confidante in their boy and girl days, had sympathised warmly with his
disappointment, without very precisely understanding how it had come
about, and was now assuring her husband that the attachment had been
a far more serious affair than very youthful fancies commonly are. It
was true the gentleman had so far consoled himself as to marry another
lady; though it was reported he had wedded a shrew, who had not made
him supremely happy. But he lost his wife some time before leaving
Australia; and now, after a sojourn of nearly twenty years in the
colonies, had returned to England with something more than competence.
'But what became of Miss Clifton?' asked Mr Woodford.
'That I do not know,' returned the lady. 'Clifton was only her
professional name; her real one I quite forget; therefore if from any
circumstances she passed into private life, it would not be easy to
track her. Dick only called her Alice to me.'
'Probably she also married,' said Mr Woodford.
'Possibly,' replied his wife; 'though women are more constant than men;
and though she ceased to answer Dick's letters, and really brought him
to a state of misery which drove him out of England, I never thought
the fault was quite her own.'
While Mrs Woodford was yet speaking, there was a knock at the door, and
Mr Broughton was announced.
'Why did you not come to dinner?' cried Mr Woodford, rising to greet
the visitor. 'But we can have the lamb brought back,' he added.
'Thanks, thanks,' said Mr Broughton; 'but I dined at the hotel. I am
sure I ought to apologise for calling at such a time, and for having
brought Dandy with me.'
Dandy was a terrier, and his master's almost inseparable companion.
'Now Dandy, behave!' continued his master; 'and go and beg pardon
for both of us. Say we know we are two unmannerly colonial boors, at
present unfit for good society.'
Very much as if the sagacious animal understood every word of this
address, he approached Mrs Woodford, and sat on his haunches in a
begging attitude.
'He means biscuit,' said the lady with a laugh, and suiting the action
to the word by giving him one, with a caressing pat into the bargain.
'Seriously, however,' said Mr Broughton, 'I would not have come at such
an hour, but I wanted so much to tell you that at last I have found
lodgings which I think will just suit me. Or rather I should say that
Dandy found them for me.'
'Dandy! Well, he _is_ a clever dog! He will talk next, I suppose. But,'
continued Mrs Woodford, 'at present his master must explain.'
'It sounds ridiculous perhaps to tell of such trifles,' replied
her cousin; 'but for the last three or four days--ever since the
hot weather set in, I have felt quite interested in a shop in your
neighbourhood--mainly, I think, from the humanity displayed by the
owner in setting a large bowl of sparkling water by the door for the
convenience of the poor panting dogs, for which Dandy has been grateful
more than once. It is a music warehouse on a small scale; but where
they also sell fire ornaments and ladies' Berlin work and so on'----
'I know the shop,' interrupted Mrs Woodford: 'it is kept by a widow and
her maiden sister, who seem very superior people.'
'Oh, I am glad you know the place,' continued Mr Broughton. 'Well,
this afternoon as usual I waited, looking in at the shop window, while
Dandy quenched his thirst, and wishing I could decide on something to
purchase, by way of liquidating my dog's debt, when I observed a card
which intimated there were apartments to let. There were directions
to knock at the private door; but seeing me linger on the spot longer
than usual, Dandy had entered the shop, and when I followed to look
after him, I saw him planted firmly near an inner door, and accepting
the caresses of a little girl of about seven years old as if he had
known her all his life. I made inquiries about the apartments, and
found they consisted of the first floor, a nice bedroom, and pleasant
sitting-room; attendance with good cooking guaranteed, and no other
lodgers taken. Of course I went upstairs to look at the rooms, Dandy
leading the way with the canine gravity which you remarked in him the
other day. He jumped on a chair to look out of the window, and then on
the sofa, as if to examine the softness of the cushions, and finally
gave a little yelp, which was only half a bark, and which seemed to
say: "Master, this will do; here we are quite at home." Even the
mistress of the house, Mrs Gray, laughed at the evident contentment
of the dog. But what charmed me was there was no rebuke for my poor
Dandy's jumping on the furniture; and remembering besides the bowl of
water, I felt inclined to believe that Dandy would be something more
than tolerated in the house. Accordingly it was with a good hope that I
intimated that my dog was my constant companion, and that I trusted his
presence would not be objectionable.'
