Time glided on, and it became Gilmore's turn to leave the rectory.
Other pupils came to take the places of the two who had gone, but Macey
said the new fellows, did not belong, and could not be expected to
cotton to the old inhabitants.
"And I don't want 'em to," he said one morning, as he was poring over a
book in the rectory study, "for this is a weary world, Weathercock."
"Eh? What's the matter?" cried Vane, wonderingly, as he looked across
the table at the top of Macey's head, which was resting against his
closed fists, so that the lad's face was parallel with the table. "Got
a headache?"
"Horrid. It's all ache inside. I don't believe I've got an ounce of
brains. I say, it ought to weigh pounds, oughtn't it?"
"Here, what's wrong?" said Vane. "Let me help you."
"Wish you would, but it's of no good, old fellow. I shall never pass my
great-go when I get to college."
"Why?"
"Because I shall never pass the little one. I say, do I look like a
fool?"
He raised his piteous face as he spoke, and Vane burst into a roar of
laughter.
"Ah, it's all very well to laugh. That's the way with you clever chaps.
I say, can't you invent a new kind of thing--a sort of patent
oyster-knife to open stupid fellows' understanding? You should practice
with it on me."
"Come round this side," said Vane, and Macey came dolefully round with
the work on mathematics, over which he had been poring. "You don't want
the oyster-knife."
"Oh, don't I, old fellow; you don't know."
"Yes, I do. You've got one; every fellow has, if he will only use it."
"Where abouts? What's it like--what is it?"
"Perseverance," said Vane. "Come on and let's grind this bit up."
They "ground" that bit up, and an hour after, Macey had a smile on his
face. The "something attempted" was "something done."
"That's what I do like so in you, Vane," he cried.
"What?"
"You can do all sorts of things so well, and work so hard. Why you beat
the busy bee all to bits, and are worth hives of them."
"Why?" said Vane, laughing.
"You never go about making a great buzz over your work, as much as to
say: `Hi! all of you look here and see what a busy bee I am,' and better
still, old chap, you never sting."
"Ever hear anything of Mr Deering now, uncle?" said Vane, one morning,
as he stood in his workshop, smiling over some of his models and
schemes, the inventor being brought to his mind by the remark he had
made when he was there, about even the attempts being educational.
"No, boy; nothing now, for some time; I only know that he has been very
successful over his ventures; has large works, and is prospering
mightily, but, like the rest of the world, he forgets those by whose
help he has risen."
"Oh, I don't think he is that sort of man, uncle. Of course, he is
horribly busy."
"A man ought not to be too busy to recollect those who held the ladder
for him to climb, Vane," said the doctor, warmly. "You saved him when
he was in the lowest of low water."
"Oh, nonsense, uncle, I only saw what a muddle his work-people had made,
just as they did with our greenhouse, and besides, don't you remember it
was settled that I was to carve--didn't we call it--my own way."
The doctor uttered a grunt.
"That's all very well," began the doctor, but Vane interrupted him.
"I say, uncle, I've been thinking very deeply about my going to
college."
"Well, what about it. Time you went, eh?"
"No, uncle, and I don't think I should like to go. Of course, I know
the value of the college education, and the position it gives a man; but
it means three years' study--three years waiting to begin, and three
years--"
"Well, sir, three years what?"
"Expense to you, uncle."
"Now, look here, Vane," said the doctor, sternly, "when I took you, a
poor miserable little fatherless and motherless boy, to bring up--and
precious ugly you were--I made up my mind to do my duty by you."
"And so you have, uncle, far more than I deserved," said Vane, merrily.
"Silence, sir," cried the doctor, sternly. "I say--"
But whatever it was, he did not say it, for something happened.
Strange coincidences often occur in everyday life. One thinks of
writing to a friend, and a letter comes from that friend, or a person
may have formed the subject of conversation, and that person appears.
Somehow, just as the doctor had assumed his sternest look, the door of
Vane's little atelier was darkened, and Mr Deering stood therein,
looking bright, cheery of aspect, and, in appearance, ten years younger
than on the night when he upset the table, and the Little Manor House
was within an inch of being burned down.
"Mrs Lee said I should find you here," he said. "Why, doctor, how well
you look. I'll be bound to say you never take much of your own physic.
Glad to see you again, old fellow," he cried, shaking hands very warmly.
"But, I beg your pardon, I did not know you were engaged with a
stranger. Will you introduce me?"
"Oh, I say, Mr Deering," cried Vane.
"It is! The same voice grown gruff. The weathercock must want oiling.
Seriously, though, my dear boy, you have grown wonderfully. It's this
Greythorpe air."
The doctor welcomed his old friend fairly enough, but a certain amount
of constraint would show, and Deering evidently saw it, but he made no
sign, and they went into the house, where Aunt Hannah met them in the
drawing-room, looking a little flustered, consequent upon an encounter
with Martha in the kitchen, that lady having declared that it would be
impossible to make any further preparations for the dinner, even if a
dozen gentlemen had arrived, instead of one.
"Ah, my dear Mrs Lee," said Deering, "and I have never kept my word
about the refurnishing of this drawing-room. What a scene we had that
night, and how time has gone since!"
Vane looked on curiously all the rest of that day, and could not help
feeling troubled to see what an effort both his uncle and aunt made to
be cordial to their guest, while being such simple, straightforward
people, the more they tried, the more artificial and constrained they
grew.
