THEIR house was just two cottages thrown into one, with a little garden
round it. In front lay a small drawing-room and a smaller dining-room,
and the schoolroom behind looked out on a bed of cabbages. On the walls
hung various pictures of horses and dogs, and a square centre table
rejoiced in an ink-bespattered table-cloth which had once been green.
Mr. Moore's work in this tiny village, even with the addition of some
help given to the old Rector at Lethmere East, left him time for the
education of his own children, and he often had one or two other boys
to teach with them. Had he been a strong man—which he was not—he would
not have undertaken so light a charge.
His one extra pupil of late had been Tom Moore, a nephew of his own, a
delicate lad sent here because he was not robust enough for ordinary
school-life. Tom looked older than his years, sitting at the table with
hunched-up shoulders, and eyes glued to a book.
Opposite to him fidgeted Hugh, a merry-faced boy, about Jock's age. On
a third side of the table a small, solid boy had perched himself in a
high chair, from which he gazed complacently about with wide placid
eyes; and the small girl on the rug was shaped after the same pattern,
both being plump, broad, and happy. For Artie or Bertha to cry and be
cross was an almost unknown event.
Into this scene, suddenly, burst Mousie.
"He's all right," she cried ecstatically. "He'll 'do.'" She had heard
Captain Royle—only son of Jock's new travelling-friend—speak one day of
a young fellow in precisely those words. The phrase had captured her
fancy—the more so since Captain Royle was her hero—and she had at once
adopted it for her own use. "Tom—do you hear?"
Tom looked vacantly up from his book.
"Tom—I say! Jock is all right. He's awfully nice. I like him ever so
much. And he and me are going to be friends."
She counted on her fingers carefully. "There's you and Hugh. And
there's Artie and Bertha. And now there's going to be Me and Jock."
Tom's eyes wandered back to the open page. "Well—why not? You're
welcome."
"But there isn't any 'not.' It's settled. And he's awfully nice. What
are you reading?"
"Spanish Armada."
"Oh dear—and Dad wants me to read that too. Tom—" and she put on her
most coaxing face—"won't you tell me all about it? I'd like that ever
so much better than reading to myself."
"Uncle wouldn't like it. He wants you to read."
Mousie sighed. She was not fond of hunting out history for herself, and
much preferred to be saved the trouble. But Tom was a real lover of
history, and he delighted in picturing to himself the brave deeds of
Englishmen in days gone by. Mr. Moore found it no easy matter to get
knowledge into the giddy heads of Mousie and Hugh, while he found real
pleasure in teaching Tom, who was an unusually thoughtful and clever
lad.
Mousie had her lessons with the boys, and even little Bertha was
constantly in the schoolroom, playing with her toys and never giving
any trouble.
The door opened, and in came Mr. Moore, with a hand on Jock's shoulder.
A thin, fragile-looking man was the curate, with a big forehead and a
cheery voice.
"Here, boys," he said. "Here's Jock."
Tom shuffled to his feet, while Hugh held genially out a grimy little
paw, lately used for delving in the coal-scuttle after a lost pencil.
Artie slowly scrambled to the ground, and came forward, beaming.
"Do you like nengines?" he asked, fixing round blue eyes on Jock.
"When I'm a man—" and he smiled more broadly—"I'm going to be a
nengine-driver."
"'I' mean to be a soldier, like my Dad," Jock promptly announced.
"I don't know what I'm going to be," meditated Hugh.
"An Ignoramus, my boy, with a very large capital I—if you don't get on
faster than you've done lately," Mr. Moore remarked. "Jock beats you in
height. Which is the older?"
Notes being compared, it was proved that Jock had the advantage by six
months.
"But I'm taller than Mousie, Dad," protested Hugh.
"Mousie always was a shrimp. Now put your books away. The rest of this
day is to be a holiday, in honour of Jock."
"Whoop," shouted Hugh.
"Keep within bounds, all of you, and keep out of mischief. You must
teach Jock where he may go, and where he may not. Understand—boys?"
A general "Yes" answered.
"But Jock must come back to luncheon with me," Miss Baynes said. She
had followed Mr. Moore and Jock into the schoolroom. "Jock, do you
understand? You will be allowed to go about in the place—but you must
keep within bounds. You must keep to rules. Do you understand? And—can
I depend on you?"
"Yes, Aunt Judith."
Mousie danced wildly round the table. "Oh, loverly! A whole
afternoon—and half a whole morning. Tom, do put away those horrid books
and let's have fun."
Tom kept his seat, despite her pulling. "I've got to finish this," he
said.
But Mousie gave him no peace, until she had her way.