'O sir,' said the widow, 'we have only lost a dear old dog within these
three months; and for our own poor pet's sake--if for nothing else--we
should be kind to a dog. As for my children, I believe they take after
their aunt; and my sister dotes upon dogs.'
'Ah, it was the maiden sister, I daresay, who was the mistress of the
lamented dog,' exclaimed Mrs Woodford. 'I have some recollection of
seeing a very old black retriever in the shop.'
'No doubt it was the same. I understand the sister gives music lessons;
though at present she is taking a little holiday, staying at the
seaside with friends. There is another advantage in these lodgings,'
continued Mr Broughton; 'the house being a music warehouse, and one of
the family evidently musical, I am in hopes they will not object to my
violin-practising any more than to Dandy for an inmate. What I want now
is comfort, to enjoy myself after my own fashion, and opportunity of
doing some little good in the world, when what seems to me the fitting
occasion offers. Five years more at the Antipodes and I might have come
home a richer man; but perhaps in that time health would have been
shattered by over-toil, and I should have been less able even than
now to turn into new grooves of life and resume habits of culture. As
it is, my means are ample for all I am likely to want. With books and
music and Dandy, I expect to get on capitally. Besides I mean to come
and see you pretty often.'
'Indeed I hope you will,' ejaculated husband and wife together.
'If we come too often, they must turn us out--must they not, Dandy?'
said Mr Broughton, speaking to and petting his dog; and then he added,
turning to his cousin: 'By-the-bye, I ventured to give you as a
reference as to my respectability, responsibility, &c.'
'And I will give you a good character, Dick, I promise you,' replied
Mrs Woodford; 'and what is more, I will recommend Dandy to Mrs Gray's
special regard. He certainly is the cleverest dog I ever saw. Look at
him now, wagging his tail at me, as if he understood every word I was
saying!'
'Spoken just like the Cousin Maggie of early days,' said Mr Broughton,
with a certain tremor in his voice which proved that his feelings were
touched. 'Always full of sympathy and thoughtful kindness. Yet even you
can hardly tell what a friend Dandy has been to me through years of
loneliness.'
'Yes, I can, Dick,' said Mrs Woodford; 'if I had not a pack of children
to think about, I am quite sure I should want dogs or four-footed pets
of some sort.'
* * * * *
Only a fortnight has passed, but 'Cousin Dick' seems as completely
installed in his new lodgings as if he had occupied them for months.
His most cherished personal belongings were all unpacked and arranged
about his rooms according to his own taste and fancy. A few well-worn
books which he had taken from England in his youth, still held a
place of honour, though they were now flanked by many fresher-looking
volumes; and an old and cherished violin rested in one corner, and
helped to give the sitting-room its inhabited look, though writing
materials near the window and newspapers lying about, contributed to
the effect.
Over the mantel-piece in his bedroom he had arranged his store of
warlike weapons--a sword, which Richard Broughton had certainly never
used, but which he valued as the gift of a dead friend; pistols and
revolver which he had looked on as protectors in many a perilous
journey, and a boomerang, brought to England as a curiosity.
Mr Broughton had finished his breakfast, and was enjoying his morning
newspaper; but he had been to the opera the night before, and the
melody of an air which had delighted him still haunted his ear, and
even disturbed the rhythm of the very didactic leading article he was
reading. He was not much disturbed by Mrs Gray's knocking at the door;
she came, as she usually did every morning, to receive his orders for
dinner.
'You manage my dinners so nicely for me,' said Mr Broughton in answer
to some suggestion of his landlady, 'that I think I cannot do better
than leave all arrangements to you. But do sit down; I want to thank
you for taking care of my dog last night. I hope he was not troublesome
to you?'
'Not in the least,' returned Mrs Gray: 'when once he ascertained that
you really were not in the house, he settled down quietly, and played
with the children till they went to bed.'
'I am so glad your children are not afraid of him,' observed Mr
Broughton.
'Oh, they are too well used to a dog and to pets in general to be
afraid of a gentle creature like your Dandy. In fact my difficulty is
keeping them out of your rooms. Ally--you remember how Dandy took to
her from the very first--Ally wanted to come in and see the dog just
now. I daresay she is near the door still.'
