THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER
THE days passed, and Marie returned from her daily visits to the
hospital, bringing no better reports.
"But for that long night of exposure to the cold, damp air, baby Victor
would never have been so ill," she had said reproachfully to Tad; "and
now, through you and your headstrong folly, this precious little life
will most likely be lost. You do not deserve to have a brother."
Tad did not resent Marie's hard words. He knew he merited them richly,
and he did not attempt to excuse or defend himself. Truly repentant and
humble as he had become, he could not undo the grievous consequences of
his sin. So he meekly listened to the woman's reproaches, which he felt
came from a very sore heart, and were none the less sharp and bitter
for that.
At last there came a time when the doctors said that the little one's
life hung, as it were, on a thread, and there was hardly a chance that
he could recover. And when poor Marie brought back this news, Tad felt
that now his cup of misery and of punishment was full indeed.
If the child died, he would feel, all his life long, like a murderer,
and go through the world as with the brand of Cain upon his brow.
Towards evening of that day, Phil found him sitting in an
out-of-the-way corner, quite overwhelmed with trouble.
"I can't bear it, Phil!" he sobbed. "For baby to be took and me left is
too dreadful; me, too, that nobody cares for and nobody wants!"
For all answer Phil nestled close to his friend, and passed a loving
arm round his neck. He felt that such trouble as this could not be
comforted by mere words, but he also felt that for every burdened heart
comfort might be found where he—Phil—had often found it before during
his sad young life.
The place where the lads were sitting was quiet and solitary enough,
and the darkness was fast stealing on, softly shadowing earth and sky.
By his friend's side Phil knelt, still with an arm round Tad's neck,
and then the boy's tender sympathy and loving pity found a voice in
fervent prayer to Him Who on earth healed the sick with a word or a
touch, and raised the dead, and forgave the sins of those who had gone
astray.
For the little life now trembling in the balance, Phil wrestled with
cries and tears. For forgiveness for the past, for help in time to
come, for strength to do the right whatever might happen—the childish
voice, broken by sobs, rose in passionate supplication, thrilling
Tad's heart through and through with the consciousness of some unseen
Presence, and bringing back to his memory words long forgotten,
"'Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not.'"
With hands close clasped, and streaming eyes lifted towards the sky,
the awe-struck lad gazed and gazed, half fearing to see, half expecting
some visible sign to appear in the dark heavens above him, in answer to
that urgent cry for help.
Once more the sweet, plaintive voice broke, sending forth sobbingly the
words, so touching in their simplicity,—
"Dear Lord, Thou knows all we want to say and can't. Do it for us; Thou
can, and Thou art willin', that we know, cos Thou said so. Send us a
answer of peace, for Thy own sake, Amen."
Then there was silence; both boys felt that the place whereon they
knelt was holy ground, and neither could bear to break the solemn hush.
Hand in hand, and nearer in heart than they had ever been before, the
lads went back to the cart.
The matron of the children's ward in the hospital at Granville, seeing
Marie's great anxiety, had allowed her to have access to the child
whenever she liked. And when the boys returned to the house-waggon,
they found that she had not yet got back from her evening visit.
In almost unbearable suspense they sat there on the short turf, waiting
for the news which they so dreaded and yet longed for. Not a word had
been spoken between them as yet. Tad was seated leaning eagerly forward
to catch the first glimpse of Marie on her way home. Phil lay at full
length, as though exhausted, his pale face upturned, his eyes closed.
Suddenly he sat up, his eyes radiant in the moonlight, a smile upon his
lips.
"He heard us, Tad! He heard us!" whispered the boy. "It's all right!
Hark! There she comes!"
Tad listened, and heard a light, quick step speeding along, joyful
relief in every footfall. II was Marie returning. Both lads sprang to
their feet, and ran to meet her.
"All is well, thank God!" cried the woman as she saw them. "The doctors
say he will live."
And she passed on to the van to awaken her mother with the joyful
tidings, while the boys, left together, crept away, and from glad
hearts sent up to heaven the voice of praise and thanksgiving.
With the young, recovery is often a very rapid thing, and that of
Marie's adopted child was no exception to this rule.
By the time the "Stormy Petrel" returned to Granville, the little one
was well enough to be out for hours in the warm, bright sun, and to
bear the voyage home.
Jacques and Sophie would have been glad to keep Phil with them always,
for he had greatly endeared himself to them by his unselfishness and
gentle ways. But Tad and he could not bear to be parted, and Jeremiah
Jackson had held out a hope to the boys that he might give them both
a berth on board of his vessel, if they found, on their return to
England, that they could find nothing better to do.
