A SURPRISE VISIT
Four years had passed since Tom Chance had left Tasmania, and it was
with a pleasurable quickening of pulse that he found himself back in
the island and walking along the hilly road from the station towards
Wallaroo. He had told no one he was coming, for he had planned once
or twice before to pay a flying visit which pressure of work had made
him obliged to defer, so this time he had determined to take his
friends by surprise. His years of absence had been full of strenuous
work, and he had travelled through many parts of the huge continent,
up the Murray River, to New South Wales and Queensland, and wherever
he had gone his strong personality and convincing earnestness had
left behind a certain quickening of church life which in many cases
proved permanent. And now he was conscious of brain fag, of a need
for a holiday, and had made up his mind quite suddenly to take one,
and it was natural that he should spend it with his sister and in
revisiting some of his Tasmanian friends. The coach had not met the
train by which he arrived, and he had left his baggage at the station
and was walking the eight miles which separated the railway from
Wallaroo.
And he commended himself for his decision as he strode leisurely
along the zig-zag road which at every turn disclosed a wider and more
beautiful view, and to his eyes, tired with the arid wastes through
which he had lately travelled, the blue atmosphere and exquisite
colouring of the island seemed little short of Paradise.
Indeed, in all his travels, Tasmania was the spot which had wound
itself most closely round his heart. And from the land his mind
passed on to the faces he was so soon to see again, Clarissa's joyous
welcome, and that of his friends at the farm. Children's memories
were short; he could scarcely hope that Eva would remember him, and
of Jack he had heard not long since that he had developed from the
delightful innocence and frankness of childhood, into a somewhat
bumptious schoolboy, at least such was his sister's report.
"And Betty seems rather harassed with the care of him," she had said
in her last letter. "She said the other day that she so wished he
could have remained under your influence as he needs a man's hand,
and his father is anxious that the boy should remain under her care
until he is fourteen years old, when a sister of his will be
returning for good from India and promises him a home."
It was this report that had made Tom decide to sail for Tasmania at
once. If he could be of service to Betty in the absence of little
Jack's father, he might turn his holiday to good account. Jack had
been sent to the State school some six months ago, and the society of
boys older than himself had probably gone to his head like wine, and
made him lose his balance, in which case a little judicious snubbing
might have good effect.
So thought Tom Chance as he breasted the last steep incline from the
top of which he would catch his first glimpse of the township.
Another mile and he would be at home, and very much at home he felt,
as he walked through the straggling street, exchanging greetings with
one and another who remembered him. Then came the turn into the
familiar green lane, where so often two little friends had waited for
him on a Saturday afternoon; but to-day no one was in sight, but just
as he reached the gate of his sister's house a child with a bright
face and a long plait of dark hair down her back, came running down
the path whom Tom found it difficult to recognise as the curly-headed
dumpling of five that he had left behind him. But no such great
difference had the four years worked upon Tom himself, and Eva stood
still for a moment, regarding him with startled wonder in her eyes;
then as full recognition dawned upon her she came flying towards him
with open arms.
"Mother, mother," she called back over her shoulder. "Here's Uncle
Tom come to see us," and the next instant Eva's arms were round her
uncle's neck.
And Clarissa, a younger, rosier, happier Clarissa, came hurrying up
behind.
"But Tom, how naughty of you not to let us know you were coming," she
said when the first greetings were over, "not to have given me the
joy of anticipation and of preparation. Now you will have to take
just what you can get. I've improved your prophet's chamber though,
since you lived in it. I've added a little writing-table and an easy
chair. Life has taken a different colour altogether since last you
came."
And so she chatted on as she hurried on her preparations for tea,
giving her brother no time for explanations.
"I hope you've come to stop a long, long time," she said at last.
"I've come to spend my holiday with you. I've not had one since I
came to the colony, and suddenly felt in need of it."
"And that's six weeks and sometimes seven in the summer time," said
Eva clapping her hands.
"I was quite flattered that you remembered me, Eva; you were such a
tiny mite when I left, a round dumpling of a niece, and now you have
grown into a little girl, with a pig-tail down your back."
