[Illustration: "Quite a little party of friends to see him off." (p.
155)]
HIS BIG OPPORTUNITY
BY AMY LE FEUVRE
Author of "Probable Sons," "The Odd One,"
"Teddy's Button," etc, etc.
1898
Contents
Chapters
I. On the Garden Wall
II. A Song
III. Making An Opportunity
IV. An Awkward Visit
V. A Lost Donkey
VI. Rob
VII. A Walnut Story
VIII. The Bertrams' Leap
IX. Making His Leap
X. A Cripple
XI. A Gift to the Queen
XII. Letters
XIII. Old Principle
XIV. Heroes
XV. An Unwelcome Proposal
XVI. David and Jonathan
XVII. Boy's Big Opportunity
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Quite a Little Party of Friends to See Him Off
Old Principle Laughed at Dudley's Notion
"Now Then, You Rascals, What Are You Doing to My Donkey?"
"He's Dead, Ben--He's Dead!"
I
ON THE GARDEN WALL
They were sitting astride on the top of the old garden wall. Below them
on the one side stretched a sweet old-fashioned English garden lying in
the blaze of an August sun. In the distance, peeping from behind a
wealth of creepers and ivy was the old stone house. It was at an hour in
the afternoon when everything seemed to be at a standstill: two or three
dogs lay on the soft green lawn fast asleep, an old gardener smoking his
pipe and sitting on the edge of a wheelbarrow seemed following their
example; and birds and insects only kept up a monotonous and drowsy
dirge.
But the two little figures clad in white cricketting flannels, were full
of life and motion as they kept up an eager and animated conversation on
their lofty seat.
"You see, Dudley, if nothing happens, we will make it happen!"
"Then it isn't an opportunity."
"Yes it is. Why if those old fellows in olden times hadn't ridden off to
look for adventures they would never have found them at home."
"But an opportunity isn't an adventure."
"Yes, it is, you stupid! An adventure is something that happens, and so
is an opportunity."
The little speaker who announced this logic so dogmatically, was a slim
delicate boy with white face, and large brown eyes, and a crop of dark
unruly curls that had a trick of defying the hair cutter's skill, and of
growing so erratically that "Master Roy's head," was pronounced quite
unmanageable.
He was not a pretty boy, and was in delicate health, constantly subject
to attacks of bronchitis and asthma, yet his spirit was undaunted, and
as his old nurse often said, "his soul was too strong for his body."
Dudley, his little cousin, who sat facing him, on the contrary, was a
true specimen of a handsome English boy. Chestnut hair and bright blue
eyes, rosy cheeks, and an upright sturdy carriage, did much to commend
him to every one's favor: yet for force of character and intellect he
came far behind Roy.
He sat now pondering Roy's words, and kicking his heels against the
wall, whilst his eyes roved over the road on the outside of the garden
and away to a dark pine wood opposite.
"Here's one coming then," he said, suddenly; "now you'll have to use
it."
"Who? What? Where?"
"It's a man; a tramp, a traveller or a highwayman, and he may be all the
lot together! It's an opportunity, isn't it?"
Roy looked down the narrow lane outside the wall, and saw the figure of
a man approaching. His face lit up with eager resolve.
"He's a stranger, Dudley; he doesn't belong to the village; we'll ask
him who he is."
"Hulloo, you fellow," shouted Dudley in his shrill boyish treble; "where
do you come from? You don't belong to this part."
The man looked up at the boys curiously.
"And who may ye be, a-wall climbin' and a breakin' over in folks'
gardens to steal their fruit?"
"Don't you cheek us," said Roy, throwing his head up, and putting on his
most autocratic air; "this is our garden and our wall, and the road
you're walking on is our private road!"
"Then don't you take to insulting passers-by, or it will be the worse
for ye!" retorted the man.
The boys were silent.
"I'm sure he isn't an opportunity," whispered Dudley.
But Roy would not be disconcerted.
"Look here," he said, adopting a conciliatory tone; "we're looking out
for an opportunity to do some one some good, and then you came along,
that's why we spoke to you. Now just tell us if we can do it to you."
