HIS FATHER.
'Master Bobby is wanted in the drawing-room.'
Jane brought this message up just as the nursery tea was being cleared
away.
'Are there visitors?' enquired Nurse.
'Yes; a gentleman.'
It was only on rare occasions that the child was sent for. Nurse was
in a flutter at once, putting on his best brown velvet suit, with his
little cream-silk shirt, and brushing out his curls with great skill
and care.
Bobby did not like the summons at all. He remembered the last time he
had been in the drawing-room. It was to see an old clergyman who had
patted him on the head and asked him if he knew his Catechism. He had
wriggled away from him, and upset a vase of flowers upon a table near,
and had been sent upstairs in disgrace, his grandmother declaring that
'children were always out of place in a drawing-room.'
'It's another old gempleum, Nurse. I don't like them at all.'
But when he opened the drawing-room door he saw his grandmother sitting
in her stiffest sternest attitude, and, seated opposite to her, the
tall man with the bright eyes and the curly hair who had rescued him
that afternoon from the bull.
Bobby's heart sank into his boots at once. So he had come to tell
tales of him to his grandmother. He had had one scolding and a
punishment from Nurse, now he would get another!
'Come here, Bobby,' said his grandmother coldly. 'Your father has come
to see you.'
He could not believe his ears. For an instant he gazed wildly and
uncomprehendingly at the stranger, who turned and held out his hand.
'Why, upon my word! You're the little chap who withstood the furious
bull! Come along. No wonder I felt as I did when I saw you!'
How often had Bobby rehearsed this scene to himself! He had pictured
himself flinging himself with a glad cry into the arms of his father,
and that father gathering him to his breast and smothering him with
kisses. How different was reality to fancy! He was too dazed by the
suddenness of the discovery to do more than stare stupidly up at his
father, who drew him gently to him and kissed him on the forehead.
Then he heard his father tell his grandmother about the bull, and Mrs.
Egerton said:
'What possessed you to do such a naughty thing as to go out on the
high-road alone, Bobby? You might have been killed, and we should not
have known where you were. What made you do it?'
Bobby looked up at his grandmother with big frightened eyes.
'I went to meet my father,' he faltered.
Mr. Allonby gave a short laugh; his grandmother looked quite horrified.
'You know that is an untruth,' she said. 'Your father must be quite
shocked to hear you.'
Bobby did not attempt to defend himself. His under lip quivered, and
in his small heart was a passionate desire to prove himself innocent of
a lie.
His eyes turned to his father, who was looking down upon him with a
strange gravity, but though he wanted to speak he could not.
'Never mind,' his father said cheerfully, 'he did meet me, and I cannot
yet take in the strange coincidence of it. If I hadn't come by when I
did---- Well, it does not bear thinking about. Did you know you had a
father living, Bobby? For your grandmother seems to have thought I was
dead. I suppose my long silence has seemed inexcusable, but I am
positive that I wrote twice after your daughter's death, Mrs. Egerton,
and to neither letter received any reply. Then I went off with an
exploring party through South America, and have been out of touch with
civilisation for the past five years. Last summer I took up life again
in Canada, and only came home three months ago. I have been ill two
months of that time.'
There was silence. Bobby felt uncomfortable; why, he did not know.
His father looked at him again and sighed.
'Well, I see he is cared for, Mrs. Egerton, and had better fall in with
your wishes. My wife----'
'Your present wife need not be brought into our discussion.'
Mr. Allonby rose to his feet, for Mrs. Egerton's words were bitter and
proud.
'I'll see the boy once again before I leave this part, and now I'll
wish you good afternoon.'
'I'm coming with you, Father.'
Bobby's voice rang out eagerly, expectantly. He had not a doubt but
that he would be taken away at once.
His father looked at him astonished, then smiled and shook his head.
'Oh no, my boy; you belong to your grandmother, not to me. I hear you
are going to school soon. I dare say you will find some boys there who
will be as hard to tackle as a run-away bull.'
At this juncture Bobby's aunt entered the room, and the little boy
slipped away unnoticed to the hall. His small soul was full of
agonised dismay and bewilderment. Was this to be the end of all his
hopes and expectations? His father did not want him; he said he did
not belong to him. This last assertion was like a stab. Bobby stood
looking out of the front door, which was open, into the sunny garden
beyond, and there the sight of his father's small motor standing
puffing away upon the drive filled him suddenly with a desperate
resolve.
'I won't be left behind. I will go with father. I don't belong to
this old House. I don't belong to grandmother. I belongs to him for
ever and ever. Amen!'
He darted down the steps towards the motor. Then a fear smote him.
The little girl. Who was she? Where was she? But the motor was
empty, there was no sign of her. He climbed into the car, and in
another moment was safely tucked out of sight under the seat. He had
been accustomed to hide in out of the way corners in his grandmother's
part of the house. He had often, when making secret excursions on his
own account, been nearly surprised by the 'grown-ups.' Sometimes he
had lain almost breathless under a chintz-covered couch, or crouched
behind a curtain till the moment of danger was past. His whole soul
was in revolt against his father's decision. He pitifully thought that
if only he explained things to his father, if only he was granted a
fair hearing, without feeling the cold disapproving gaze of his
grandmother upon him, he might win his case.