"I couldn't forget," said Eva, "when mother talks of you every day
and your likeness looks at me as I go to sleep. Why I say good-night
to you, same as if you were there."
"I think I'll go over and see them at the farm," said Tom, when tea
was ended. "I want to surprise them as I surprised you, and you can
come with me, Eva, and see your chum."
Eva's head went down, and Tom fancied he saw tears on her long
lashes. "I'll stay with mother, thank you. Jack isn't chummy any
more. He doesn't want me now he has boys to play with."
"Oh, I expect he does," said Tom, consolingly, "but now he goes to
school and has regular lessons he can't have so much time for play,
nor should you have, by rights. I suppose Eva has lessons to learn
as well as Jack?" turning to Clarissa.
"Oh, I don't let her go to the State school; there is a girls' school
opened in the place by a rather nice Englishwoman, and Eva goes to
her every morning and works at home in the afternoon, but it's out of
school hours that she misses Jack. I don't know what has come over
the boy. He says he has 'no use' for girls."
Tom laughed a little, but thought that Master Jack wanted bringing
down a peg or two. However, he would go and see for himself.
It was getting dusk as he crossed the paddock, and no one seemed
moving about the farm premises. He had half hoped that Jack might
have been playing about somewhere, and that his first meeting with
the boy might have been when he was alone. He let himself in gently
by the garden gate and stood looking round him. Every window and
door stood open, and in the verandah, lying back in a long wicker
chair, was Betty. The attitude was such an unusual one that Tom
divined at once that all was not well with her. There was weariness
written on every line of the recumbent figure, not weariness of body
only, but weariness of mind. And then Tom felt he had no right to
watch her and went forward to speak to her.
"I'm a late visitor, Miss Treherne, but may I come in?"
Betty sprang to her feet with a glad cry of welcome.
"Isn't it odd? you were the very man I was wishing for. I wanted to
talk to you about so many things, and now you are here. Father and
mother have gone over to Wylmington to keep the Carltons' silver
wedding day, and I don't expect them back until quite late."
"So that some of the things you want to say to me can be said here
and now," said Tom, sinking down into a chair by her side. "But
first, I must see my friend Jack. Shall I find the rogue round by
the stables?"
"He's in bed," said Betty, shortly.
"So you keep him to early hours," said Tom. "I left Eva talking to
her mother."
"He's in bed because he's naughty, and it's the only punishment I can
inflict, and I should not be surprised any day if he refused to go,
and what my next move would be does not yet appear. It's quite
certain I can't beat him."
"But your father could. I'm no advocate for beating, but
occasionally a boy in the puppy stage is better for it."
"Father is too old and too lenient. Besides, he's my
responsibility," said Betty, with a little laugh that had tears
behind it.
"You should send him home."
"I would if my brother-in-law had anyone there to mother him,
although I should be sending half my heart with him."
"Well, depend upon it he's only passing through one of the rather
tiresome stages of development, which every man-child experiences in
a more or less degree."
"But which it needs a man's hand to guide him through."
"I'm not at all sure that a mother's or aunt's influence does not go
further," said Tom consolingly, "but I shall be here for a few weeks
now, and will do what I can. Besides, I'm so fond of the boy. I
don't think little Jack the Englishman can have gone far astray.
Does your present clergyman have much to say to him?"
"Mr. Curtis?" answered Betty. "He's quite a good man and a very hard
worker, but he has no knack with children. He is shy of them, and
the feeling is mutual."
"And does Jack ring the bell still?" Tom asked, with a little laugh.
"No, he got late one or two Sundays, and Mr. Curtis told him that if
he could not be there in time he would rather ring it himself. The
novelty and honour of the thing had worn off a little, and Jack would
not go any more and I did not think it wise to force him."
"But he goes to church?"
"Oh yes, he goes with me, and to Sunday School also. He announced
last Sunday that he was getting too old to go to Sunday School, but I
promptly sat on him."
"To sum up the matter, Master Jack has grown a little too big for his
boots."
"Metaphorically and literally," Betty answered smiling. "He's such a
big boy for his age and very manly; he is always out-growing his
suits. People often take him for twelve or thirteen, and he's only
eleven, and as it has always been his ambition to be big, he assumes
the airs of boys much older than himself."
