"Why, you're a regular little spitfire." The lady seemed amused.
"Come here, my boy," a quiet voice said from the other side of the
waiting-room.
Jock obeyed, swelling and wrathful still, and Mr. Royle's hand came on
his shoulder.
"Don't you mind what other people say. Remember—you can trust your
mother. If she said she would come home as soon as she could, she will
do it."
"But—but—but—" Jock could hardly get out the words, and he looked
across at Mrs. Royle. "'She' says—"
"Never mind. Other people don't understand. You know what your mother
said, and nothing else matters."
Jock leant against the shoulder of Mr. Royle's fur-lined coat, and felt
a little comforted.
"And I'm going to tell you something else, my boy. Try to recollect
it. The first few days will perhaps seem endless to you—each day like
a whole week. But that won't last. After the first week, the days will
move faster; and after the first month, they will begin to run; and
after the first three months, they will gallop. See?"
"Will they?" It seemed to Jock like years already since the early
morning.
"Take my word for it—they will. You will make no end of new friends;
and you will have no end of fun."
"I'm going to have lessons at Mr. Moore's."
"Ah, yes—and you'll find boys there. A girl too—queer little fish!"
This was murmured, and perhaps was not meant for Jock's ears. "You're
not a mischievous boy, are you?—particularly."
Jock laughed. He wanted very much to ask why the girl should be called
"a queer little fish," but he did not venture.
"Don't let her lead you into mischief, that's all. Keep a sane head of
your own. You seem to me to be a sensible lad. Got any sisters?"
"No; it's only me."
"Ah—well—it's a mercy if they haven't managed to spoil you."
Mr. Royle went back to his paper, and Jock found himself with plenty to
think about.
Slowly as time passed, the second train at length was due, and once
more they were off. It had grown extremely cold, and, though very
still, the air was piercing. Overhead in a clear sky some small crimson
clouds lay near the horizon, and the telegraph posts went by much more
deliberately than with the earlier train.
Three or four more stations, at each of which they stopped, and then
"Lethmere East" appeared in big letters. This was the nearest station
to Lethmere West, two miles distant. And when they drew up, there was
Aunt Judith—trim and smart in figure, not tall but very upright, with
dark hair and bright dark eyes, and a very wide awake manner.
"So—here you all are," she said briskly. "How kind of you both to
undertake such a troublesome charge. I hope Jock has behaved properly.
Oh, thanks, my mother is better. Well, Jock—how are you?"
She gave him a kiss, a rapid, bird-like peck on his cheek. Jock
remembered those kisses of hers, and he wanted to rub it off, but
didn't.
"Quite well?" she asked, but she did not wait for an answer. "We must
be off—it is getting cold. A real, sharp frost."
"Too horribly cold," complained Mrs. Royle. "And such delays. I thought
we should never arrive."
Outside the station they found the Royles' large motor-car waiting, and
near it Aunt Judith's pony-carriage. Part of Jock's belongings were
taken, and the rest would have to follow next day. Judith told him to
jump in, and followed, taking the reins. Mr. Royle came close to shake
hands with Jock.
"Good-bye," he said heartily. "Mind you come and see me some day soon,
my boy. I shall look out for you. Come and tell me how you are getting
on."
Aunt Judith opened her eyes rather widely. The car spun away at a fine
pace, and the brown pony trotted calmly after. "Now, what made Mr.
Royle say that?" questioned Aunt Judith. "I hope you didn't ask to go,
Jock?"
"No, I didn't. 'Course I didn't, Aunt Judith. He was—awfully kind."
"I'm glad you didn't. Yes, he is a very kind man. And you've got
through your journey all right. Are you warm?"
She pulled the rug up higher, and tucked it round him, and they went on
at a steady jog-trot, from which not all Aunt Judith's efforts could
rouse the pony. Evidently he was used to having his own way. She talked
a great deal to him, and flicked her whip perpetually, and he shook his
ears as if in response, but he chose his own pace.
When they drew near to Lethmere West it was nearly dark, and only dim
glimpses of hedges and fields could be had, and then of a good-sized
garden, and, lastly, of an open front door, lighted from within. Jock
remembered the butler who stood there, a stout, middle-aged man.
Aunt Judith bustled him in, and told him to stay by the fire in the
morning-room, while she ran up to see her mother.
Then she came down to say that Mrs. Baynes was sound asleep, and that
Jock should have his supper at once and go to bed. While he ate, she
kept flitting in and out, talking most of the time. Then she called
Emma, the housemaid, a rosy, good-tempered-looking girl, and told her
to take Jock to his room, and to look after him. It was a pretty room
on the first floor, with pink curtains and a pink coverlet, and Jock's
things for the night were already unpacked.
"I can do everything for myself please," he said, when the maid
lingered. "I'd rather, please."
"Well, don't be long, and I'll come back presently, and put out your
light. You're tired, ain't you? Get to bed, quick—there's a good boy."
Jock was very tired, and very soon he was ready for bed—all except his
prayers, which he put off till the last. Always, until to-day, his
mother had come to him, for she had never left off that habit of infant
days. Now for the first time, as he knelt by the little bed, he knew
what it was to be "alone." He tried to keep back the tears which kept
coming, and he tried to say his prayers as usual, but it was very hard.
After two or three minutes, he crept into bed and hid his face under
the clothes, and when Emma came back, she supposed him to be asleep. So
she turned down the light and went away.
And desolation crept over Jock. It was like a big black cloud covering
him. He was utterly alone. His mother was far away—out of reach.
But, mercifully, he was too tired to keep awake. And don't you think
that, as he lay, one of God's dear angels stooped softly down to
whisper comfort to the lonely child? Somehow a recollection came of his
mother's words that last evening—only yesterday, but it seemed so long
ago—and of the kind Heavenly Friend Who would always, always, be at his
side. And with that thought, Jock dropped asleep, his cheeks still wet.
Soon he was smiling.
For a lovely dream had come. He was back at home with Mummie, and her
arms were round him, and she was saying with a gentle smile—"It wasn't
so bad after all—was it, darling?"