Sue, A Little Heroine Part 41

Out of the cab the old gentleman stepped. He entered the hall. He was a very fussy old man, and did not want a young child to live in the house with him. He expected, too, that Mrs. Harvey's boy--he had undoubtedly a great contempt for poor young Harvey--would be a miserable, dwindled, wretched sort of creature. But, lo and behold! a little chap with head well thrown back, his eyes bright and lips brave, stepped up to him.

"Here I am, Uncle Stephen. I am Ronald. How do you do?"

"Bless my soul!" said the old man. "Let me look at you."

He drew the boy round so as to get the light on his face.

"'Pon my word!" he said, "you are not the sort of little chap I expected. You're uncommon like your father."

Ronald flushed with pride. Mr. Harvey came into the parlor and had a little talk with Mrs. Anderson.

"I am indeed indebted to you, madam," he said. "This boy is so surprisingly like my nephew that I could almost fancy the years had gone back and I was teaching the little chap to take his first gallop.--Your father was game on a horse, my lad."

"Yes, sir," said Ronald, nodding his head. "'Spect so, sir," he added.

The old gentleman chucked him under the chin and uttered a laugh.

"Well, boy, we must be going," he said. "We mustn't keep your kind friend. You will let me know, madam, for what I am indebted to you."

"For nothing, sir," said Mrs. Anderson. A crimson color rushed into her face. "It has been a labor of love to help this dear little fellow. I could take no money; you mustn't even mention it, sir."

"Well, madam--well--I respect your proper pride, and anything I can do---- By the way--eh, Ronald?--there's no saying, but I might invite your friend down to the country.--Do you know Somersets.h.i.+re, madam?"

"I used to know it very well when I was a girl. My people lived in Somersets.h.i.+re."

"Then perhaps you will come and pay us a visit, and see Ronald after he has learned the full use of the saddle and bridle--eh, Ronald?"

"Oh--aunty! Will you come?" said Ronald.

"I will, darling.--I should like it very much indeed, Mr. Harvey; it is most kind of you to ask me."

"But please--please," said Ronald, who had suddenly lost all his fear, "may Connie come, too?"

"Who's Connie?"

"My special friend and sister."

"Ho, ho!" said the old man. "I must hear more about her. Can make no rash promises. But all right, little chap; I'll do what I can for you.

Now, if you had taken after---- Well, never mind--I won't say anything to hurt you."

"And, please," said Ronald suddenly, "of course you wouldn't pay my aunty, for the things she did can't be paid for. But poor Mrs.

Cricket--aunty, I know her address. The place in the country is called Eastborough; and it's Ivy Cottage, aunty; and--she was good to me----"

"Yes," said Mrs. Anderson, "you'll let me explain, please, Mr. Harvey.

This dear little boy spent a month at Mrs. Cricket's, and she was never paid a penny."

"She ought to be paid," said Ronald. "Course, when father returns he'll pay you back again. But she ought to get it, for there was real new-laid eggs, and the chickens were so tender."

"'Pon my word," said the old gentleman, "you're a queer boy! I guess you've got the true Harvey blood in you. Never neglect a friend--eh? And never owe a penny. Well now, madam, will you see to this? And what amount of money ought I to give you for the woman?"

Mrs. Anderson named what she thought would be a correct sum, and immediately afterwards the old gentleman produced the money from his waistcoat pocket.

It was a hard moment for Ronald when he said good-bye, but after he got into the cab he could not help feeling both surprised and elated. He could not help staring and staring at the old gentleman.

"Was it your photograph," he said at last, "that my father kept in his dressing-room?"

"I expect so," said the old gentleman.

"It's surprising," said Ronald, "how I forget. But now I remember. He loved you--he used to talk to me about you. He said it was you taught him first to be brave."

"Bless him--bless him!" said the old gentleman.

His voice got a little raspy; it is certain that his eyes were a little dim.

"Perhaps," said Ronald--he had a marvelous way of comprehending the situation--"but for you he would not have been a V. C. man."

"G.o.d bless you! It was in himself--he had the n.o.blest heart, the grandest nature! There, boy! don't upset me. 'Pon my word! I hated the thought of having you---- And I hated going to you," said Ronald; "but----"

The old face looked into the young face, and the young face looked into the old face, and then they both laughed.

Before they reached the old gentleman's hotel Ronald had so far advanced to a friendly footing that he had peered into the contents of the old man's pocket, had pulled out his watch, had applied it to his ear, and had even gone the amazing length of demanding one for himself.

CHAPTER XXVI.

TWO CUPS OF COFFEE.

When Harris parted from Giles and Connie--on the very same day that Connie had gone to tea with Ronald, on the very same day that Ronald had visited Giles--he was as troubled and miserable as man could be. There was but one brave thing for him to do--he ought to confess his sin.

Where Sue could be he had not the faintest idea. Why was she absent? It was days now since she had left her home--Sue, of all people--Sue, with a little delicate brother like Giles. It was unlike her to go. There could be but one reason. Harris had taken means to ascertain whether poor Sue had been up before the magistrates. He knew enough about the law, and about crime generally, to know that she would be taken up for theft to Bow Street; but beyond doubt she had never gone there. Where in all the world could she be? Harris was by no means sufficiently sorry to give himself up for conscience's sake; but he was in a state of nervousness and great distress of mind.

As he walked down a side-street, his hands in his pockets, his rough fur cap--which he generally wore slouched--well off his eyes, he was suddenly accosted by a red-haired boy, who looked at him with a very innocent face and inquired meekly "ef he were lookin' for a job."

"None o' yer sauce, youngster," said Harris, pa.s.sing on.

"I don't mean the least sauce in life, master," said the red-haired boy, still in the most humble and gentle tone. "I only thought ef we were goin' in the same direction we might p'rhaps cheer each other up."

"You're a likely youngster, you ere," he said, looking down at him with the grimmest of smiles.

"Yus, my mother says as I'm well grown for my hage," replied Pickles; and then, keeping pace with the tall man, he began to whistle softly.

Harris returned to his interrupted thoughts, and soon forgot the small boy, who had to run to keep up with his long strides. Suddenly the little boy exclaimed in a shrill, eager treble:

"I say, mister!"

"Wot now, young 'un?"