"I'M A SOLDIER NOW."
Some two hours later Briggs faced Granny and myself with a countenance
expressive of the deepest despair.
"He's gone, mum!" she exclaimed, tragically, throwing up her hands as
she spoke.
"Gone! Gone! Who is gone?" Granny asked with bewilderment and surprise
at Briggs' sudden announcement. Then, as Chris's absence struck her, she
inquired fearfully:
"Has anything happened to Master Chris? Where is the child? Why is he
not with you?"
"He's lost, mum!" she said, breathlessly. "Everywhere have I looked for
him, high and low, up and down, but nowhere is he to be found!"
At this startling piece of intelligence Granny half rose in her chair as
if to go without delay and search for the wanderer; but, recollecting
the necessity for further information, she sunk back again, and asked
with agitation:
"Where, then, did you leave him? When did you last see him? How long ago
is it, Briggs? I must beg of you to be as accurate as possible, most
accurate."
"I left him in the garden about an hour ago," she answered, on the point
of tears. "I had just taken him out for a short walk, having some work
to do; and thinking he'd be better for a little more air I left him in
the garden when we came back. When I went for him half an hour after,
not a trace of him was there to be seen!"
"But how careless, how very careless of you, Briggs!" Granny said in a
reprimanding yet trembling voice. "You should not have left him out of
your sight for so long. At his age! Most inconsiderate!"
"Have you looked along the road?" I suggested. "He may have wandered out
there. He did so the day I arrived."
"I've walked half a mile along each way," she answered, with a hopeless
sigh.
"But the garden, Briggs!" Granny exclaimed, in her anxiety hardly
knowing what to say. "How could you be so thoughtless, so forgetful as
not to search the garden before you went into the road?"
"But I did, mum; it was the very first thing I did do," she replied
tearfully, and with something of an injured expression at this
unnecessary censure.
"Have you looked over the house? He may be hiding there," I said.
"Everywhere in the house and out of it," she answered with gloomy
conviction. "Not a stone have I left unturned."
We glanced from one to the other with perplexity. What could have become
of the little beggar? Where could he have hidden himself, thus to escape
this vigilant search?
"Wouldn't it be as well to let Mr. Wyndham know?" I said. "I think I
hear him practising billiards."
"Of course, of course!" Granny answered with relief. "Why didn't I think
of that at once? Briggs, go at once and ask Mr. Wyndham to speak to
me."
"Well, what is it?" he said cheerfully, when he arrived upon the scene.
"The youngster disappeared? There is no need for worry. Depend upon it
he is hiding somewhere not very far off, and we'll soon unearth him."
"You say you have looked carefully in the garden?" he continued to
Briggs.
"All over it, sir; in every corner," she replied.
"All the same, we had better do it again," he said. "It is just possible
that he may have escaped you the first time. No, mother, you stay here,"
he said decidedly, as Granny rose with the evident intention of
accompanying him. "You will only tire yourself for no purpose. If he is
to be found in the garden, you may rest assured that I shall find him
and bring him to you as soon as possible. Just stay here quietly with
Miss Baggerley, and don't worry yourself."
Undoubtedly a very good piece of advice, this last, but one that poor
Granny in her nervous state of mind found very difficult to follow.
"It is so strange, so very strange!" she said, unhappily. "I cannot
understand it at all; I only pray that no accident may have happened to
the child. I should have thought Briggs would have taken greater
precautions if she intended to leave him alone for that time. I had a
higher opinion of her, I had indeed.
"She is much to blame," she added, smoothing with a nervous little
movement the curls she wore in the old fashion on each side of her face.
After this she continued her knitting, but she was plainly too restless
and ill at ease to fix her attention on her work.
"My dear," she said in a minute, "it has just struck me that it would be
a good thing if we were together to look upstairs; Briggs may not have
searched there thoroughly. Do you not think that it would be a good plan
if we were to go?"