'Oh, pray let her in,' said Mr Broughton, himself rising to open the
door. 'I will not be jealous because it is my dog she wants to see--not
me;' and there was a little laugh at the idea of Dandy being such a
favourite.
When the room-door opened, sure enough little Ally was found waiting,
but not alone; her brother, a curly-headed urchin two years her junior,
had hold of her hand; and both were evidently in expectation of being
allowed some little frolic with the dog.
'Come in, my dears--come in,' exclaimed Mr Broughton; 'Dandy will be
most happy to see you, and will shew you some of his accomplishments,
if you like.'
Though a little shy at first with the 'strange gentleman,' whom they
had been taught in a vague sort of way to reverence, and for whose
comfort they were told to refrain from noise, the shyness soon wore
off, when they found that Dandy's master was as willing to be their
playmate as Dandy himself. For their delectation the dog went through
his most admired tricks: he jumped over a stick, he allowed of mimic
shooting and acted the dead dog, he begged for a piece of bread, but
could not be induced to eat it till assured it was paid for. Moreover,
he howled a note in unison with one his master played on the violin;
but probably without meaning to imply admiration of the latter
performance.
A less keen observer than a fond and widowed mother was likely to
be, might, if contemplating this little scene, have felt pretty sure
that fond as Richard Broughton was of his dog, it had not exhausted
_all_ his capacity of loving. By people who have never had their
hearts thrill to the mystery of canine attachment he had often been
ridiculed for the intensity of his affection for Dandy, and when he
spoke of a 'dog's love' as being the only ideal of his life that had
ever been fully realised, few persons understood him. But Mrs Gray saw
at a glance that he had a natural love for children, and probably for
all helpless creatures, and considering all the circumstances of her
household, she thought herself most fortunate in her lodger.
It is astonishing how soon pleasant habits may be formed. Before the
next week had passed it became quite the custom of the children to
come into Mr Broughton's rooms at least once a day, ostensibly to
play with Dandy; but also they brought their toys to shew to Dandy's
master, and chattered away, as bright, eager, fresh-hearted children
are pretty sure to do with those whom, by some subtle instinct, they
at once recognise as friends. Dandy's canine predecessor in the house,
the much lamented Topsy, was a frequent subject of conversation. Her
accomplishments were described, though admitted to be fewer than
Dandy's, and her death and burial dwelt on with some pathos. And one
day little Ally came into the room hugging a thick photographic album
in her arms. She had brought it for the express purpose of shewing poor
Topsy's likeness.
Topsy had been photographed a number of times: once cosily curled up on
a mat; once occupying an easy-chair with something of the dignity of a
judge; another time as a conspicuous member of a group; and lastly by
the side of a lady who had her hand on its head.
'And who is the lady?' inquired Mr Broughton, trying to speak with a
calmness he did not quite feel. 'It does not look like your mother.'
'O no! Why, it is auntie!' exclaimed little Ally in a tone which
implied wonder that he could for a moment have taken it for Mrs Gray.
'Then Topsy was fond of auntie, and auntie was fond of Topsy, I
suppose?' said Mr Broughton wishing to discover all he could about this
auntie.
The little girl nodded her head by way of reply, and then she said:
'Auntie did cry so much when Topsy died. She was auntie's own doggy.'
'And did _you_ cry?' asked Mr Broughton.
Another nod of the head; but the child exclaimed: 'Not so much as
auntie--auntie cried till her eyes were quite red.'
'And is this portrait very like auntie?' asked Mr Broughton.
'Yes; but she never wears such sleeves as those now. I'll shew you
her new photograph;' and the little fingers rapidly turned over leaves
and found a likeness taken only the other day. Mr Broughton recognised
the same sweet face, though it shewed that seven or eight years had
probably passed between the time the one photograph had been taken and
the other.
'And what is auntie's name?' inquired Mr Broughton with forced
composure.
'Auntie!' said the little girl, as if the word were quite sufficient;
but added a moment after, as if the thought of more information being
required had just come to her: 'She is Alice, and I am Alice; only they
call me Ally. Auntie is so good,' the child continued; 'mother says
she is the best auntie that ever lived. And I must try to be good too,
because I have got her name.'