"Yes," Dudley struck in: "you seem rather down, do you want anything
that we can give you?"
The man glanced up at them to see if this was boyish impudence, but the
faces bending down were earnest and grave enough, and he said with a
short laugh,--
"Oh, I reckon there be just a few things I'm in want of; but as to your
givin' of them to me that be quite a different matter. Don't suppose ye
carry about jobs ready to hand in yer pockets, nor yet my set of tools
in pawn, nor yet a pint o' beer and a good hunk of bread and meat for a
starvin' feller! May be ye could tell me the way to the nearest pub, and
stand me a drink there!"
Roy thrust his hand immediately into his pocket, and pulled out amongst
a confused mass of boys' treasures a sixpence.
"I'll give you this if it will do you good," he said, holding it up
proudly. "I've kept it a whole two days without spending it. It will
give you some beer and bread and cheese, I expect. Is there anything
else we can do for you?"
"If you go to Mr. Selby, the rector, he'll put you in the way of work,"
shouted out Dudley, as the man catching the sixpence flung down to him
slouched off with muttered thanks.
"No parsons for me," was the rejoinder.
The boys watched his figure disappear down the road, and then Roy said
reflectively,--
"Too many opportunities like that would empty our pockets."
"And I wonder if it will really do him good," said Dudley; then glancing
over into the garden, he added: "Here comes Aunt Judy, she's calling
us."
Down the winding gravel path came their aunt; a strikingly handsome
woman. She looked up at her little nephews and laughed when she came to
the wall.
"Oh, you imps, do you know I've been hunting for you everywhere! You
will have a fall like Humpty Dumpty if you choose such high perches. Now
what comfort can you find, may I ask, in such a blazing breakneck seat?
Do you find broken bottles a soft cushion?"
"We've cleared those rotten things away here," said Dudley, preparing to
clamber down; "it's our watch tower, and we've a first-rate view, you
just come up and see!"
"Thank you, I would rather not attempt the climb. What have you been
talking about? Jonathan looks as grave as a judge."
Roy looked down at his aunt without moving.
"If you won't laugh or tell granny, we'll tell you, because you never
split if you say you won't."
"All right, I promise."
"Well, you see, this morning Mr. Selby gave us this for our copy: 'As ye
have opportunity do good unto all men,' and he told us of a King
somebody--I forget who--who used to write down at the end of each day on
a slate,--if he hadn't done any good to any one,--'I've lost a day.' We
thought it would be a good plan to start this afternoon and see what we
could do. We tried on old Hal first, but he didn't seem to like it. He
was uncovering some of the frames, and so we went and uncovered all of
them, and then he said we had spoilt some of his seedlings, and nearly
went into a fit with rage. I turned the hose on him to cool him down. He
is asleep in the wheelbarrow now; we can see him from here. We really
came up here to get out of his way, his language was awful!"
"Come down, you monkey. I can't carry on a conversation with you so far
above me. Softly now. Bless the boys, how they can stick their toes into
such a wall is past my comprehension! Granny wants to see you before
your tea, so come along. And who else has been benefited by your good
deeds?"
They were walking toward the house by this time, each boy hanging on to
one of her arms. It was easy to see the affection between them.
Dudley eagerly poured out the story of the tramp, and Miss Bertram
listened sympathetically.
"Never send a man to a public house, boys--and never give him money for
beer. Perhaps he may have come down in the world through love of it. You
know I am always ready to give any one a relief ticket. That's the best
way to help such cases."
"Yes, but that would be your doing not ours."
"Money is a difficult way of helping," said Miss Bertram; "don't get
into the habit of thinking money is the only thing that will do people
good. It too often does them harm."
"Oh, I say! that's hard lines on me, when my last sixpence has gone, and
I was going to get a stunning ball old Principle has in his shop!"
Miss Bertram laughed at Roy's woe-begone little face.
"Never mind," she said, consolingly; "your intentions were good, and you
must buy your experience by mistakes as you go through life. Now go into
granny softly, both of you, and talk nicely to her. She will be one
person you can do good to, by brightening her up a little."
