It is supposed to be the duty of every well-conducted author, after the
curtain has fallen on the final tableau of his little drama, to lift it,
or half lift it, for a momentary last glimpse at the principal actors.
I am not quite sure whether this is not an encouragement to laziness on
the part of the reader. In most respects he is as well able to picture
the future of Jeffreys, and Raby, and Percy, and Tim as I am.
I cannot show them to you in all the dignity of an honoured old age,
because they are only a year or two older to-day than they were when
Percy and Jeffreys took that little run together down to Cumberland.
Nor can I show them to you, after the fashion of a fairy tale, "married
and living happily ever afterwards," because when I met Jeffreys in the
Strand the other day, he told me that although he had just been
appointed to the control of a great public library in the North, it
would still be some months, possibly a year, before he would be able to
set up house on his own account.
However, he seemed contented on the whole to wait a bit; and in a long
talk we had as we walked up and down the Embankment I heard a good many
scraps of information which made it possible to satisfy the reader on
one or two points about which he may still be anxious.
Jeffreys and Percy stayed at Wildtree for a month, and the time was one
of the happiest both of them ever spent. They did nothing exciting.
They read some Aristophanes, and added some new "dodge" to their
wonderful automatic bookcase. They went up Wild Pike one bright
winter's day and had a glorious view from the top. And on the ledge
coming back they sat and rested awhile on a spot they both remembered
well. Julius's grave was not forgotten when they reached the valley
below; and the "J" upon the stone which marks the place to this day was
their joint work for an hour that afternoon.
As for the books, Jeffreys had sprung towards them on his first arrival
as a father springs towards his long-lost family. They were sadly in
want of dusting and arranging, as for a month or two no one had been
near them. On the floor lay the parcels, just as they had arrived from
the sale in Exeter; and altogether Jeffreys had work enough to keep him
busy, not for one month only, but for several. He was not sorry to be
busy. For amid all the happiness and comforts of his new return to life
he had many cares on his mind.
There was Forrester. He had imagined that if he could only find him,
all would be right, the past would be cancelled and his bad name would
never again trouble him. But as he thought of the helpless cripple,
lying there unable to move without assistance, with all his prospects
blighted and his very life a burden to him, he began to realise that the
past was not cancelled, that he had a life's debt yet to pay, and a
life's wrong for which, as far as possible, to make amends. But he
bravely faced his duty. Forrester's letters, which came frequently,
certainly did not much encourage melancholy reflections.
"I'm in clover here," the boy wrote about a week after Jeffreys had gone
North. "One would think I'd done something awfully fine. My guardian
is a trump--and is ever tired of telling me about my father. Do you
know I'm to have a pension from a grateful country? What wouldn't Black
Sal say to get hold of me now? What I value quite as much is his sword,
which I keep by my couch like a Knight Templar. So mind what you're up
to when you come back.
"Here am I writing about myself, when I know you are longing to hear
about (turn over-leaf and hide your blushes)--the babies! They are tip-
top. Timothy, ever since I got my sword, has shown great respect for
me, and sits on the pillow while I sketch. By the way, do you recognise
enclosed portrait? It's my first attempt at a face--rather a pleasant
face too, eh? Oh, about the babies. The young 'un's cut a tooth. The
whole house has been agitated in consequence, and the colonel is as
proud as if he'd captured a province. So are we all. They are to go to
an orphanage, I believe, in a week or two; but not till you come back
and give your parental benediction. My guardian is going to write you
all about it. He promises military openings for both when they arrive
at the proper age; and Tim is practising already on a drum which _she_
has given him.
"She, by the way, never mentions you, which is an excellent sign, but
rather rough on me when I want to talk about you. She occasionally is
drawn out to talk about a certain Mr John at Storr Alley; but, as you
know, she only knew about him from hearsay. How's that boy who has got
hold of you down in Cumberland? Are he and I to be friends or enemies?
Tell him I'm game for either, and give him choice of weapons if the
latter. But as long as he lets me see you now and then and treats you
well, we may as well be friends. I'm flourishing and awfully in love.