Deering ignored everything, and chatted away in the heartiest manner;
declared that it was a glorious treat to come down in the country;
walked in the garden, and admired the doctor's flowers and fruit, and
bees, and made himself perfectly at home, saying that he had come down
uninvited for a week's rest.
Vane began at last to feel angry and annoyed; but seizing his
opportunity, the doctor whispered:--
"Don't forget, boy, that he is my guest. Prosperity has spoiled him,
but I am not entertaining the successful inventor; I am only thinking of
my old school-fellow whom I helped as a friend."
"All right, uncle, I'll be civil to him."
Six days glided slowly by, during which Deering monopolised the whole of
everybody's time. He had the pony-carriage out, and made Vane borrow
Miller Round's boat and row him up the river, and fish with him,
returning at night to eat the doctor and Mrs Lee's excellent dinner,
and drink the doctor's best port.
And now the sixth day--the evening--had arrived, and Aunt Hannah had
said to Vane:--
"I am so glad, my dear. To-morrow, he goes back to town."
"And a jolly good job too, aunt!" cried Vane.
"Yes, my dear, but do be a little more particular what you say."
They were seated all together in the drawing-room, with Deering in the
best of spirits, when all of a sudden, he exclaimed:--
"This is the sixth day! How time goes in your pleasant home, and I've
not said a word yet about the business upon which I came. Well, I must
make up for it now. Ready, Vane?"
"Ready for what, sir,--game at chess?"
"No, boy, work, business; you are rapidly growing into a man. I want
help badly and the time has arrived. I've come down to settle what we
arranged for about my young partner."
Had a shell fallen in the little drawing-room, no one could have looked
more surprised.
Deering had kept his word.
In the course of the next morning a long and serious conversation
ensued, which resulted evidently in Deering's disappointment on the
doctor's declining to agree to the proposal.
"But, it is so quixotic of you, Lee," cried Deering, angrily.
"Wrong," replied the doctor, smiling in his old school-fellow's face;
"the quixotism is on your side in making so big a proposal on Vane's
behalf."
"But you are standing in the boy's light."
"Not at all. I believe I am doing what is best for him. He is far too
young to undertake so responsible a position."
"Nonsense!"
"I think it sense," said the doctor, firmly. "Vane shall go to a large
civil engineer's firm as pupil, and if, some years hence, matters seem
to fit, make your proposition again about a partnership, and then we
shall see."
Deering had to be content with this arrangement, and within the year
Vane left Greythorpe, reluctantly enough, to enter upon his new career
with an eminent firm in Great George Street, Westminster.
But he soon found plenty of change, and three years later, long after
the rector's other pupils had taken flight, Vane found himself busy
surveying in Brazil, and assisting in the opening out of that vast
country.
It was hard but delightful work, full at times of excitement and
adventure, till upon one unlucky day he was stricken down by malarious
fever on the shores of one of the rivers.
Fortunately for him it happened there, and not hundreds of miles away in
the interior, where in all probability for want of help his life would
have been sacrificed.
His companions, however, got him on board a boat, and by easy stages he
was taken down to Rio, where he awoke from his feverish dream, weak as a
child, wasted almost to nothing, into what appeared to him another
dream, for he was in a pleasantly-shaded bedroom, with someone seated
beside him, holding his hand, and gazing eagerly into his wandering
eyes.
"Vane," he said, in a low, excited whisper; "do you know me."
"Distin!" said Vane feebly, as he gazed in the handsome dark face of the
gentleman bending over him.
"Hah!" was ejaculated with a sigh of content; "you'll get over it now;
but I've been horribly afraid for days."
"What's been the matter?" said Vane, feebly. "Am I at the rectory?
Where's Mr Syme? And my uncle?"
"Stop; don't talk now."
Vane was silent for a time; then memory reasserted itself. He was not
at Greythorpe, but in Brazil.
"Why, I was taken ill up the river. Have you been nursing me?"
"Yes, for weeks," said Distin, with a smile.
"Where am I?"
"At Rio. In my house. I am head here of my father's mercantile
business."
"But--"
"No, no, don't talk."
"I must ask this: How did I get here?"
"I heard that you were ill, and had you brought home that's all. I was
told that the overseer with the surveying expedition was brought down
ill--dying, they said, and then I heard that his name was Vane Lee. Can
it be old Weathercock? I said; and I went and found that it was, and--
well, you know the rest."
"Then I have you to thank for saving my life."
"Well," said Distin, "you saved mine. There, don't talk; I won't. I
want to go and write to the doctor that you are mending now. By-and-by,
when you are better, we must have plenty of talks about the old
Lincolnshire days."
Distin was holding Vane's hands as he spoke, and his voice was cheery,
though the tears were in his eyes.
"And so," whispered Vane, thoughtfully, "I owe you my life."
"I owe you almost more than that," said Distin, huskily. "Vane, old
chap, I've often longed for us to meet again."
It was a curious result after their early life. Vane often corresponded
with Gilmore and Macey, but somehow he and Distin became the staunchest
friends.
"I can't understand it even now," Vane said to him one day when they
were back in England, and had run down to the old place again. "Fancy
you and I being companions here."
"The wind has changed, old Weathercock," cried Distin, merrily. Then,
seriously: "No, I'll tell you, Vane; there was some little good in me,
and you made it grow."