After the resolution that Major McShane came to, it is not to be
surprised that he made, during the journey home, every inquiry of Joey
relative to his former life. To these Joey gave him a very honest reply
in everything except that portion of his history in which his father was
so seriously implicated; he had the feeling that he was bound in honour
not to reveal the circumstances connected with the murder of the pedlar.
McShane was satisfied, and they arrived in London without further
adventure. As soon as McShane had been embraced by his wife, he gave a
narrative of his adventures, and did not forget to praise little Joey as
he deserved. Mrs McShane was all gratitude, and then it was that
McShane expressed his intentions towards our hero, and, as he expected,
he found his amiable wife wholly coincide with him in opinion. It was
therefore decided that Joey should be put to a school, and be properly
educated, as soon as an establishment that was eligible could be found.
Their full intentions towards him, however, were not communicated to our
hero; he was told that he was to go to school, and he willingly
submitted: it was not, however, for three months that McShane would part
with him: a difficulty was raised against every establishment that was
named. During this time little Joey was very idle, for there was
nothing for him to do. Books there were none, for Mrs McShane had no
time to read, and Major McShane no inclination. His only resort was to
rummage over the newspapers which were taken in for the benefit of the
customers, and this was his usual employment. One day, in turning over
the file, he came to the account of the murder of the pedlar, with the
report of the coroner's inquest. He read all the evidence, particularly
that of Furness, the schoolmaster, and found that the verdict was wilful
murder, with a reward of 200 pounds for his apprehension. The term,
wilful murder, he did not exactly comprehend; so, after laying down the
paper, with a beating heart he went to Mrs McShane, and asked her what
was the meaning of it.
"Meaning, child?" replied Mrs McShane, who was then very busy in her
occupation, "it means, child, that a person is believed to be guilty of
murder, and, if taken up, he will be hanged by the neck till he is
dead."
"But," replied Joey, "suppose he has not committed the murder?"
"Well then, child, he must prove that he has not."
"And suppose, although he has not committed it, he cannot prove it?"
"Mercy on me, what a number of supposes! why, then he will be hanged all
the same, to be sure."
A fortnight after these queries, Joey was sent to school; the master was
a very decent man, the mistress a very decent woman, the tuition was
decent, the fare was decent, the scholars were children of decent
families; altogether, it was a decent establishment, and in this
establishment little Joey made very decent progress, going home every
half year. How long Joey might have remained there it is impossible to
say; but having been there for a year and a half, and arrived at the age
of fourteen, he had just returned from the holidays with three guineas
in his pocket, for McShane and his wife were very generous and very fond
of their protege, when a circumstance occurred which again ruffled the
smooth current of our hero's existence.
He was walking out as all boys do walk out in decent schools, that is,
in a long line, two by two, as the animals entered Noah's Ark, when a
sort of shabby-genteel man passed their files. He happened to cast his
eyes upon Joey, and stopped. "Master Joseph Rushbrook, I am most happy
to see you once more," said he extending his hand. Joey looked up into
his face; there was no mistake; it was Furness, the schoolmaster.
"Don't you recollect me, my dear boy? Don't you recollect him who
taught the infant idea how to shoot? Don't you recollect your old
preceptor?"
"Yes," replied Joey, colouring up, "I recollect you very well."
"I am delighted to see you; you know you were my fairest pupil, but we
are all scattered now; your father and mother have gone no one knows
where; you went away, and I also could no longer stay. What pleasure it
is to meet you once more!"
Joey did not respond exactly to the pleasure. The stoppage of the line
had caused some confusion, and the usher, who had followed it, now came
up to ascertain the cause. "This is my old pupil, or rather I should
say, my young pupil; but the best pupil I ever had. I am most delighted
to see him, sir," said Furness, taking off his hat. "May I presume to
ask who has the charge of this dear child at this present moment?"