Stay away as long as you can; you're not wanted here. The lady of
Clarges Street came to see me yesterday. She sent you really a kind
message; so even in that quarter you may yet look for a friend. Good-
bye--remember me to that chap. Tim sends his duty; and _she_ when I
mentioned I was writing to you and asked if there was any message, did
not hear what I said.--G.F."
There was plenty in this bright letter to give comfort to Jeffreys. He
rejoiced humbly in its affectionate tone towards himself. He treasured
the portrait. He was gratified at the unenvious references to Percy,
and he was relieved at the prospect before his babies.
The part that referred to Raby left him less room for jubilation.
Forrester evidently thought, as Percy did, that in that quarter
everything was plain sailing. They neither of them realised the gulf
between the two, and they neither of them knew of that miserable October
afternoon in Regent's Park. Forrester's jocular reference to Raby's
silence and reserve seemed to Jeffreys but a confirmation of what he
believed to be the truth.
He was to her what any other friend in distress might be, an object of
sweet pity and solicitude. But that was all. He had a bad name, and
much as she would brave for him to help him, she did not--how could
she?--love him.
At the end of a month Mr Rimbolt wrote to say he was coming down to
Wildtree, and would be glad if Percy and Jeffreys would meet him with
the carriage at Overstone.
They did so, and found that he was not alone. Mr Halgrove stepped
pleasantly out of the train at the same time and greeted his quondam
ward with characteristic ease.
"Ah, Jeffreys--here we are again. I'm always meeting you at odd places.
How fresh everything looks after the rain!"
"Mr Halgrove is my brother-in-law, you know, Jeffreys," said Mr
Rimbolt, in response to his librarian's blank look of consternation. "I
brought him down, as he wanted to see you and have a talk. If you two
would like to walk," added he, "Percy and I will drive on, and have
dinner ready by the time you arrive."
"Good-hearted fellow, Rimbolt," said Mr Halgrove, as they started to
walk, "he always was. That's Wild Pike, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Jeffreys, greatly puzzled at this unexpected meeting.
"Yes, Rimbolt's a good fellow; and doesn't mind telling bad fellows that
they aren't. You'll smile, Jeffreys; but he has actually made me
uncomfortable sometimes."
"Really?" said Jeffreys, thinking it must have been some very remarkable
effort which succeeded in accomplishing, that wonder.
"Yes. I told him once casually about an unpleasant ward I once had,
whom I rather disliked. I thought he would sympathise with me when I
related how delicately I had got rid of him and sent him adrift when it
did not suit me to keep him any longer. Would you believe it, Rimbolt
wasn't at all sympathetic, but asked what had become of my ward's money!
Do take warning, Jeffreys, and avoid the bad habit of asking
inconvenient questions. You have no idea of the pain they may cause.
Mr Rimbolt's question pained me excessively. Because my ward's money,
like himself, had gone to the bad. That would not have been of much
consequence, were it not that I was responsible for its going to the
bad. It was most inconvenient altogether, I assure you. It made me
feel as if I had behaved not quite well in the matter; and you know how
depressing such a feeling would be. Still more inconvenient at the time
when I had this talk with Rimbolt about six months ago, I had just come
back from America with my finances in not at all a flourishing
condition, so that if even I had been disposed to refund my ward, I
could not have done it. Happily he was lost. It was an immense relief
to me, I can assure you.
"Two months ago my finances looked up. I had news that some of my
Yankee speculations were turning out well, and I unexpectedly found
myself a man of means again. Rimbolt, who certainly has the knack of
making ill-timed suggestions, proposed that that would be a good
opportunity for making good what properly belonged to my ward. I urged
in vain that my ward was lost, and that the money properly belonged to
me as a reward for the trouble I had had in the matter. He actually
insisted that I should deposit with him, as trustee for my ward, the
full amount of what belonged to him, with interest added to date,
promising if by any unfortunate accident the fellow should be found, to
see it came into his hands. One's obliged to humour Rimbolt, so I did
what he wanted, and that's how it stands. If ever this unprofitable
ward turns up, he'd better keep his eye on Rimbolt.