'Quite right, my darling,' said Mr Broughton, giving the child a
fatherly kiss. 'But run away now, for I have letters to write. Will
you leave me the album; I should like to look at Topsy again--though I
don't think she was much like Dandy. Do you?'
'Not a bit!' cried the child, tripping off gleefully, and leaving Mr
Broughton with his heart stirred in a manner it had not been for many
years.
It was true that he had letters to write, but it was half an hour
before he took pen in hand. The first thing he did was to draw forth a
powerful magnifying glass, and by its means to study the face of the
lady with the dog most narrowly. Yes; he had not a shadow of doubt that
this dear 'auntie,' the maiden sister of Mrs Gray of whom he had heard,
was the love of his youth, the Alice Clifton of the concert-room, the
Alice Croft of private life. Photography revealed some lines of care
and suffering that had not belonged to the fair young face he so well
remembered; but such footmarks of time must be expected in the course
of twenty years, even under happier circumstances than had probably
befallen the woman in question. That she should have relinquished her
professional career without having married, puzzled him. But he had
incidentally heard from the children that 'auntie' was coming home
to-morrow; and before many days should pass, he would certainly find
out a thing or two which must greatly influence his future.
As if to confirm his already strong belief beyond the power of even
momentary cavil, the next time he went down-stairs he observed a letter
on the hall table, which, on looking if it were intended for himself,
he saw was addressed 'Miss Croft.'
The next day Alice Croft returned home; and as Broughton was taking his
coffee, he could hear the children's merry shouts of welcome, at which,
by-the-bye, Dandy set up a short bark, as if he thought he too had a
right to join in the demonstration.
'I will do nothing hurriedly,' thought Mr Broughton to himself;
'after twenty years of separation I can wait for a few days surely.
After all, if we meet on the stairs she will not recognise in me
the slim smooth-faced boy I believe she remembers.' And thinking
thus, he glanced at himself in the chimney-glass, noting the bronzed
weather-beaten face and long thick beard streaked with white that
it reflected. 'I wonder, though, if my name will strike her?' he
continued, pondering. 'Perhaps not; and yet it may.'
Now the fact was, Alice Croft had not as yet heard the new lodger's
name; for her sister had at first misunderstood it, and had written
it 'Rawton' in communicating the news that the rooms were let. Three
or four days passed away before Alice had any inkling of the mistake.
Meanwhile Richard Broughton had seen her--unseen himself--more than
once; and had even heard her voice speaking caressingly to the
children. How it thrilled on his ear and confirmed his resolution!
It was the early twilight of a summer evening. The shop was closed, and
Mrs Gray had gone out after seeing the children in bed. Broughton felt
that the hour was come, and ringing his bell, asked the servant who
answered it if Miss Croft were at home and disengaged.
'Yes, sir,' said the maid; 'she is all alone in the parlour.'
'Then be so good as to give her my card, and ask if I may wait upon
her.'
But Mr Broughton followed the servant down-stairs, and was ready to
avail himself of the permission given, in a minute.
The servant thinking it her duty, lighted the gas before leaving the
room; but she left it burning low, so that the lingering daylight
prevailed over it. Though the reception-room was but a little parlour
behind a shop, there was an air of refinement about its appointments,
and the outlook into a mere yard was masked by a balcony full of
blooming and odorous plants. The door which led into the shop remained
open, probably for the sake of air; but to such a passionate lover of
music as the visitor was, the sight of two or three pianos and a harp
and guitar was rather suggestive of delightful ideas than of anything
else.
Alice had risen from her chair, and advanced with outstretched hand to
meet her guest; but she did not seem able to find a word of greeting.
'Alice!' exclaimed Mr Broughton, 'if I may still call you so, do I seem
like one risen from the dead?'
'O no,' she replied; 'I never thought you were dead.' But as she spoke
there was a faltering of her voice which shewed that she was agitated.
By this time both were seated, though a little way apart. Mr Broughton
drew his chair nearer, and said softly: 'Alice, I come to ask you if it
is too late to mend our broken chain?'
'But you are married; I heard that long ago,' exclaimed Alice with
dignity. 'You have no right to allude to the past.'
'I have been a widower these two years,' was the rejoinder.
The explanations which followed need not be described in detail.
