BREAKING THE NEWS TO DICK
"YOU have not told him yet."
The speaker was Captain Gidley, who stood on the verandah outside
their bungalow. He spoke in an anxious tone, and glanced at his wife
uneasily. Brave soldier as he was, he felt an abject coward at that
moment at the thought of the parting which must soon take place in
his little family circle, for the next boat which sailed from
Calcutta to England was to bear his only child across the wide waters
to his own and his wife's native land.
"No, I have not told him yet," she replied to her husband's question.
"Dozens of times I have been on the point of speaking to him on the
subject; and then my heart has failed me—and—and—" Mrs. Gidley
broke down completely at this point, and, clinging to her husband's
arm, wept without restraint.
"Listen to me, Margaret," he said tenderly, "you are run down and out
of health yourself, and I really think you must make up your mind
to go to England with the boy!"
"And leave you!" she cried reproachfully, hastily drying her eyes.
"Oh, Richard, that is impossible!"
"Not at all! We should not be parted for long. The regiment's ordered
home next year; and if you will consent to take Dick home—"
"No, no! I cannot think of it! I shall remain with you most
certainly! Did I not tell you ten years ago, when we were first
married, in the words of Ruth of old, 'Whither thou goest I will go!'
And do you think I did not understand then what that might mean some
day? No, our little Dick must go to England alone, and Uncle
Theophilus and Aunt Mary Ann will be good to him for my sake first of
all, and later, when they grow to know him better, for his own.
Dear Richard, don't try to dissuade me from remaining in India with
you. Indeed, I have quite, quite made up my mind, and to-morrow,
all being well, I will tell Dick!"
"The boy ought to be told something of his relations, Margaret!"
"Yes," she agreed; "I think he should be told about your father."
"Not what a hard, unforgiving man he is, and that he has refused the
shelter of his home to his grandson—my son!"
"No, dear, not that, certainly; only that Sir Richard lives near
Holton, and that he is your father."
"There is no need to tell him anything else."
Captain Gidley heaved a sigh of relief. The fact was, his father,
Sir Richard Gidley, had never forgiven him for marrying the orphan
niece of the village doctor, and would have disinherited him if that
had been possible; but his property was strictly heirship, and he
could not will it out of the direct line. However, he had refused
to make his son an additional allowance on his marriage, so that
Captain Gidley and his wife were very poorly off for their position.
When the Indian climate began to tell on the health of their little
son, and they had realised they would not be able to keep him with
them much longer, Captain Gidley had written to Sir Richard asking
him to make a home for the boy, which request had been curtly
refused. Then Mrs. Gidley had written to her aunt and uncle
at Holton, the village on the south coast of England where she had
spent her youth, and in due course received an answer from the former
which ran as follows:—
"No. 8 FORE STREET, HOLTON,"
"May 5, 189—."
"MY DEAR NIECE,—I am writing immediately on receipt
of your letter to tell you how grieved we are to hear
that Dick is so unwell. I fear, my dear Margaret,
that you have no choice but to bravely face the trouble
which presents itself to most English mothers in India—
that God will call upon you to give up your boy to the
charge of those who are strangers to him at an age
when he most wants his mother's care. Of course I agree
with you that your place is with your husband, at any
rate as long as your health will stand the climate."
"I am not surprised that Sir Richard has refused
to take little Dick, though your uncle Theophilus and I
agree that your husband was right in applying to the
child's grandfather first; but since the old man declines
to accept the precious charge, we gladly offer a home
to our dear great-nephew. It is many years since we had
a child in the house— not since you were one yourself,
and we feel quite excited at the prospect of welcoming
your little son! Need I tell you we will do our best
for his welfare and happiness? Send him to us, and,
please God, Holton air will soon make him strong
and well. Your uncle, Theophilus, is in good health;
but I think he finds the night journeys more troublesome
than he used to, though he never complains. Except for
a touch of rheumatism occasionally, I am very well
myself. We have much to be thankful for!"
"You will be able to picture your dear boy in your
old home. I do not think the place has much changed
since you left. God bless you, dear Margaret; may He
keep and console you and your husband in your coming
trial, and may He assist us to take good care of your
little son."
"With much love from your Uncle Theophilus and myself,
and kind regards to Captain Gidley, believe me, my dear
niece, I am, as ever, your affectionate aunt,"
"MARY ANN WARREN."
Mrs. Gidley had no fears anent the welcome Dick would receive from
the writer of this letter, for she well knew from experience how good
and kind was Aunt Mary Ann, who had stood in the place of a mother
to her in her own young days, and who, though she had never married
herself, and had many old-maidish ways, yet understood children, and
could enter into all their sorrows and joys. No people in Holton were
better liked or more respected than Dr. Warren and his sister—
Mrs. Gidley's Uncle Theophilus and Aunt Mary Ann.
"Never speak of sending me home with Dick again," Mrs. Gidley said
earnestly to her husband. "I shall be perfectly satisfied to know he
is with Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Theophilus. And do not trouble
because your father refused to have the boy," she added. "Of course,
I would not have said a word against Dick's going to the Manor House
if Sir Richard had wished it; but I cannot help feeling glad matters
are as they are."
At that moment a voice was heard calling, "Mother, mother, is that
you?"
"Dick is awake!" Mrs. Gidley exclaimed hurriedly. "Shall I go in and
tell him now?"
"Yes, do so, my dear," her husband answered. "He must be told sooner
or later, and he ought to have a little while given him to get
accustomed to the idea of separation from us."
Captain Gidley remained where he was whilst his wife passed through
the doorway which led from the verandah into her little boy's room,
her heart appealing to God to show her the best method of breaking
the news she had to impart. She found Dick sitting up in bed; and she
chided him gently as she rearranged his pillows and smoothed the
light counterpane.