Dudley made a grimace at Roy; but both boys entered the house, and
crept into a cool half-darkened drawing-room on tiptoe, with hushed
voices and sober demeanor. A stern looking old lady sat upright in her
easy chair, knitting busily. She greeted the boys rather coldly.
"What have you been doing with yourselves? I sent for you some time ago.
Do you not remember that I like you to come to me every afternoon about
this hour?"
"Yes, granny," said Roy, climbing into an easy chair opposite her; "we
were coming only we didn't know it was so late: we were busy talking."
"Boys' chatter ought not to come before a grandmother's wishes."
There was silence; then Dudley struck in boldly:
"We were talking about good things, granny. It wasn't chatter. Roy and I
are going to look out for opportunities every day of our lives. Do you
think an opportunity is the same as an adventure? I don't think you have
adventures of doing good, do you?"
"Yes," asserted Roy, bobbing up and down in his chair excitedly; "King
Arthur and his knights did always. They never rode through a wood
without having an adventure, and it was always doing good, wasn't it,
granny?"
Conversation never slackened when the boys were present, and Mrs.
Bertram, though shrinking at all times from their high spirits and love
of fun, yet looked forward every day to their short visit. She was a
confirmed invalid, and rarely left the house, and her daughter Julia in
consequence took her place as mistress over the household.
Three years before, Roy and Dudley arrived within a month of each other,
to find a home with their grandmother. Roy, whose proper name was
Fitzroy, came from Canada, both his parents having died out there.
Dudley's father had died when he was a baby, but his mother had married
again in India; and upon her death which occurred not long after, his
stepfather had sent him home to his grandmother. From the first day that
they met, the boys were sworn friends; and their aunt dubbed them
"David" and "Jonathan" after having been an unseen witness of a very
solemn vow transacted between them under the shadow of the pines, only a
week after their meeting.
Roy's delicate health was a cause of great anxiety to his grandmother,
and if it had not been for Miss Bertram's wise tact and judgment, he
would have been imprisoned in one room and swathed in cotton wool most
of the year round. He had the advantage of having an old nurse who had
brought him up from his birth, and had come from Canada with him; and
she was as vigilant and experienced in managing his ailments as could be
desired. Poor little Roy, with his uncertain health, was heir to a very
large property of his father's not far away; and the responsibilities
awaiting him, and the knowledge that he would have so much power in his
hands, perhaps had the effect of making him weigh life more seriously
than would most boys of his age.
Later on after their visit to their grandmother was over, and tea had
been finished in the nursery, he wandered into his own little room, and
leaning out of his window, looked up into the clear sky above.
"I feel so small," was his wistful thought, "and heaven is so big; but
I'll do something big enough to get, 'Well done good and faithful
servant,' said to me when I die, I hope. And I'll try every day till I
do it!"
II
A SONG
"Come here, boys. I have had some new music from town, and here is a
song that you will like to listen to, I expect."
It was Miss Bertram who spoke, and her appearance in the nursery just
saved a free fight. Wet afternoons were always a sore trial to the boys:
their mornings were generally spent at the Rectory under Mr. Selby's
tuition, but their afternoons were their own, and it was hard to be kept
within four walls, and expected to make no sound to disturb their
grandmother's afternoon nap.
The old nurse was nodding in her chair, and her charges with jackets off
and rolled up shirt sleeves were advancing toward each other on tiptoe,
and muttering their threats in wrathful whispers.
"I'll show you I'm no coddle!"
"And I'll show you I'm no lazy lubber!"
At the sound of their aunt's voice they stopped; and each picked up his
jacket with some confusion, Dudley saying contentedly, "All right, old
fellow, pax now, and we'll finish it up to-morrow."
"Aunt Judy, do let us come into the drawing-room then, and hear you
sing; we're sick of this old nursery, we're too big to be kept here."
Roy spoke scornfully, but his aunt shook her head at him:
"Do you know this is the room I love best in the house? Your father and
I used it till we were double your age, and no place ever came up to it
in our estimation. Don't be little prigs and think yourselves men before
you're boys!"
"Why, Aunt Judy, we've been boys ever since we were born!"
