HER FATHER'S SECRET.
At the top of a high six-barred gate sat Tom, swinging his legs and
whistling softly in a thoughtful kind of way, while he watched Una and
Dan, who were seated below him on the grass, making a wreath of red
berries, hops and nuts.
The Harvest Thanksgiving was to be held at the little church the
following evening, and Ruth--like her namesake of long ago--was
gathering the few stray ears of corn left among the stubble. She was
helping to make a sickle to hang in front of the pulpit.
"Una," began Tom hesitatingly, "you said once--before you went
away--that when you came back again you'd tell us about your father's
secret. Will you?"
"Oh, will you, Una?" asked Norah, who had just joined the others with a
fresh supply of berries and hops from the hedge.
Dan said nothing; for had not Una talked to him often about her father
when they had sat on the bench at Bembies, or side by side in the deep
window-seat overlooking the quaint little western bay? The little boy
remembered all that she had told him, and often thought to himself that
he too would try and do some good in the world, even though he would
never be able to run so fast as Tom, or to play football or cricket
like Stephen and Philip.
Una looked up from the wreath with a sad little smile on her face.
"It is funny you should ask me just now," she said; "I was just
thinking about it, and wondering if I should tell you."
[Illustration: "'I was just wondering if I should tell you,' said Una."]
"Will you tell us, then?" said Tom, as he swung himself off the gate
and sat down on the grass by Una's side.
"Father used to tell me about it when he was so ill," said the little
girl. "I used to sit in his room, you know, in case he wanted
anything; and sometimes I thought he was asleep, and then he would open
his eyes all at once and begin to talk to me; and he told me lots and
lots of things he had never told me before--about things he had done, I
mean, and about my mamma--and----"
A big tear rolled down Una's cheek and splashed on to the bunch of
crimson berries she was holding.
"Don't tell us, Una, if you would rather not," said Norah softly.
"Oh, yes," said Una, "I do want to tell you--only I thought of papa
then, and just how he used to look. His face looked always so tired,
Norah, so very tired; and his voice used to get tired too, and then he
would shut his eyes and go to sleep again. But he told me so many
things, I don't know where to begin."
The little girl was silent for some moments.
"I know! I will begin about the man in the garden!" she said suddenly.
"You remember the black-haired young man whom we found under the
ash-tree, the day 'Snoozy' was lost?"
"Yes, I remember," said Tom.
"Oh, yes, Una!" chimed in Norah. "Can you tell us now what he told
you? It was a secret then, you know."
"Yes," said Una. "I couldn't tell you then, because it was part of
papa's secret, you know. But now it doesn't matter, it isn't a secret
any more--not papa's, I mean.
"Isn't it? Are you sure, Una?" asked Norah.
"Quite sure. I said to papa: 'Is it a secret?' And he said: 'Not when
I'm gone, little one.' So you see I may tell you now," said Una sadly.
"Will you tell us who the man was, then, Una?" asked Tom after a little
pause.
"He was a Russian," said Una. "So was papa; and that sad country, a
long, long way off, which he told me about, was Russia. Do you
remember?"
"Yes, the country where the little children are sometimes quite sad and
miserable because their fathers are taken away from them, and their
homes are taken away from them too," said Norah.
"Yes," said Una. "Well, that man had done all he could to try and make
the people who look after the country be kinder to the poor people, and
it would have been all right if he could have gone to the King
himself--no, I don't mean the King, I mean the----"
"I know," exclaimed Dan. "You mean the Czar. It's the 'Czar' of
Russia, and the 'King' of England, and the 'Emperor' of Germany,
and----"
"Don't, Dan! Let Una go on," said Tom impatiently. "Why didn't the
man go to the Czar himself, Una?"
"Because there are a lot of men--noblemen, and people like that--who do
the Czar's business for him, only they don't do it well at all; many of
them are bad, wicked men, really, and they only think about what they
can do for themselves, and don't mind a bit about the poor people being
in trouble and being treated badly--and when they found that this man
was trying to do things for the poor people they were angry, and they
made up a lot of stories about him and had him put in prison."
"Oh, Una, how wicked of them!" cried Norah.
"And then," said Una, sitting up very straight, with sparkling eyes and
flushed cheeks: "papa got him out of prison again. That was papa's
secret! When people were put in prison, in Russia, when they hadn't
really done anything wrong, papa used to help them to get free again,
and he used to write letters to the Czar and tell him how his poor
people were being treated, and he used to write books too--big
books--to send all over the world, so that everyone should know what
sad, sad lives many of the people in Russia led, and should try and
help them if they could."
"And the yellow country at the top of Russia, Una? You haven't told
about that," said Dan.
"The yellow country? What do you mean?" said Tom.
"He means Siberia; it's yellow on the map I showed to him," said Una.
"Yes, very often people are sent to live in that cold country--not
because they have done anything wrong, but because there are lots of
salt mines there and they can't get people to go and live there and
work in the mines. And so they send men to live there who don't want
to go at all, and they have to leave their wives and children and go
and live in that cold country, and work in the mines without getting
any money for doing it."
"But, Una, couldn't the wives and children go and live in that country
too?" asked Norah.
"Oh, yes," said Una; "very often they do go and live there, but it is
hundreds and hundreds of miles away from their homes, and they have to
walk all the way; no one pays for their journey or gives them homes
when they get there."
"Oh, Una, it's dreadful!" said Norah. "And did your father help the
man to get away from prison, and from that horrid, cold country? But
how could he, when he was in England?"
"Papa used to help them to get away when he lived in other countries
nearer Russia," said Una. "And he used to let them come and live in
his house until they were well again, because they often got quite ill
in that country, with having only poor food to eat and being treated so
badly; and then papa used to fetch their wives and families out of
Russia and give them enough money to begin to earn their own living
again in another country.
"But often the cruel people I told you about used to find out where
papa was living and prevent him helping the poor people to escape, and
then we used to have to go and live in another country until he was
found out again; and then at last he got ill and came to live in
England, and could only write books and have the poor prisoners to stay
here and get strong and well again; and other people had to help them
to get away from Siberia and from prison."
"It sounds like a story out of a book," said Tom.
"What a rich man your father must have been," said Norah. "It must be
very nice to have lots of money, and be able to help people."
"It wasn't all papa's own money," said Una. "Papa belonged to what he
called a society, and that society used to give him money to give to
the poor people. Someone in that society has found homes for Ivan and
Peter, our old servants, you know, who used to live here. It is very
nice that Marie is going to live with me always," added the little girl.
Norah drew a long breath.
"So that was your father's secret, Una?" she said. "It's a very nice
one."
"Papa would have helped the poor Russian people somehow," said Una,
with a wise little nod of her head, "even if he hadn't had any money.
Papa said once that everybody ought to try and help other people
somehow."
The children walked back across the fields and through the woods--not
talking much, but thinking of all that Una had told them--until they
came to the gap in the fence and saw that it had been boarded up.
"Oh, Una, look!" cried Tom.
"We shan't have any more picnics," said Norah dolefully.
Dan leant out of his small carriage and put his hand into Una's with a
happy little laugh.
"I don't mind a bit about the gap," he said. "We've got Una on this
side of it now."
THE END.
[Illustration: Back cover art]
End of Project Gutenberg's The Gap in the Fence, by Frederica J. Turle