The usher made no difficulty in stating the name and residence of the
preceptor, and, having gained this information, Furness shook Joey by
the hand, bade him farewell, and, wishing him every happiness, walked
away.
Joey's mind was confused during the remainder of his walk, and it was
not until their return home that he could reflect on what had passed.
That Furness had given evidence upon the inquest he knew, and he had
penetration, when he read it, to feel that there was no necessity for
Furness having given such evidence. He also knew that there was a
reward of two hundred pounds for his apprehension; and when he thought
of Furness's apparent kindness, and his not reverting to a subject so
important as wilful murder having been found against him, he made up his
mind that Furness had behaved so with the purpose of lulling him into
security, and that the next day he would certainly take him up, for the
sake of the reward.
Now, although we have not stopped our narrative to introduce the
subject, we must here observe that Joey's love for his parents,
particularly his father, was unbounded; he longed to see them again;
they were constantly in his thoughts, and yet he dared not mention them,
in consequence of the mystery connected with his quitting his home. He
fully perceived his danger: he would be apprehended, and being so, he
must either sacrifice his father or himself. Having weighed all this in
his mind, he then reflected upon what should be his course to steer.
Should he go home to acquaint Major McShane? He felt that he could
trust him, and would have done so, but he had no right to intrust any
one with a secret which involved his father's life. No, that would not
do; yet, to leave him and Mrs McShane after all their kindness, and
without a word, this would be too ungrateful. After much cogitation, he
resolved that he would run away, so that all clue to him should be lost;
that he would write a letter for McShane, and leave it. He wrote as
follows:--
"DEAR SIR,--Do not think me ungrateful, for I love you and Mrs
McShane dearly, but I have been met by a person who knows me, and will
certainly betray me. I left my father's home, not for poaching, but a
murder that was committed; _I was not guilty_. This is the only
secret I have held from you, and the secret is not MINE. I could not
disprove it, and never will. I now leave because I have been
discovered by a bad man, who will certainly take advantage of having
fallen in with me. We may never meet again. I can say no more,
except that I shall always pray for you and Mrs McShane, and remember
your kindness with gratitude.
"Yours truly, JOEY MCSHANE."
Since his return from Saint Petersburg, Joey had always, by their
request, called himself Joey McShane, and he was not sorry when they
gave him the permission, although he did not comprehend the advantages
which were to accrue from taking the name.
Joey, having finished his letter, sat down and cried bitterly--but in a
school there is no retiring place for venting your feelings, and he was
compelled to smother his tears. He performed his exercise, and repeated
his lessons, as if nothing had happened and nothing was about to happen,
for Joey was in essence a little stoic. At night he went to his room
with the other boys; he could only obtain a small portion of his
clothes, these he put up in a handkerchief, went softly downstairs about
one o'clock in the morning, put his letter, addressed to McShane, on the
hall-table, opened the back door, climbed over the play-ground wall, and
was again on the road to seek his fortune.
But Joey was much improved during the two years since he had quitted his
father's house. Before that, he was a reflective boy; now, he was more
capable of action and decision. His ideas had been much expanded from
the knowledge of the world gained during his entry, as it were, into
life; he had talked much, seen much, listened much, and thought more;
and naturally quiet in his manner, he was now a gentlemanlike boy. At
the eating-house he had met with every variety of character; and as
there were some who frequented the house daily, with those Joey had
become on intimate terms. He was no longer a child, but a lad of
undaunted courage and presence of mind; he had only one fear, which was
that his father's crime should be discovered.
And now he was again adrift, with a small bundle, three guineas in his
pocket, and the world before him. At first, he had but one idea--that
of removing to a distance which should elude the vigilance of Furness,
and he therefore walked on, and walked fast. Joey was capable of great
fatigue; he had grown considerably, it is true, during the last two
years; still he was small for his age; but every muscle in his body was
a wire, and his strength, as had been proved by his school-mates, was
proportionate. He was elastic as india-rubber, and bold and determined
as one who had been all his life in danger.