"I look upon you as infants now," retorted Miss Bertram, laughing. "Come
along--tiptoe past granny's room, please, and no racing downstairs."
"We'll slide down the rails instead, we always do when granny is
asleep."
"Not when I am with you, thank you."
A few minutes afterward, and the boys were standing on either side of
the piano listening with delight to the song that has stirred so many
boyish hearts:
"'Tis a story, what a story, tho' it never made a noise
Of cherub-headed Jake and Jim, two little drummer boys
Of all the wildest scamps that e'er provoked a sergeant's eye,
They were first in every wickedness, but one thing could not lie,
And they longed to face the music, when the tidings from afar
Brought the news of wild disaster in a wild and savage war.
Said the Colonel, 'How can babies of battle bear the brunt?'
Said the little orphan rascals, 'please Sir, take us to the front!
And we'll play to the men in the far-off land,
When their eyes for home are dim;
If the Indians come, they shall hear our drum
In the van where the fight is grim.
Our lads we know, to the death will go,
If they're led by Jake and Jim.'
"In the battle, 'mid the rattle, and the deadly hail of lead,
The two were in their glory--What did they know of dread?
And fierce the heathen cry arose across the Indian plain,
And 'twas Home, for the bravest there would never be again,
The raw recruits were restless, and they counted not the cost,
And the Colonel shouted, 'Steady lads, stand fast, or else we're lost.'
A rush! 'twas like an avalanche! a clash of steel and red!
A shock like mountain thunder, then the reg'ment turned and fled.
'Give me the drum, take the fife,' said Jake,
'And with all your might and main,
Play the old step now, for the reg'ment's sake
As they scatter along the plain.
We'll play them up to the front once more,
Tho' we never come back again.'
"Then might the world have seen two little dots in red,
Facing the foe, when the rest had turned and fled!
So young, so brave and gay, while others held their breath,
They played ev'ry inch of the way to meet their death;
And _then_ at last the reg'ment turned, for vengeance ev'ry man
To save the lads they turned and fought as only demons can;
They swept the foe before them across the mountain rim,
But victory that day could never bring back Jake or Jim.
And they silently stood where the children fell,
Not a word of triumph said,
For they knew who had led as they bowed each head,
And looked at the quiet dead;
That the fight was won, and the reg'ment saved,
By those two little dots in red."
Miss Bertram stole a glance at the boys' faces as she finished singing.
With a wriggle and a twist Dudley turned his back upon her; but not
before she had seen the blue eyes swimming with tears, and heard a
choking sob being hastily swallowed. Roy stood erect, his little face
quivering with emotion, and his usually pale cheek flushed a deep
crimson, whilst his small determined mouth and chin looked more resolute
and daring than ever. His hands thrust deep in the pockets of his
knickerbockers he looked straight before him and repeated with emphasis,
"They played every inch of the way to meet their death!"
"Regular little heroes, weren't they?" said Miss Bertram.
"Rather," came from Roy's lips, and then without another word he ran out
of the room.
"Do you like it, David?" Miss Bertram asked, touching Dudley lightly on
the shoulder.
"No--I--don't--it makes a fellow in a blue funk." And two fists were
hastily brushed across the eyes.
"Shall I sing you something more cheerful?"
"No, thanks, not to-night, I think I'll go to Roy."
And Dudley, too, made his exit, leaving his aunt touched and amused at
the effect of the song.
An hour after the rain had ceased, and the sun was shining out. Down the
village street walked the two boys enjoying their freedom more soberly
than was their wont.
"We must, we must, we _must_ be heroes, Dudley!"
"Yes, if we get a chance."
"But why shouldn't we have it as well as those two boys. I wonder
sometimes what God meant us to do when He made us! And I'm not going to
be in the dumps because I'm not very strong. For look at Nelson: old
Selby told us he was always very seedy and shaky, always ill; and not
being big in body doesn't matter, for Nelson was a little man and so was
Napoleon, and lots of the great men have been short and stumpy and
hideous! I mean to do something before I die, if only an opportunity
will come! Do you remember the story of the little chap in Holland, who
put his hand in the hole in the sand bank, and kept the whole ocean from
coming in and washing away hundreds of towns and villages? If I could
only do a thing like that, something that would do good to millions of
people; something that would be worth living for! If I could save
somebody's life from fire, or drowning, or some kind of danger! Don't
you long for something of that sort, eh?"