I should have liked to answer in the negative, for she was not strong,
and a little exertion soon fatigued her. But I saw that it would be a
real relief to her in her anxiety to be doing something. So I did not
follow my inclination, and together we went slowly upstairs, Granny
leaning on my arm, in a sweet, clinging way,--a way that was all her
own.
Arrived upstairs, we went conscientiously from room to room, but in
vain. No success attended our efforts.
We would go into a room, when Granny, opening the door of a cupboard and
peering in in a short-sighted way, would call out in a gentle, slightly
quavering voice:
"Is my darling hiding here from his Granny?"
No answer coming, her face would become still more anxious-looking, and
she would request me to see if he were under the bed.
"Will you look under the bed, my dear, and see if he is there?" she
would whisper, as if fearful that he might overhear and escape us. Then
as I did so, she would cry coaxingly:
"Are you hiding there, my pet, trying to frighten poor Granny? Come out,
my darling, come out."
And so on from room to room till we had exhausted all those not only on
the first floor but on the next also, after which she proposed exploring
the attics. By this time, however, she was so tired that I persuaded her
to send one of the servants instead, whilst she returned with me to the
library.
Here we found Briggs waiting for us, with a face the expression of which
told its tidings without words. Ill-success was so plainly written upon
it, that our anxious question, "Have you found him?" seemed almost
superfluous.
"Did you look everywhere, Briggs,--everywhere?" poor Granny asked
anxiously, and with grievous disappointment.
"In every single nook and corner, mum," Briggs replied, with a heavy
sigh. "He ain't in the garden--that's sure and certain."
"Where is Mr. Wyndham?" Granny inquired, as she sat down wearily in her
arm-chair.
"He's gone round to the stables," she said. "He's going to drive into
Marston. He says that Master Chris this morning was talking about the
recruiting-sergeant staying there, and he thinks it may be possible he
has taken it into his head to go to him, fancying he can enlist."
"I really think that that is possible," I remarked.
"Dear me! dear me! What if anything should happen to the child on the
way?" exclaimed Granny, with fresh care.
"I should not think of that; nothing will happen. Someone will find him
and bring him back," I replied, speaking more cheerfully than I
altogether felt.
As I spoke I turned to the window, more from a restless feeling of not
knowing what to do with myself than for any other reason.
Certainly the last thing in the world I expected to see at that
particular moment was the little beggar.
Yet--to my utter astonishment--that was exactly what I did see!
There he was, after causing all the confusion and alarm of which I have
told you, walking down the drive as calmly as possible; as if to
disappear mysteriously from home for about two hours, without leaving
any idea as to his whereabouts, was the most ordinary and everyday habit
a little boy could indulge in.
He was not alone, but was in company with a tall and gorgeous
individual, whom I concluded was the sergeant, and the innocent cause of
the little beggar's last and most startling escapade.
He walked hand in hand with him in the most confiding fashion,
chattering to him apparently in his usual fashion--without the least
reserve, whilst Jacky frisked along by their side.
As my eyes fell upon this little group I uttered a loud exclamation of
surprise, which induced Granny to look up inquiringly.
"Why, there he is! Chris!" I exclaimed, "coming down the drive!" and
accompanied by Briggs I hurried to meet him, Granny following more
leisurely.
"Here I am! Here I am!" cried the little vagabond, gaily bounding
forward to meet me. "I've 'listed, and I'm a soldier now like Uncle
Godfrey."
"A soldier!" burst out Briggs contemptuously. "As naughty a child as can
be found in Christendom. That's what I should say!"
"Yes, Chris," I said, in the gravest voice I could assume, "you have
been a very naughty little boy indeed."
At these strictures on his conduct Chris pouted and kicked the gravel
with some violence, whilst his companion relaxed into a broad smile,
which he put up his hand to hide.