"There, you see, Jeffreys, that's just a little anecdote to show you how
easy it is, by being inconsiderate, for one person to make another
uncomfortable. But now tell me how you like Cumberland. You must be
quite a mountaineer by this time."
Jeffreys admitted he was pretty good, and had the tact to suit his
humour to that of his guardian, and not refer further to the lost ward
or his money.
Mr Halgrove stayed two days, and then departed for the Great West,
where it is possible he may to-day carry a lighter heart about with him
for his latest act of reparation.
Before the trio at Wildtree returned to London, Jeffreys, greatly to
Percy's terror, asked leave to go for two days to York. The boy seemed
still not quite sure that he had got back his friend for good, and
highly disapproved now of putting the temptation to "bolt again," as he
called it, in his way. However, Jeffreys "entered into recognisances"
to come back, and even offered to take Percy with him on his journey.
The offer was not accepted, for Percy knew Jeffreys would sooner go
alone. But it allayed the boy's uneasiness.
Jeffreys had much trouble to discover Mrs Trimble. Galloway House was
still an educational establishment, but its present conductor knew
nothing of the lady whose "goodwill and connection" he had purchased so
cheaply two years ago.
Finally Jeffreys decided to call at Ash Cottage. The walk up that
familiar lane recalled many a strange memory. The bank whereon he had
sat that eventful early morning was unchanged, and had lost all traces
of Jonah's excavations. The railway embankment he had half thought of
helping to construct was already overgrown with grass, and thundered
under the weight of trains every few minutes.
Ash Cottage had not changed a plank or a tile since he last saw it.
There were the same cracks in the wall of the shed, the same bushes on
either side of the gate--nay, he was sure those wisps of hay clinging to
the branches of the holly had been there two years ago.
As he walked somewhat doubtfully towards the house--for he could hardly
forget under what circumstances he had last seen Farmer Rosher--he heard
a boy's shout behind him, and looking round, perceived Freddy and Teddy
giving chase.
"It _is_ Jeff!" shouted Freddy. "I knew him a mile away."
"I saw him first. We knew you'd come back, Jeff; huzzah!"
"That tricycle wants looking to awful bad. Our feet touch the ground on
it now, Jeff."
"Come on to the shed, I say, and put it right. _How_ brickish of you to
come back, Jeff!"
A long afternoon the happy Jeff spent over that intractable tricycle.
It was past all repair; but no feat of engineering was ever applauded as
were the one or two touches by which he contrived to make it stand
upright and bear the weight of a boy. Before the work was over Farmer
Rosher had joined them, well pleased at his boys' delight.
"Thee's paid oop for thy sin, lad," said he. "I did thee and the lads
more harm than I meant; but thee's a home here whenever thee likes, to
make up for it; and come away and see the missus and have a drop of
tea."
From the farmer, who may have had good reason for knowing, Jeffreys
learned that Mrs Trimble was comfortably quartered in an almshouse; and
there, next morning--for there was do escaping from Ash Cottage that
night--he found her, and soothed her with the news he had to tell of her
poor prodigal.
"Well, well," she said, "God is merciful; and He will reward you, John,
as He had pity on the lad. And now will you be sure and take a mother's
blessing to the sweet lady, and tell her if she ever wants to make an
old woman happy, he has only to come here, and let me see her and kiss
her for what she has done for me and mine?"
That message he delivered a week later as he walked with Raby one
afternoon in Regent's Park. It was not exactly a chance walk. They had
both been up to the orphanage at Hampstead with the reluctant Tim and
his brother, to leave them there in good motherly hands till the
troubles of infancy should be safely passed.
It was Tim who had insisted on having the escort of both his natural
guardians on the occasion; and at such a time and on such an errand
Tim's word was law. So they had gone all four in a cab, and now Raby
and Jeffreys returned, and with a sense of bereavement, through the
Park.
"I will certainly go and see Mrs Trimble when next I am North," said
Raby, "though I wish I deserved half her gratitude."
"You deserve it all. You were an angel of light to that poor fellow."