"I don't know that I do," was the slow response; "but I should like you
to get a chance of it if you want it so much."
"Oh, wasn't it splendid of those two little chaps--a whole regiment! And
only those two who didn't run away! I think I could stand fire like
that, couldn't you?"
"I would with you."
"But I don't expect I'll ever go into the army." This in sorrowful
tones.
"Why not?"
"Oh, they'd never have me. I'm too thin round the chest; nurse says I'm
like a bag of bones, and I wouldn't make a smart soldier. Now you'd be a
splendid one, no one could be ashamed of you."
"Well, I won't go without you."
"But I'll do something worth living for," repeated Roy, tossing up his
head and giving a stamp as he spoke; "and I'll seize the first
opportunity that comes."
Dudley was silent. They had now reached the low stone bridge over the
river, a favorite resort amongst all the village boys for fishing; and
quite a little group of them were collected there. Roy and Dudley were
welcomed eagerly as though perhaps at times they were inclined to assume
patronizing and masterful airs; yet their extreme generosity and love
for all country sport made them general favorites with the villagers.
Roy was soon in the midst of an eager discussion about the best bait for
trout; and was presently startled by a heavy splash over the bridge.
Looking up, to his amazement, he saw Dudley struggling in the water.
"Help, Roy, I'm drowning!"
Both boys were capital swimmers, but Roy saw that Dudley seemed
incapable of keeping himself up, and in one second he threw off his
jacket, and dived head foremost off the bridge to the rescue. The
current of the river was strong here, for a mill wheel was only a short
distance off; and it was hard work to swim safely ashore. Roy
accomplished it successfully amidst the cheers of the admiring group on
the bridge; and when once on dry ground again, neither of the boys
seemed the worse for the wetting. In the hubbub that ensued Dubley was
not questioned as to the cause of the accident; but it appeared that his
feet had got entangled in some string and netting that one of the boys
had brought with him to the bridge, and it was this that had prevented
him from swimming.
"It's awfully nice that I had the chance of helping you," said Roy, as
the two boys were running home as fast as they could to change their
wet clothes; "I didn't hurt you in the water, did I? I believe I gave a
pretty good tug to your hair, I was awfully glad you hadn't had your
hair cut lately."
"You've saved my life," said Dudley, staring at Roy with a peculiar
gravity; "if you hadn't dashed over to me, I should have been sucked
down by that old wheel, and should have been a dead man by this time.
You've done to-day what you were longing to do."
"Yes, but I tell you I felt awfully squeamish when I saw you in the
water and thought I might be too late."
As they neared the house, Roy's pace slackened.
"Go on, Dudley, and leave me, I can't get on, I believe that horrid old
asthma is coming on, I'll follow slowly."
"I'm not quite such a cad," was Dudley's retort, and then hoisting Roy
up on his back, as if that mode of proceeding was quite a usual
occurrence, he made his way into the house.
They crept up to their bedrooms and changed their wet clothes before
they showed themselves to any one. Then Dudley waxed eloquent for the
occasion, and the story was told in drawing-room and servants' hall,
till every one was loud in their praises of the little rescuer.
"He looks too small to have done it," said Miss Bertram, smiling; for
though Roy was Dudley's senior by two months, he was a good head
shorter.
Roy got rather impatient under this adulation.
"Oh, shut up, Dudley, don't be such an ass, as if I could have done
anything else!"
An hour after, and Roy was sitting up in bed speechless and panting,
with the bronchitis kettle in full play, and nurse trying vainly to
battle with one of his worst bronchial attacks.
"I say "--he gasped at last; "do you think--I'm going to die--this
time?"
"Surely no, my pet. It's more asthma than bronchitis; I'll pull you
round, please God."
Midnight came, and when nurse left the room for a minute she found a
small figure crouched down outside the door.
It was Dudley.
"Oh, nurse, he's very bad, isn't he? Is he going to die? What shall I
do! I shall be his murderer, I've killed him!"
