever happens; and keep calm in every difficulty. Good-bye."

Away sailed the s.h.i.+p, and away went Archie to see the cities that are paved with gold, and whose houses have roofs of solid silver.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

BOOK II--AT THE GOLDEN GATES.

"SPOKEN LIKE HIS FATHER'S SON."

"Cheer, boys, cheer, no more of idle sorrow, Courage, true hearts shall bear us on our way; Hope flies before, and points the bright to-morrow, Let us forget the dangers of to-day."

That dear old song! How many a time and oft it has helped to raise the drooping spirits of emigrants sailing away from these loved islands, never again to return!

The melody itself too is such a manly one. Inez dear, bring my fiddle.

Not a bit of bravado in that ringing air, bold and all though it is.

Yet every line tells of British ardour and determination--ardour that no thoughts of home or love can cool, determination that no danger can daunt.

"Cheer, boys, cheer." The last rays of the setting sun were lighting up the Cornish cliffs, on which so few in that good s.h.i.+p would ever again set eyes, when those around the forecastle-head took up the song.

"Cheer, boys, cheer." Listen! Those on the quarterdeck join in the chorus, sinking in song all difference of cla.s.s and rank. And they join, too, in that rattling "Three times three" that bids farewell to England.

Then the crimson clouds high up in the west change to purple and brown, the sea grows grey, and the distant sh.o.r.e becomes slaty blue. Soon the stars peep out, and the pa.s.sengers cease to tramp about, and find their way below to the cosily-lighted saloon.

Archie is sitting on a sofa quite apart from all the others. The song is still ringing in his head, and, if the whole truth must be told, he feels just a trifle down-hearted. He cannot quite account for this, though he tries to, and his thoughts are upon the whole somewhat rambling. They would no doubt be quite connected if it were not for the distracting novelty of all his present surroundings, which are as utterly different from anything he has. .h.i.therto become acquainted with as if he had suddenly been transported to another planet.

No, he cannot account for being dull. Perhaps the motion of the s.h.i.+p has something to do with it, though this is not a very romantic way of putting it. Archie has plenty of moral courage; and as the s.h.i.+p encountered head winds, and made a long and most difficult pa.s.sage down through the Irish Sea, he braced himself to get over his morsel of _mal de mer_, and has succeeded.

He is quite cross with himself for permitting his mind to be tinged with melancholy. That song ought to have set him up.

"Why should we weep to sail in search of fortune?"

Oh, Archie is not weeping; catch him doing anything so girlish and peevis.h.!.+ He would not cry in his cabin where he could do so without being seen, and it is not likely he would permit moisture to appear in his eyes in the saloon here. Yet his home never did seem to him so delightful, so cosy, so happy, as the thoughts of it do now. Why had he not loved it even more than he did when it was yet all around him? The dear little green parlour, his gentle lady mother that used to knit so quietly by the fire in the winter's evenings, listening with pleasure to his father's daring schemes and hopeful plans. His bonnie sister, Elsie, so proud of him--Archie; Rupert, with his pale, cla.s.sical face and gentle smile; matter-of-fact Walton; jolly old Uncle Ramsay. They all rose up before his mind's eye as they had been; nay but as they might be even at that very moment. And the room in the tower, the evenings spent there in summer when daylight was fading over the hills and woods, and the rooks flying wearily home to their nests in the swaying elm trees; or in winter when the fire burned brightly on the hearth, and weird old Kate sat in her high-backed chair, telling her strange old-world stories, with Branson, wide-eyed, fiddle in hand, on a seat near her, and Bounder--poor Bounder--on the bear's skin. Then the big kitchen, or servants' hall--the servants that all loved "master Archie" so dearly, and laughed and enjoyed every prank he used to play.

Dear old Burley! should he ever see it again? A week has not pa.s.sed since he left it, and yet it seems and feels a lifetime.

He was young a week ago; now he is old, very old--nearly a man. Nearly?

Well, nearly, in years; in thoughts, and feelings, and circ.u.mstances even--_quite_ a man. But then he should not feel down-hearted for this simple reason; he had left home under such bright auspices. Many boys run away to sea. The difference between their lot and his is indeed a wide one. Yes, that must be very sad. No home life to look back upon, no friends to think of or love, no pleasant present, no hopeful future.