"I found this here young gentleman, marm, on his way to Marston," he
said, touching his cap. "I came across him quite by a chance, as you
may say, it happening that I was taking a walk in this direction. 'I've
come to find you,' he says, ''cause I want to 'list and be a soldier
like my Uncle Godfrey,' says he. 'But I won't shoot you,' says he,
''cause I know how to hold my gun, and I don't want to be put in
chokee,' he says. Guessing as how there was something amiss I finds out
where he lives, and so here he is."
"Is he quite well and safe, quite well and safe?" Granny asked nervously
at this point, arriving just in time to hear the conclusion of the
sergeant's explanation. "Oh, Chris, my darling, what have you been
doing?"
"I'm a soldier now, my Granny," he stated proudly, with a defiant look
at Briggs and myself. "He said I was, didn't you?" he asked, turning to
the sergeant, who smiled again. "He's going to lend me his soldier
clothes till you buy me some. He said he would."
"He'd have been here before if I could have got a lift, marm," explained
the sergeant, "but it chanced nothing passed by us. It's been a long
walk for the young gentleman, I'm afraid."
But Granny did not at once reply; she was looking at the little beggar
with all the love of her heart overflowing her eyes, and as if she never
again could bear to let him out of her sight. Indeed, for the moment she
was so absorbed that I think she hardly realized what the sergeant
said.
There was a slight pause, and then she said with much fervent gratitude
and an old-fashioned courtesy of manner:
"I am more indebted to you than I can express for your kind care of my
little grandson. It is, indeed, a great relief to my mind to see him
back safely."
"Why, my Granny!" cried Chris, with a little skip and a laugh, "I
_always_ was safe. There was nothing the matter with me!"
"Hush! my child," Granny then continued, though with an effort, as if
the reaction from the anxiety she had been suffering was becoming too
much for her control: "Will you not go round to the kitchen and rest?
And will you kindly tell Parker, my butler, that I have sent you, and to
see that you have some refreshment after your long walk."
"Thank you, marm," said the sergeant, touching his cap once more as he
left, followed by a regretful glance from Chris.
"I should like to go with him," he remarked.
"My darling," began Granny reproachfully--then stopped short and tried
to smile at me.
"I'm very silly," she said, as the tears filled her eyes; "but, my dear,
I have been feeling so anxious, so anxious, you understand...."
She could say no more, but going to a wicker-chair near, she sat down,
and covered her eyes with her hand.
I said nothing, for I knew that her tears were a relief to her
overwrought feelings. So for a time there was silence, which was at
length broken by the little beggar, who, looking at her with pity
mingled with curiosity, remarked in a hushed voice:
"I b'lieve my Granny is crying!"
"And who do you think has made her cry?" suddenly asked a severe voice,
and turning round somewhat apprehensively, the little beggar saw Uncle
Godfrey--who, unperceived and unheard, had crossed the lawn--confronting
him in righteous indignation.
"I say, who do you think has made her cry?" he reiterated, as Granny
threw him an imploring glance as if to beg mercy for the offender. "I
have just heard something of your last piece of disobedience from your
friend the sergeant," he continued sternly. "Fortunately for me I met
him not two minutes ago, and so was saved a useless drive into Marston
on your account. Now I should like to hear some explanation of your
conduct."
He looked so very tall and inflexible as he towered above the little
beggar, and the little beggar looked so very small and abject as he
stood before him, that my heart was stirred with pity for the diminutive
transgressor in spite of his misdeeds.
"Well, answer," Uncle Godfrey said peremptorily. "What is the meaning
of your behaviour, sir?"
"I w--w--went to be a s--s--soldier," stammered Chris, winking his eyes
to keep back his tears, and grasping hold of Granny's hand as if for
protection.
"What did I tell you this morning?"
"I forget," answered the little beggar tremblingly.
"Then think," his uncle said; whilst Granny said pleadingly:
"Don't be too severe, my son. He's only a little child."
"Quite old enough to know better," he replied unrelentingly; and, as
Chris did not at once answer, "Didn't I tell you," he went on, "that you
were not old enough to be a soldier? Do you remember now?"
