Three years, as every one knows, look like what they are--twenty-six
thousand two hundred and eighty long hours from one side, and they look
like nothing from the other. They had passed pleasantly and well, for
the doctor had been so much pleased with his Isle of Wight house that he
had taken it for three years, and transported there the whole of his
household, excepting Dan'l, who was left in charge at Coleby.
"You see, my dear," the doctor had said; "it's a mistake for Dexter to
be at Coleby until he has gone through what we may call his caterpillar
stage. We'll take him back a perfect--"
"Insect, papa?" said Helen, smiling.
"No, no. You understand what I mean."
So Dexter did not see Coleby during those three years, in which he
stayed his terms at a school where the principal did not break the
spirit of backward and unruly boys. On the contrary, he managed to
combine excellent teaching with the possession of plenty of animal
spirits, and his new pupil gained credit, both at home and at the
school.
"Now," said the doctor, on the day of their return to the old home, as
he ran his eye proudly over the sturdy manly-looking boy he was taking
back; "I think I can show Sir James I'm right, eh, my dear?"
Old Dan'l smiled a wonderful smile as Dexter went down the garden
directly he got home.
"Shake hands with you, my lad?" he said, in answer to an invitation;
"why, I'm proud. What a fine un you have growed! But come and have a
look round. I never had such a year for fruit before."
Chuckling with satisfaction, the doctor was not content until he had
brought Sir James and Lady Danby to the house to dinner, in company with
their son, who had grown up into an exceedingly tall, thin, pale boy
with a very supercilious smile.
No allusion was made to the doctor's plan, but the dinner-party did not
turn out a success, for the boys did not seem to get on together; and
Sir James said in confidence to Lady Danby that night, precisely what
Dr Grayson said to Helen--
"They never shall be companions if I can help it. I don't like that
boy."
Over the dessert, too, Sir James managed to upset Dexter's equanimity by
an unlucky speech, which brought the colour to the boy's cheeks.
"By the way, young fellow," he said, "I had that old friend of yours up
before me, about a month ago, for the second time."
Dexter looked at him with a troubled look, and Sir James went on, as he
sipped his claret.
"You know--Bob Dimsted. Terrible young blackguard. Always poaching.
Good thing if they had a press-gang for the army, and such fellows as he
were forced to serve."
It was at breakfast the next morning that the doctor waited till Dexter
had left the table, and then turned to Helen--
"I shall not forgive Danby that unkind remark," he said. "I could
honestly do it now, and say, `There, sir, I told you I could make a
gentleman out of any material that I liked to select; and I've done it.'
But no: I'll wait till Dexter has passed all his examinations at
Sandhurst, and won his commission, and then--Yes, Maria--what is it!"
"Letter, sir, from the Union," said Maria.
"Humph! Dear me! What's this? Want me to turn guardian again, and I
shall not. Eh, bless my heart! Well, well, I suppose we must."
He passed the letter to Helen, and she read Mr Hippetts formal piece of
diction, to the effect that one of the old inmates, a Mrs Curdley, was
in a dying state, and she had several times asked to see the boy she had
nursed--Obed Coleby. During the doctor's absence from the town the
master had not felt that he could apply; but as Dr Grayson had
returned, if he would not mind his adopted son visiting the poor old
woman, who had been very kind to him as a child, it would be a
Christian-like deed.
"Yes; yes, of course, of course," said the doctor; and he called Dexter
in.
"Oh yes!" cried the lad, as he heard the request. "I remember all she
did for me so well, and--and--I have never been to see her since."
"My fault--my fault, my boy," said the doctor hastily. "There, we shall
go and see her now."
There were only two familiar faces for Dexter to encounter, first,
namely, those of Mr Hippetts and the schoolmaster, both of whom
expressed themselves as being proud to shake their old pupil's hand.
Then they ascended to the infirmary, where the old nurse lay very
comfortable and well cared for, and looking as if she might last for
months.
Her eyes lit up as she saw Dexter; and, when he approached, she held out
her hand, and made him sit down beside her.
"And growed such a fine chap!" she said, again and again.
She had little more to say, beyond exacting a promise that he would come
and see her once again, and when he was about to leave she put a small,
dirty-looking, brown-paper packet in his hand.
"There," she said. "I'd no business to, and he'd ha' took it away if
he'd ha' known; but he didn't; and it's yours, for it was in your
father's pocket when he come here and died."
The "he" the poor old woman meant was the workhouse master, and the
packet was opened in his presence, and found to contain a child's linen
under-garment plainly marked--"Max Vanburgh, 12," and a child's
highly-coloured toy picture-book, frayed and torn, and further
disfigured by having been doubled in half and then doubled again, so
that it would easily go in a man's pocket.
It was the familiar old story of Little Red Riding-Hood, but the
particular feature was an inscription upon the cover written in a
delicate feminine hand--
"For my darling Max on his birthday, June 30th, 18--.
Alice Vanburgh, The Beeches, Daneton."
"But you told me the boy's father was a rough, drunken tramp, who died
in the infirmary."
"Yes, sir, I did," said Mr Hippetts, when he had a private interview
with the doctor next day. "But it seems strange."
"Very," said the doctor.
Helen also agreed that it was very strange, and investigations followed,
the result of which proved, beyond doubt, that Dexter Grayson, otherwise
Obed Coleby, was really Maximilian Vanburgh, the son of Captain Vanburgh
and Alice, his wife, both of whom died within two years of the day when,
through the carelessness of a servant, the little fellow strayed away
out through the gate and on to the high-road, where he was found far
from home, crying, by the rough, tipsy scoundrel who passed that way.
The little fellow's trouble appealed to what heart there was left in the
man's breast, and he carried him on, miles away, careless as to whom he
belonged to, and, day by day, further from the spot where the search was
going on. The child amused him; and in his way he was kind to it, while
the little fellow was of an age to take to any one who played with and
petted him. Rewards and advertisements were vain, for they never
reached the man's eyes, and his journeyings were on and on through a
little-frequented part of the country, where it was nobody's business to
ask a rough tramp how he came by the neglected-looking, ragged child,
who clung to him affectionately enough. The little fellow was happy
with him for quite three months, as comparison of dates proved, and what
seemed strange became mere matter of fact--to wit, that Dexter was a
gentleman by birth.
All this took time to work out, but it was proved incontestably, the old
nurse having saved all that the rough fellow had left of his little
companion's belongings; and when everything was made plain, there was
the fact that Dexter was an orphan, and that he had found a home that
was all a boy could desire.
"There, papa! what have you to say now?" said Helen to the doctor one
day.
"Say?" he said testily. "Danby will laugh at me when he knows, and
declare my theory is absurd. I shall never finish that book."
"But you will not try such an experiment again?" said Helen laughingly.
Just then Dexter came in sight, bright, frank, and manly, and merrily
whistling one of Helen's favourite airs.
"No," said the doctor sharply; and then--"God bless him! Yes: if it was
to be the making of such a boy as that!"