Dudley's eyes were wild with terror, and nurse tried to soothe him.
"Don't talk nonsense, but go to bed; he'll be better in the morning, I
hope. It's just the wet, and the strain of it that's done it. There's
none to blame. You couldn't help it, and he's been as bad as this
before and pulled through. Go to bed, laddie, and ask God to make him
better."
Dudley crept back to bed, and flung himself down on his pillows with a
fit of bitter weeping.
"She says I couldn't help it; oh, God, make him better, make him better,
do forgive me! I never thought of this!"
III
MAKING AN OPPORTUNITY
It was two days before Dudley was allowed to see the little invalid. The
doctor had been in constant attendance; but all danger was over now, and
Roy as usual was rapidly picking up his strength again.
"His constitution has wonderful rallying powers," the old doctor said;
"he is like a bit of india rubber!"
It seemed to Dudley that Roy's face had got wonderfully white and small;
and there was a weary worn look in his eyes, as he turned round to greet
him.
"Now sit down and talk to him, but don't let him do the talking," was
nurse's advice as she left the boys together.
Dudley sat down by the bed, and squeezed hold of the little hand held
out to him.
"I'm so sorry, old chap," he said, nervously; "do you feel really
better? I've been so miserable."
"I'm first-rate now," was the cheerful response; "it's awfully nice
getting your breath back again; it's only made me feel a little tired,
that's all!"
"It was all me!"
"Why that has been my comfort," said Roy, with shining eyes; "I felt
when I was very bad, that if I died, I might have lived for something.
It would have been lovely to die for you, Dudley--at least you know to
have got myself ill from that reason; it's so very tame when I get bad
from nothing at all; but I'm well again now, so I know God is letting me
live to do something else!"
"I was the one that ought to have been made ill to punish me," blurted
out Dudley, and then he was silent.
Roy's eyes rested on his flushed face with some wonder.
"It wasn't wicked of you to fall into the river; you couldn't help it."
A crimson flush crept over Dudley's face up to the very roots of his
hair; he picked the fringe of the counterpane restlessly between his
fingers, and kicked his heels against the legs of his chair. Silence
again: Roy looked steadily at him; and then an expression of
astonishment and bewilderment flitted across his face, followed by one
of strange, conviction.
"Dudley, look at me."
Roy's tone was peremptory, but Dudley never moved, until the command was
given in a sharper tone. Then he raised his head, but his blue eyes had
a guilty harassed look in them, and he dropped them quickly again.
"It's no good; I've found you out. Did you tie up your feet like that
yourself?"
After a minute, in a sepulchral tone, came the words, "Yes, when you
weren't looking!"
Roy lay back on his pillows with a sigh.
A little disappointment mingled with his feelings which were somewhat
mixed. After a pause, he said, "You _are_ a good fellow! To think of
doing that for me! What would you have done if I hadn't jumped in to
save you?"
Then Dudley raised his head:
"I knew you wouldn't fail me," he said, triumphantly; "I knew I could
trust you!"
Roy put out his thin little arm and drew Dudley's bonny face down by the
side of his on the pillow.
"I don't think," he whispered, "that even I could have been plucky
enough to do that--not in sight of that old mill wheel!"
Neither spoke for a few minutes; then Dudley said,
"I should have been your murderer if you had died. That has been the
worst of it. But you did like saving a drowning fellow, didn't you?"
"Ye-es, but it wasn't quite real--at least it isn't as if you really had
tumbled in by accident."
"Well but I only did what you said we must do. I made an opportunity."
And after this remark Roy had nothing more to say; but neither he nor
Dudley ever enlightened any one as to the true cause of the accident.
When Roy had quite recovered, the two boys set out one afternoon to
visit their greatest friend in the village. This was the old man every
one called "old Principle." He lived by himself in a curious
three-cornered house at the extreme end of the village, and kept a
little general shop where everything but eatables could be obtained.
"I keep every article that man, woman, or child can want for their use,
for their homes, their work or their play; but food and drink I will not
cater for. It's against my principles to sell perishable goods, and I
will not be the one to minister to the very lowest animal wants of my
fellow creatures."