Then Tom led Betty's thoughts to other channels, told her something
of his own travels and experiences, and left her at last refreshed
and soothed. But all Betty had told him about Jack troubled him
rather. The boy must be summarily dealt with. Jack was terribly
chagrined in the morning when he heard that Uncle Tom had arrived,
and had asked to see him.
[Illustration: JACK, WITH HIS FACE SKYWARD, SMOKING A CIGARETTE. p.
109]
"What did you say, Aunt Betty?"
"I had to tell him the truth, that I had sent you to bed because
you'd been naughty," said Betty, quietly. "I'd run off directly
after breakfast and find him, if I were you."
But Jack's conscience made a coward of him, and instead of seeking
Uncle Tom he ran off to a far corner of the farm and threw himself
behind a stack, angry with himself and all the world. Half-an-hour
later, Tom, sauntering about the farm in search of him, saw a tiny
thread of smoke blown round the corner of the stack, and, peering
round the corner, discovered Jack stretched full length along the
ground, with his face skyward, smoking a cigarette.
At the sound of a footstep Jack sprang to his feet, thrusting the
cigarette into his pocket, turned scarlet and then very white, and
came forward with a slightly sheepish expression.
"Oh, Uncle Tom, I'm jolly glad to see you," he said, stretching out a
brown paw. "I'm----" and then he came to a pause, disconcerted by
the smiling gaze fixed upon him.
"I'm afraid I disturbed you in the luxury of a quiet smoke," said
Tom, seating himself with his back against the stack. "A new
accomplishment, eh! Jack?"
Jack's face was sickly green now. "I was not smoking," he said,
avoiding the scrutiny of Tom's eyes. "I was only going to light a
bonfire."
The answer was more serious than Tom had believed. The boy lied, and
Tom's heart was hot within him, but his voice was almost alarmingly
quiet.
"Let's have a look at your pockets, old man. I would rather like to
see what you've got in them."
"I won't," said Jack, stung into defiance. "You're not----"
"Not Uncle Tom, were you going to say?" went on Tom Chance. "It was
a pretence relationship, just a baby's whim to call me so. All
right, Jack, so be it, but it is not the welcome I expected from my
friend, Jack the Englishman," and he turned to go, but Jack sprang
after him, seizing him by the hand.
"Don't go, please don't go, Uncle Tom. I did not mean it, really.
I'm truly awf'ly glad to see you, but it's treating me like a baby to
tell me to turn out my pockets."
"Look here, Jack," said Tom, turning upon him a face nearly as white
as his own, "you know quite well why I wanted to see into your
pocket. It's because I wanted to prove that you've lied to me. You
were smoking, which only showed you to be a silly little ass. That
could soon have been mended by a straight talk, but you told a lie to
cover it, and that can't be mended. You'll carry the stain of that
lie to your life's end. I'm deeply, bitterly, disappointed in you,
and if you were my real nephew I'd beat you with the greatest
pleasure in life."
Jack lifted sullen, unrepentant eyes.
"Beat me," he said, "beat me, and have done with it."
"No," said Tom. "Even that would not make things level. You are
neither sorry nor ashamed."
He watched the knot climb into the boy's throat, he could almost see
the fight between the evil and good spirit in his heart, and doubted
which would conquer. He could but admire the boy's outward
appearance, his splendid physique, his handsome head set so firmly on
his broad shoulders, but the charm of the child that knows no evil
was his no longer.
"Jack," said Tom again, "if you are giving me a sore heart, what will
you give your father? How will you look him in the face if you can't
speak the truth and shame the devil?"
Jack's arm went up as if to ward off a blow; he tried to speak but
choked in the effort, and then he threw himself face forward on the
grass, and was sobbing as if his heart would break, and Tom gave a
long sigh of relief, for he knew the evil spirit had departed. He
suffered Jack to cry for quite a long time. At last he bent over
him, and touched him on the shoulder.
"Sit up, Jack. Suppose we have a talk, and see what's gone wrong
with you?"