So one lovely afternoon, in full spring, Marie and the baby, Tad, and
Phil, took leave of the kind gipsies, and going on board the trim
little schooner, glided out into the crimson sunset, with a fair wind
and all sail set.
Marie's husband had gone back to England two weeks before, being unable
to wait till the baby was well enough to travel. A letter had been
written to James Poole, and sent to the address of Tad's former home,
whence it had been forwarded to the new house, near Southampton, to
which the Pooles had recently moved. To this letter Tad's father had
sent a kind reply, promising to meet the voyagers on arrival.
Marie had at first intended herself to take the baby to his home,
accompanying Tad thither. But on learning that James Poole was to
meet his children, and remembering, too, that in stealing the baby on
that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday evening, all those months ago, she
had exposed herself to a serious risk, and indeed to the certainty of
punishment by English law, she thought she had better not show herself
at all to the child's father, but find her way to her husband's people
as quickly as possible.
Of the parting between Marie and her adopted child we need not
say much, but sad as it was, she went through it with courage and
determination.
James Poole, as was expected, met the voyagers at Southampton, and Tad
was surprised to see how much softened and how gentle his father's face
and manner had become. When Tad introduced Phil, James Poole greeted
the boy very kindly, and cordially invited him home.
The Pooles had a nice roomy cottage just out of town, and on the way
there, Tad's father told him that Mrs. Poole had been a great invalid
for four months and more, and quite unable to do any work about the
house, so that life had been very hard for all. He said that Nell and
Bert were well, and good children on the whole, but running rather
wild for want of looking after, and that Mr. Scales the grocer, Tad's
former employer, had quite recently written to inquire after his late
shop-boy, saying that since Tad left, he had been unable to find a lad
to suit him.
On reaching home, it was a sad sight to see Mrs. Poole lying on a couch
quite helpless, dependent upon an old woman who came every morning to
do the work of the house. But on seeing her baby boy and receiving him
into her arms again, the poor mother was so full of joy and content and
thankfulness, that the look of suffering passed from her face, and Tad
thought he should not be surprised if she got well after all.
In the general rejoicing, no one thought of scolding or blaming the
runaway lad, and all listened eagerly while he told his adventures.
Phil too was made much of, and when, in relating his story, Tad told
also not sparing nor excusing himself—how Phil had been his good angel,
his loving, faithful friend, ever since they had first met, there
was not a dry eye in all that little company. And James Poole wrung
the little slender hand in his strong palm, Nell and Bert hugged him
round the neck, and Mrs. Poole patted his head and called him a dear
good lad, till he felt quite shy, for he had never been used to much
kindness or attention.
Presently, when the little ones had gone to bed, Mrs. Poole asked Tad
to come and sit down by her, and when he did so, she said:
"Tad, dear, God has taught me a many lessons since you left home all
them months ago. First there was losin' my baby, and afterwards this
illness that came of a fall. But Tad, it wasn't until I began to miss
my little one, that I called to mind how you and Nell and Bert had
never ceased to miss your mother, and how I never so much as tried to
fill her place. And it wasn't till I was laid aside, and needed to have
people tender and patient with me, that I remembered I'd never been
tender and patient with the poor chil'en I was stepmother to. But now,
dear boy, you've come home again, and me and your father we'll both try
and make it real home to you, so as it shan't never no more come into
your head and heart to run away. Kiss me, Tad, and call me mother, for
that's what—God helpin' me—I mean to be to you always."
And now we can say good-bye to Tad the kidnapper, feeling quite sure
that never again will he deserve this name.
How he went back to his duties at the grocer's shop, living in Mr.
Scales' house all the week, and returning home for Sunday; how he
gradually rose in his employer's confidence to a position of trust and
of usefulness; how Phil, after a short sojourn with the Pooles, began
to pine for something to do, and accepted Jeremiah Jackson's offer of
a berth as cabin boy aboard the "Stormy Petrel"; how Marie, by special
invitation, came every now and then to see baby Victor, (as she still
called him); and how God sent her at last a little baby boy of her very
own to comfort her heart; all this we need only just mention, for our
story has been told to show that the getting of our own way does not
always mean happiness or prosperity.
And since poor Tad Poole had learned this lesson, perhaps we who have
followed him step by step in his adventurous career have learned it too.
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO., Edinburgh