Letters kept back, false messages,
The tale so old and dark,
had separated the lovers; and when Alice Croft believed that she was
forsaken, a severe illness ensued; after her recovery from which, it
was found that her voice was seriously impaired. Instead of resting
it for a time, she was tempted by the exigences of her profession to
overstrain it; the result being such a deterioration in its quality
that it was no longer powerful and certain enough for the concert-room.
Then followed many years of arduous labour as a teacher of music;
during which time her mother's death and the death of other members of
the family reduced the little circle, till at last her youngest and
widowed sister Mrs Gray was the only one left.
Six weeks after the reunion just described, a quiet but well-omened
wedding took place, in which Richard Broughton and Alice Croft were
the principal actors. Meanwhile, the bridegroom and bride elect,
living under the same roof, had had abundant opportunities of riveting
the 'broken chain' to which allusion has been made; while Dandy, no
longer confined to one apartment, now ran about the house, as if
perpetually engaged in taking messages from one person to another. Mr
and Mrs Woodford, early apprised of all that was going on, had made the
acquaintance of Miss Croft and her sister, and being fond of children,
had frequently had the little Grays at their house. Mr Woodford even
consented to give the bride away, and his two young daughters were the
bridesmaids. But as Broughton said, his cousin Maggie was always a
'trump,' and her husband seemed worthy of her.
It was the evening before the wedding. The whole family had been
visiting the Woodfords, and it was evident that little Ally had
something on her mind to communicate. The young Woodfords as well as
their mother constantly called Mr Broughton 'Cousin Dick,' and the term
had evidently struck the child much.
'What is it, Ally?' said Mr Broughton, drawing the little girl on to
his knee. 'What is it you are wishing to say?'
'I should like to call you "Cousin Dick," like those young ladies. May
I? for I love you so much.' And as she spoke, Ally raised her face for
a kiss, and put her arms round his neck.
'Will not "Uncle Dick" do as well?' cried Broughton, giving the child
a warm hug. 'Don't you understand that I shall be really Uncle Dick
to-morrow?'
'Oh, how nice! Uncle Dick, dear Uncle Dick--yes, I like that better.'
* * * * *
_N.B._--We are commissioned to add that Dandy accompanied the newly
married pair on their wedding journey. They considered they owed him
so much, that it would not be just to give him the pain of even a
temporary separation from his master--and mistress.
A TRIP ON LAKE NYASSA.
As many of our readers will doubtless recollect, Mr E. D. Young, R.N.,
left this country in May 1875, with a small party, for the purpose
of establishing the Livingstonia mission, and of placing a small
steamer on Lake Nyassa, in the interior of Africa; he and his friends
being moved thereto by an earnest determination to carry out one of
the dearest wishes of the late Dr Livingstone. Mr Young has recently
returned home; and on February 26th he delivered, before the Royal
Geographical Society, an interesting account of what he did and what he
saw on the Lake of Storms, from which we condense the following brief
particulars.
We join Mr Young and his party at the Kongoné mouth of the Zambesi,
where the sections of the little steamer _Ilala_ were screwed together;
and although an extraordinary flood, early in 1875, had altered the
course of the rivers since her captain's previous visit, nothing
materially impeded her passage to the foot of the Shiré cataracts.
These falls extend for some seventy-five miles, and are a very
formidable obstacle to navigation. In the distance named, the waters
of Lake Nyassa leap down a staircase of rocks and boulders for some
eighteen hundred feet; and before the traveller can reach the higher
ground, he has to traverse a most rugged road. Want of porters, as
a rule, is the most grievous obstacle to be overcome; but thanks
to the kindly recollection existing among the natives of previous
missionaries, Mr Young experienced no difficulty on this score;
and in ten days the _Ilala_ was taken to pieces, and her sections,
boilers, machinery, and stores were conveyed to the upper end of the
cataracts. What, however, is thus told in a few brief words, involved
very great toil; and Mr Young himself says that the carriage of the
steel plates, &c., necessitated some of the most tremendous exertion he
ever witnessed, which was much aggravated by the intense heat, in some
places reaching one hundred and twenty degrees in the shade. We may
certainly admit with him, that the men who did this four days' work for
six yards of calico each (say one shilling and sixpence), finding their
own food too, without a grumble or a growl, were not to be despised.
The work of reconstruction was soon accomplished, and steam was up in a
fortnight.