"You ought to be asleep, Dick! You will be so tired and languid
to-morrow!"
"It's so hot, mother!" he cried. "I can't get to sleep, and I thought
I heard your voice outside—father's too!"
"Yes, father's too!" By the subdued glimmer of the night-light she
noticed the boy's face was flushed, and his eyes shining feverishly.
She sat down on the edge of the bed whilst he flung his arms around
her neck, and laid his cheek against hers. "Why cannot you sleep,
Dick?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know, mother, but I can't! I've kept on saying my
prayers—'Our Father,' and 'Gentle Jesus'—over and over again;
but the sandy man won't come to my eyes! It's so dreadfully hot!"
"Yes, dear, so it is! Do you know what father and I have been talking
about? Of course you cannot guess, but I am going to tell you! We've
been speaking of sending you to England, to the dear old aunt and
uncle who brought me up. They will be so good to you, Dick; and you
will grow a strong healthy boy, please God! Colonel Blair and his
wife are going home soon—you know he has sick leave—and they have
promised to take charge of you on the voyage. Then, next year, I hope
your father and I may be returning to England, too; and think how
joyful we three shall be to meet again!"
Mrs. Gidley had spoken rapidly, in tones which she had tried
to render cheerful; but her voice faltered as she concluded the
sentence, whilst the clasp of Dick's arms around her neck tightened.
He made no reply for a moment; but at last he burst forth,—
"Mother, mother, you don't mean it, you can't! I am not going
to leave you! You are not going to send me away from you and father?
Oh, mother, say you don't mean that? Oh, I don't want to go to
England! I want to stay here with you, and then next year we can all
go to England together! Oh, please, say you don't mean what you
said!"
"I cannot say that, for it would not be true. We want you to go
to England because if you remain longer in India you will be a
sickly, unhealthy child, and both father and I hope you will grow
into a strong man. How often have I heard you say that when you grow
up you mean to be a soldier? Well, a soldier must not be a weakling,
and a soldier must learn to do his duty! It is your duty now to be
a brave boy, and not to make things harder for father and me than
they are already. We would rather keep you with us; but it is our
plain duty to send you to England, and it is your plain duty to go
willingly. You will find a happy home awaiting you, and God will be
with you, my darling, always," and Mrs. Gidley mingled her tears with
her little son's, whilst he sobbed bitterly.
Presently, however, he began to realise how much he was adding to his
mother's distress, and manfully sought to subdue his grief. He was
facing sorrow for the first time in his life; but though his little
frame was puny at present, he owned a brave heart of his own, and
by-and-by he whispered lovingly,—
"Don't cry any more, mother, and I'll try not to!"
She kissed him, and then, when both were calmer, she began to talk
of her childhood's home in the little English sea-side village. Aunt
Mary Ann and Uncle Theophilus were familiar names to his ears;
but presently she spoke to him of his grandfather, of whose existence
he had never heard before.
"Why, mother!" he exclaimed, "do you mean that my father has a
father?"
"Yes," she said, smiling at his way of putting it. "He is a very old
gentleman, and he lives at the Manor House, which is not far from
Holton. His name is Sir Richard Gidley. You were called after your
father and him. I think he must be a very lonely old man now, because
he has only servants to look after him. His wife, your grandmother,
died many years ago, and your aunt—Aunt Arabella—is a widow,
living in London. I do not know if you will see her or not, but you
will be sure to see your grandfather. You must treat him with great
respect, and, if you find him crotchety and cross, don't mind; at the
same time you must not be afraid of him—you need never be afraid
of any one so long as you do nothing to be ashamed of; remember
that!"
"I will remember," the boy replied obediently, "but I hope I shall
not go to England very soon. I don't think I much like the thought
of a grandfather! And a Sir, too! I suppose he is a very grand man
indeed?"
Mrs. Gidley made no direct reply; instead, she spoke of the time when
she and her husband hoped to join their little son in England.
"You'll be a good boy, will you not?" she questioned. "And you'll
obey Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Theophilus? I know you will when you
think how they loved your mother when she was a little girl. If you
find Aunt Mary Ann is fussy, you must remember she has a heart
of gold, full of kindness and sympathy for others. And now, my dear
boy, we have talked long enough, and you must go to sleep."
"Yes," Dick replied, "I will try."
After all, he thought, the day of his departure for England had not
arrived yet, and, like most children, he had the happy knack of
dismissing unpleasant thoughts from his mind. Why think of separation
when his mother was still with him? Therefore he suffered her to kiss
him good-night, and, whilst she sat watching him, fell asleep with
his hand in hers. So Captain Gidley found the two when he peeped
anxiously into the room later.
Mrs. Gidley gently relinquished the boy's hand, and, crossing to her
husband's side, slipped her arm through his. Together they approached
the bed, and stood looking on their sleeping child.
"Well?" Captain Gidley whispered.
"I have told him," she replied. "He was terribly upset at the thought
of leaving us at first, but, on the whole, he bore the news better
than I expected. I appealed to his sense of duty, and that told;
he is a true soldier's son! But I did not tell him how soon the
parting will be. Oh, Richard, it is hard!"
"It is," he agreed huskily, "more especially as he is our only
child."
"Let us pray for him," his wife said gently. "Let us ask God to take
care of him when he will be far away from us!"
So husband and wife knelt down by the little bed, and commended their
darling to their Father in Heaven; and though their hearts were still
sore, they arose comforted.
"He is the child of many prayers," Mrs. Gidley said softly, as they
quietly left the room, "and we must be content to place him in God's
hands."
"It is harder for you than for me, Margaret," Captain Gidley replied
tenderly. "Like so many other mothers out here, you have had
to choose between husband and child. I trust we may not be separated
from our dear boy long!"