"Y--yes," answered Chris, with a strangled sob.
"But I suppose you thought that you knew better than I, and didn't tell
me of your plan because you knew that you would not be allowed to carry
it out. Was it not so?" he asked. Then as Chris nodded he went on: "I
hope now that you see the consequences of your behaviour," he continued;
"everyone's time wasted, an endless amount of unnecessary anxiety and
trouble, and your Grandmother nearly ill. If ever anyone deserved a good
punishment it is you."
At this point the little beggar, unable to keep back his tears any
longer, buried his head in his Granny's lap and sobbed bitterly, and as
if his heart would break; whilst for my part I went away. He had been
very naughty, but I did not like to see him crying so bitterly. It made
me sad.
* * * * *
It was about an hour later,--just lunch-time,--and I was walking up and
down the gravelled terrace at the back of the house, when a little hand
was slipped into mine, while a little voice remarked in an awe-struck
tone:
"What do you think? Uncle Godfrey put me in the corner for half an
hour--a whole half-hour!"
Chris spoke with much solemnity. Granny's punishments were of such a
mild description, that this of Uncle Godfrey's, by comparison, appeared
very heavy, and impressed upon him the grievousness of his offence.
"And he says I'm not to have no pudding for dinner," he continued with
some pathos; "no pudding at all. Do you know what kind of pudding it
is?"
"No, I don't," I answered smiling.
"'Cause Granny said I might have a roly-poly pudding soon," he said,
"and I do hope it's not to-day. If it is bread-and-butter pudding I
don't mind, as I don't like bread-and-butter pudding."
"I can't tell you what pudding it is," I repeated.
"Uncle Godfrey said I was a very naughty boy," he went on.
"So you were," I said, but mildly, and not with the decision the case
demanded.
"I didn't want to frighten you, or my Granny, or anyone," he said
humbly, with the effects of his uncle's scolding and punishment still
fresh in his memory. "But I did want to be a soldier and fight; and
Uncle Godfrey says I'm not one, and I never was one, and that the
soldier was only laughing at me when he said I was. And I can't be a
soldier for a long while--a very, very, very long while."
"Not that kind of soldier," I said, "but I know another kind of soldier
that you can be."
"The Queen's soldier?" asked Chris eagerly.
"No, but the King's soldier," I replied. "You can be one of Christ's
soldiers. Whenever you try hard to be good and obedient when you feel
inclined to be naughty and wilful; whenever you try not to say the angry
word, to think the unkind thought you would like to say, you would like
to think; whenever you turn your back on what is mean and unmanly and
follow what is true and noble; whenever you do this for His sake, then,
Chris, you are fighting for Christ, you are Christ's soldier.
"But," I went on as I saw that I had gained his attention, "there is a
great difference between these battles and the others that you were
speaking of. In fighting for the Queen you have to be very brave and no
coward, it is true. But you have the cheers of your countrymen to
inspirit you. You know that your country is watching you, and that helps
you to meet your enemies with courage. In these other battles, fought
for Christ, there are no cheers to excite you, no one watching but God,
and God only. For these fights must be fought silently, quite by
yourself,--God your only Help,--or they are not worth the name of
battles. But, by and by, on that silent battle-field, where so many
struggles have been gone through, and so many hard victories won through
the grace of God, the silence will at last be broken. It will be broken
by a sound full of triumphant joy, too heavenly in its beauty for
earthly ears to catch, but a sound that will make the angels in heaven
rejoice, a sound of--"
I paused as I tried to find appropriate words for the thought that,
half-formed, was in my mind, gazing as I did so, as if to seek
inspiration, at the boughs of the elms near, swaying and bowing slowly
to and fro in the wind.
"What?" said Chris, impatiently tugging at my dress. "What?"
"'The voice of a soul that goeth home'," I said, as the great poet's
words came to me in all their beauty.