"I can't," said Jack, still hiding his face. "I feel such a beast."
"But I want to find out what's making you feel like that."
"And you'll hate me for ever and ever," said Jack, disclosing one
scarlet eye.
"God forbid," said Tom, solemnly.
"I didn't mean to tell--a lie"--Jack's tongue stumbled over the
disgraceful word--"I thought you'd be angry with me for smoking and I
said I wasn't, all in a hurry, but I _wish_ I hadn't."
"So do I," interposed Tom.
"But you can have it, you can have 'em all," and Jack rose to his
feet and fumbled in both his pockets, producing a dirty little pocket
handkerchief, with which he mopped his eyes, a ball of twine, which
he threw impatiently on the ground, and finally a box of matches and
a half-smoked cigarette. He handed the cigarette and the matches to
Tom with a shaking hand, who put them into his own pocket.
"Now tell me how you got it?"
"I bought 'em out of my pocket money."
"Then you've smoked before?"
"Yes, four times, but it made me--rather ill. I wanted to smoke
until the chaps at school could see I could. They said I was a kid
and couldn't. I wanted 'em to see I could do the same as they did."
"It seems to me you've been an uncommonly silly little boy, not a bit
better than a monkey that tries to copy all its companions' silly
tricks. Nothing seems to me quite so ridiculous as a boy who tries
to be a man before his time, and it's wrong as well. You can spoil
the splendid health and body God has given you by beginning to smoke
too soon. And do the big boys you are so anxious to copy tell lies,
too, and cheat at lessons? Are you learning that as well?"
Jack quivered as if Tom had hit him.
"I haven't lied until now. I wish you'd beat me."
Instead, Tom caught him in his arms, and held him fast a minute.
"Thank God for that. At least we can thank Him for that, that it is
your first, and, let us trust, your last lie. I could not love or
trust a boy whose word I could not believe, but you've got out of the
right road, boy, and you must come back again. You've altered
strangely from the little boy I left behind me."
"I've grown big," said Jack, a little resentfully.
"Yes, and you fancy yourself much bigger than you are. Lots of
little things tell me that, although I only came back last night.
You've thrown over your chum, you are troublesome to Aunt Betty, you
fancy yourself too big for Sunday School--as if we were ever, any of
us, too big to go on learning how to serve and please God! You've
got to relearn that you're just a little boy, who, if he ever means
to be of any good in the world and be a real man, must learn first
himself to be obedient, brave; and truthful, and must keep his own
course straight, however crooked other boys may go. Have you
forgotten about your Confirmation, Jack? You were keen about it when
I went away."
"I don't care so much about it now."
"What has made you change your mind?"
"Dick Chambers says it's all silly rot, only fit for girls, and does
them no good. Mr. Curtis came after him and asked him about it, and
he said he would not go to the classes for anything."
"Humph, and you'd rather take Dick Chambers' opinion than Mr.
Curtis's, or mine, or Aunt Betty's. But we can leave the matter of
your Confirmation alone at present. Come along, now, and take me
over the farm, and show me all the changes since I went away."
Jack obeyed the summons readily enough. It was an enormous relief to
talk of something else, and something of the misery of the morning
faded in the fascination of Tom's companionship, but as they finally
neared the house Jack drew back a little.
"Uncle Tom, shall you tell Aunt Betty?"
"No, the telling is yours, not mine."
"Whom must I tell?"
"God first and ask Him to forgive you, and your father, and ask him
the same thing."
Jack winced. "Write it down; write down that I've smoked and told a
lie?"
"Yes, put it down in black and white and look at it. It will make
you remember, and I don't fancy you will do either again."
The letter to father was written next day, and Jack drank his cup of
humiliation to the dregs as he handed the letter, as usual, to Aunt
Betty with a crimson face.
"You can read it if you like," he said.
"You'll be very sorry to hear that I've told a lie and smoked four
cigarettes, but I promise faithfully not to do it any more. Uncle
Tom said I must tell you and God."
Betty laughed and cried over that letter at the same time, and
thanked God that Uncle Tom had come back just in time to bring little
Jack to repentance.