So he lay, grasping Nobbles tightly in agony lest he should be
discovered and dragged out of his hiding-place. It seemed hours to him
before he heard his father's voice and step, and his parting words to
his aunt, who had accompanied him to the hall door, were not reassuring.
'I must see him once again before leaving this part; but I'm quite
satisfied that you can do better for him than I can.'
Then he jumped into his car, and in a moment they were gliding down the
drive and out upon the high-road. A little exultant feeling came to
Bobby when they were once away and going at full speed. His heart
thumped loudly; he was extremely uncomfortable and dared not change his
position, but he could not help whispering to Nobbles in triumph:
'We're on, Nobbles, and we never will go back to the House again.'
It did not seem very long before the car stopped. Bobby heard men's
voices talking, but he did not move until his father had left the car.
Then he peeped out and saw him going into the principal hotel of the
market town. When he had disappeared through the door Bobby crept from
his hiding-place, and, strangely enough, though there were two or three
ostlers standing by, he escaped observation. He was very disappointed
to find they were no farther away, for he dreaded being taken back to
his grandmother again. Then his natural hopefulness came to his aid.
'Father will keep me when I tells him how I want him; and if he tells
me to go home I'll come out and hide under the seat. Me and Nobbles
don't mean to leave him now we've found him.'
He pushed the hotel door open, but there was no sign of his father.
Nothing disconcerted, Bobby opened every door he saw and peeped inside
the rooms, and when he did not find him downstairs, he climbed upstairs.
And at last he was successful. In a comfortable sitting-room his
father was just in the act of drawing an easy-chair to the window, and
the little girl was by his side.
'Did you see him, dad?' she was asking eagerly. 'Did you see your own
little boy? And what was he like? Do tell me.'
Mr. Allonby dropped into his seat with a heavy sigh.
'Not a bit like his mother, True. Very like what I was at his age, I'm
afraid.'
'I belongs to you, father.'
Bobby could keep silence no longer. Decision and some reproach was in
his tone. His father started from his chair as if he had been shot.
The little girl laughed and clapped her hands.
'You brought him as a s'prise, dad. You brought him to play with me!'
'On my honour I didn't, True. It's some magic, I think. Come here my
boy. How on earth did you get here?'
Bobby marched up to his father. He wanted to show what a man he was,
but his lips quivered, and his hand grasping Nobbles quivered too.
'I comed in your carriage under the seat. I didn't tell an untroof. I
did walk out on the road to meet you. I've been waiting years and
_years_ for you to come for me.'
Then his self-control gave way; he grasped hold of his father's coat
and burst into tears.
In an instant his father had lifted him upon his knee, and that was
Bobby's happy moment. He tried to check his sobs.
'I belongs to you; I don't want to go back to the House nevermore; me
and Nobbles have come to stay.'
Mr. Allonby put his hand on the curly head that was now burrowing
itself into his waistcoat pocket.
'This is quite a surprise to me, my sonny. Bobby you're called, are
you not? Aren't you happy with your grandmother?'
'I belongs to you,' Bobby repeated pitifully. 'I knewed you would come
for me one day. _Every_ day I've expecked you. I told Master Mortimer
you couldn't be lost. I knewed you couldn't.'
He raised his face to his father's now, triumphantly, trustingly, and
that look decided his fate. 'You do belong to me, Bobby, and we'll
find a corner for you somewhere; but I mustn't kidnap you in this
fashion. I'll take you back to your grandmother, and talk to her about
it. She'll be alarmed about you.'
Bobby began to cry again in an agitated fashion.
'I can't go back! Me and Nobbles won't! If you take me back I'll be
punished. The House doesn't want me; and Nurse can come and live with
us, father; she'll understand. She know's how I've been looking for
you _every_ day.'
'But what made you look for me? Who put such an idea in your head?'
Bobby stopped his tears to consider, and a slow smile spread over his
face.
'I reely believe it was Nobbles,' he said, holding up his stick to his
father admiringly. 'It was ever so many years ago,' he added hastily.
'Me and Nobbles have always talked about you coming to fetch me away
one day. I fink it was Nobbles who told me first.'
Mr. Allonby gazed at his little son with a comical look of dismay.
Then he put him down from his knees and took a few quick turns up and
down the room. At last he turned to the little girl, who was staring
at Bobby in silence.
'I want your mother's advice, True; she says I am always making
blunders. I think I'll send a note back to Bobby's grandmother, and
instead of staying here the night we'll motor straight back to mother
and ask her what we had better do. We'll take Bobby with us. I don't
know whether that will be right though. I'm afraid you ought to go
back, little chap.'
Mr. Allonby looked very much worried. Bobby shook his head
emphatically.
'Me and Nobbles couldn't never go back. We belongs to you.'
'Oh, bring him to mother, dad. She'll love him; he looks so lovely.
And isn't he very like that little boy who got nearly tossed with a
bull yesterday?'
