THE LAST HOPE.
Little Harry Lyon found the circumstances of his fresh life so
entirely different from his old existence, that he seemed a greater
stranger to himself than the most strange of those who peopled his new
world.
To begin with, he was, to use his aunt's own term, "breeched" the
next day, and his petticoats became the big baby's property, while
his precious best frock was poked unceremoniously into a box under his
aunt's bed.
He looked after it with longing eyes. He had waited so long to wear it
and it seemed too bad to have it taken away when he had only worn it
so few times, and it was made with a pocket, the first he had ever
had. As he saw the box slammed down, he remembered with a pang that in
the pocket was his little bestest white handkerchief with lace on it
and in the corner of the handkerchief, tied in an easy knot, was a
penny that Denys had given him.
He had never dared to ask her again for even a ha'penny, but one
day she had given him a bright penny that shone like gold and he had
treasured it with utmost joy, more because he had not asked for it,
than for its value as a penny.
The edge of the box which held his treasures stuck out from under the
bed, and he watched it for a long time, resolving in his little mind
that one day he would manage somehow to get his own again.
The confinement of his new life irked him as much as his breeches, for
he had been used to wandering about the Landslip and the Whitecliff
beach at his own pleasure, and now there were but two rooms to wander
in, or at best a short and narrow street, beyond whose limits he was
forbidden to go, and it was filled with rough and noisy children who
pushed him and pinched him and who roared vociferously whenever they
saw him, after they discovered that his name was Lyon.
He had always made friends with all the sailors and visitors at
Whitecliff, but here the men and women hurried about their business
and never even glanced at the golden-headed little chap, and there
were no boats to be pulled up and pushed out, and no tide, and no
sands, and no--no _anything_.
Harry stood at the top of the dull street looking forlornly about him,
when he came to that conclusion, and when he realised it, he burst
into a sudden fit of heart-broken crying.
There were no loving arms now in which to sob out his woes, and he
turned his little back upon the world and covering his face with his
hands, leaned his head against a big brick wall and wept, and wept,
and wept for his mother.
"Oh, mummy--mummy--mummy--"
"Why, Harry!" said his Uncle Jim's voice, "whatever's the matter with
you? You shouldn't be crying--you're a big boy now. Have the boys been
hitting you?"
Harry did not turn or heed him.
"Oh, mummy--mummy--mummy," he wailed.
"Harry!" said Jim again, "here's a penny for you--let's go and buy
some sweeties."
But Harry was past that.
"Oh, mummy--mummy--my mummy--I want my mummy."
There was no mistaking the heart-broken cry this time, and Jim looked
helplessly at Tom Green who stood beside him.
"It's the old story," said Tom gently, "'They have taken away my Lord
and I know not where they have laid him.'" Then he stooped down to
the level of the little weeping child and drew him into his arms and
turned the tear-stained little face to rest on his shoulder.
"Harry!" he said gently, "dear mummy has gone to live in a beautiful
Home with Jesus and she's so happy and she doesn't cough any more or
feel tired any more. Oh, she's so happy. And she is with Jesus. She
used to tell you about Him, didn't she?"
The comfort of the kind arms and the kind voice, and above all, the
words of hope that carried the childish thoughts straight to happiness
and seemed to find his mother for him again, comforted the little
heart at once, and Harry's sobs came only with a long drawn breath as
he listened.
Tom did not wait for an answer, he went on in the same low, soothing
tone.
"Jesus has got such a lovely Home ready for dear mummy and He is
getting one ready for little Harry too, and one day Jesus will call
Harry and he will see Jesus and dear mummy and the beautiful Home and
be so happy."
"Yes," murmured Harry nestling closer. He was so tired of crying and
being lonely, and these arms held him so nicely. He gave a deep, deep
sigh which somehow spoke of restfulness and of the sorrow being past,
and Tom raised himself and looked in the tear-stained face a moment,
then kissed it and wiped it with his handkerchief.
"That's better!" he said cheerfully, "would you like a ride on Uncle
Tom's shoulder? Uncle Tom is coming home to tea with Harry, and Uncle
Tom's awful hungry--he's going to eat a whole big loaf for tea."
Harry laughed gleefully as he found himself swung in an instant on to
Uncle Tom's shoulder and was carried along high above all the other
little rough children's heads, and was even on a level with Uncle Jim!
By stretching out his hand he could pat the top of Uncle Jim's head;
and he laughed again as he gave Uncle Jim a good hard pat.
"You are a clever one, Tom," said Jim admiringly, "how did you pick it
up?"
Tom might have said, "Out of my own sorrow," but he only smiled, and
told Harry to mind his head as he stopped at Jim's doorway and carried
him upstairs to Aunt Jane and the baby.
Harry became Tom's devoted slave thenceforth, and Jim watched the two
playing and whispering together almost jealously, and yet he liked
Tom too well to really grudge him the child's love, and Tom looked so
happy,--happier than Jim had seen him since Pattie gave him up.
Jim took notice too of the way Tom amused the child, how he became a
child for the time being, and all the materials he had were trifles
from his pockets; a piece of paper and a pencil, a few odd buttons and
keys, a bit of string and an empty match box!
Jim knew that _his_ ingenuity could never amuse Harry with such
things, but he determined to buy some toys that very evening, and to
try his hand at winning the child's heart the next evening. Jane took
very little notice of any of them and after putting the baby to bed,
announced that she had shopping to do, and as Tom saw her slip an
empty jug into her shopping basket, he knew what her final destination
would be and that she would not return for some considerable time.
"Aren't you going to put the little 'un to bed before you go out,
Jane?" he said, "we've had a good spell of play and he's half asleep
now."
But Jane deigned no answer, unless the slam of the door as she
disappeared on to the stairs, was one.
Jim shrugged his broad shoulders.
"Harry and me, we do the bedding-down between us," he said rather
sheepishly, "run and get your nightie, boy."
Then as Harry trotted off, he added in a lower tone, "She won't do
nothing for him, so I have to. It's no use arguing over everything and
so----"
Tom nodded. "So you have to be father and mother both," he said. "He's
more of a little 'un than I expected, but he's a dear little 'un. I've
right down enjoyed myself this evening."
The two men between them undressed Harry and superintended his
prayers, and tucked him into his bed, and then they sat by the open
window and chatted in low tones till the sound of their voices had
lulled Harry to sleep, and then at last Tom rose and said he must be
going. He went over to the cot and stood looking down on the little
sleeping face, with its regular features, its long lashes lying on the
bright cheeks, and its crown of tumbled golden hair.
"He's like the pictures of the angels," he said regretfully, "if
Pattie and I had had our little home, we'd have loved to let him stay
with us a bit, but I'll come in on Saturday and take him on the river,
if you'll let me. It seems so long since I had anybody to go out
with."
"Poor old Tom," said Jim affectionately, "it's cut you very hard, but
I always believe it will come all right, you know!"
"Pooh!" said an unexpected voice behind them, "you would always
believe anything silly, Jim Adams! Come right, indeed! Very likely!
You just wait till I have seen Miss Pattie Paul again."
"Have you seen her?" asked Tom in a curiously quiet tone. He had gone
very pale, but his face was in shadow and Jane did not perceive it or
anything peculiar in his voice.
"Ha!" she cried vaingloriously, "I have! I let her know what I thought
of her--mean little cat."
"Jane!" said her husband warningly.
"Oh, you needn't stand up for her," she said airily. "I'm not going to
stand by and see my brother treated so. But what's a talking-to with
a brazen hussy like that? Wait a bit, I haven't thought how to do it
yet, but I'm going to pay her out. Trust me!"
And then Jim did what he had never done in his life before,--he took
his wife by the shoulders and forcibly marched her into the bedroom
and shut the door upon her.
"Come, Tom!" he said touching him gently on the shoulder, "we've had
enough of this."
They passed down the stairs together, but on the landing below Tom
stopped, and covering his face with his hands, leaned against the
wall.
"Oh Pattie, Pattie," he moaned, "that's my last chance gone. And my
own sister too."
Jim said nothing. He was not good at words, but he waited till Tom
had recovered himself, and then he went right to his home with him and
made a cup of tea for him and sat and chatted till past midnight.
"Don't be downhearted, old fellow," he said when he parted from him.
But as he went home again he muttered to himself and frowned.
"I wonder what Jane means to do? I wonder what she _could_ do?"