'He's the same; that's the extraordinary thing. Yes, I'll send the
note, and we'll take him along to mother. His grandmother can send for
him from there if she wants him.'
Mr. Allonby walked to a writing-table and began to write a letter in
furious haste.
True put out her little fingers and stroked Bobby's velvet sleeve.
'What a nice coat you've got on!'
Boy-like, Bobby did not think much of his clothes.
'Who are you?' he asked curiously.
'Dad's little girl.'
'Father has no one but me,' said Bobby, with scarlet cheeks. 'I'm his
own proper boy.'
'Yes,' said True meekly, 'I know you are. I don't think I'm quite a
proper child, because my own father is dead, but dad is my next one,
and mother's my _very_ own. She doesn't belong to you at all, only to
_me_.'
The relationship puzzled Bobby, and did not altogether please him. He
had been so accustomed to think of himself and his father quite alone,
that this little girl and her mother seemed quite unnecessary.
Conversation languished between them until Mr. Allonby had finished his
note; then he left the room, found a messenger to take it at once, and
then for the next ten minutes all was bustle and confusion getting
ready for the return journey.
'If we are quick we shall get home by nine o'clock, True,' Mr. Allonby
said as he wrapped a heavy rug round Bobby and tucked him in by his
side in the car.
Five minutes afterwards they were going swiftly up the high-road. To
Bobby it all seemed a dream. He grasped Nobbles tightly, but no fear
assailed him. He had prepared himself too long for the possibility of
going off with an unknown father to be much disturbed now.
And the strangeness of his journey fascinated him. True on one side of
him, his father on the other--both strangers to him a few hours ago.
They passed in the dusk the identical spot where he had stood
confronting the bull that same afternoon. It seemed to be a year ago.
True looked out as they passed, rather sleepily.
'That's where dad charged the bull! Oh, it was horrid! I thought we
were going to be smashed up!'
Bobby snuggled closer to his father's side, and Mr. Allonby said
shortly:
'We won't think any more about that, True.'
It grew darker as they flew along; trees by the roadside began to turn
black and grim. A belt of pinewood looked as if it contained a band of
robbers ready to spring out upon any unlucky passer-by.
The light from their lamps seemed to cast strange shadows across the
road. They passed through two or three villages where the lights from
the cottage windows looked to Bobby like fallen stars. True soon went
to sleep, but the small boy sat looking out with wide awe-stricken
eyes. He had never been out at night before, and everything he saw was
absorbing. Mr. Allonby did not speak. He was very doubtful as to
whether he had acted wisely in taking Bobby off in such a fashion, and
was more than half inclined to turn back and hand him over to his
grandmother again. He looked down upon him with a mixture of affection
and anxiety. At last, meeting the steadfast gaze of two bright brown
eyes, he said:
'Well, what do you think of your father, Bobby?'
'You aren't the same as I finked about,' responded the child readily.
'Tell me how I am different.'
'I finked you would be a big man with a black beard, who would take me
to live in a cave in the mountains, or fight with the Red Ingines.
Nurse's brother said he expecked you would be like that.'
'You want a life of adventure and travel!'
Mr. Allonby's eyes sparkled, though he was staring in front of him and
making his car go beyond the limited speed at this juncture.
'Then you're a proper son of mine, Bobby, and I won't let you go.
We'll do some travels together.'
And we'll leave the little girl at home,' suggested Bobby.
His father laughed aloud.
'True? Bless her heart! Do you know where I first met her, Bobby?
Careering on a wild prairie; run away on a half-broken colt, and been
lost for two days; and when I took her back to her mother----'
He stopped and smiled to himself in the darkness.
'Ah, well! That was a good day in my life, and better ones followed.
No, you and True must be friends. Truant is her name by rights, for
her mother never could keep her indoors or at home. Now, Bobby, look
ahead! Do you see those lights? We go through the town; and just
outside is our home--a very tiny one at present, for we move about; but
we'll find a corner for you.'
He slackened speed. Slowly they passed through the streets of an
old-fashioned cathedral town. Soon the houses became more scarce, and
at last they came to a standstill before an iron gate in a wall. True
woke up, and she and Bobby were bundled out.
'Go up to the door; I'll take the car into the shed and join you.'
True pulled Bobby after her up a narrow gravel path. It was dark, but
there was a sweet smell of mignonette and of roses. Bobby was dimly
conscious of two old-fashioned borders of flowers edging their path. A
light shone out of a casement window on the ground floor which was
open. True ran up to it and put her head in.
'We're back, motherums, and we've brought dad's little boy with us.'
Then she thumped impatiently upon the door till it was opened by an
oldish woman.
'Now, Miss True, be quiet; and who's this without a hat?'
'I'm going to take him to Mother, Margot. Let us pass.'
The tiny hall seemed almost like a doll's house to Bobby. He hung
back; sudden shyness seized him.
'I think I'll wait for my father,' he said.
True released his hand, and dashed into the front room. Margot looked
down upon him in puzzled wonder, but a step outside made her smile.
'Ah! Here's the master,' she murmured; and Mr. Allonby's hand was upon
Bobby's shoulder the next instant.
'Now, little chap, come and see your new mother.'