This was his favorite speech, from which it may be judged he was
somewhat of a character.
He had several hobbies, and was a well-read man and superior to those
around him; and perhaps this was the cause of his holding himself aloof
from most of the villagers. They termed him "cranky and cracked," but
his goods were always acceptable, and he was thoroughly successful in
his business. When his shop was closed he would go out on the hills,
and there spend his time studying geology and botany. He knew the name
of every plant and insect, and the strata of the earth for many miles
round; and it was out of doors that the boys first made his
acquaintance.
They found him on this afternoon seated behind his counter mending an
eight-day clock.
"Well, old Principle, how are you?" said Roy, climbing up to the counter
and sitting comfortably on it with his legs dangling in mid air; "we
haven't seen you for ages."
"Are you going out this evening?" enquired Dudley, as he proceeded to
follow Roy's example.
"To be sure, when my work is done," responded the old man pushing up his
spectacles and regarding the boys with kindly eyes; "these light
evenings are my delight, as you know. If you sit still till I have
finished this clock, I will show you a treasure I found yesterday."
"Can you mend everything?" asked Roy, curiously; "I never knew you
understood about clocks."
"I've learned to mend most things," was the answer; "it isn't given to
every one to make, and I'm one of the menders in the world not the
makers. There's one thing I can't mend--and that is broken hearts."
There was silence: Roy broke it at last by saying with knitted brow,
"I'd rather be a maker than a mender, but lots of people aren't either."
"Quite right," nodded the old man; "most folk are breakers."
"I wish I was as clever as you," said Dudley; "you mend umbrellas, and
kettles, and plates, and windows, and gates, and all sorts. How did you
learn?"
"Well, I ain't ashamed of owning that my father was just a travelling
tinker, and when I was a little fellow I used to go round with him and
see him do most things. It was from travelling through the country I
learned to love it so. And my father, he was a thoughtful man, and when
I used to ask where the tin came from, and where the iron and where the
lead, he took to learning of it up so that he could answer me; and then
I came to find that most of our comforts come from underground, and so I
fell to digging. Ah, youngsters, earth is a wonderful treasure house!"
The clock was done. Old Principle put it carefully by and then mounted
on some wooden steps, and took down a tin saucepan. The boys knew the
shelf well; as though apparently it was just a row of tinware for sale,
many a pot and pan held treasures that geologists would have given a
great deal to possess.
Now when old Principle held out a peculiar shaped stone with loving
pride, Roy and Dudley pressed forward to look at it.
"I know, it's a Roman hammer," shouted out Dudley.
"It's a Saxon jug," suggested Roy.
"It's part of a jaw of a mammoth many thousands of years old, and there
are two teeth in perfect preservation," old Principle said solemnly.
"Where did you find it?"
"Ah, you must come and see! In a cave that I have only just discovered,
and which must originally have been by the side of a river. I'll take
you there to-night if you can get permission to come."
Nothing delighted the boys more than an expedition with old Principle.
They promised to be down at his shop punctually at half-past seven that
evening, and then the conversation drifted into other channels.
"Old Principle, do you think we ought to make opportunities?" questioned
Dudley, presently; "Roy thinks we ought, and I did make one the other
day, but it didn't turn out well."
"Ay, Master Roy is always for making," said the old man with a smile;
"he will try and cram his life with what will come fast enough
naturally, if he only waits."
"But will it?" questioned Roy, flushing up with eagerness; "do you
think it will? I'm longing to do something big and grand and good; I
mayn't live to grow up you know, and I'm sure we're meant to do
something when we're boys."
"We're trying to do good to all men as we have opportunity," said
Dudley, gravely.
"Ay, stick to that, boys, and you'll succeed. There's none too small to
be true philanthropists."
"What is a philanthropist?" asked Roy.
"A man who benefits his fellow creatures. 'Tis a good principle to keep
in mind."
"But it's difficult for boys to do grown-up people good. They always do
boys good."
"Now look here, Master Roy. I've lived and learned where you haven't,
and I try and pass my principles on to you. That's how I do you good.
You come to me and take what I give you and seeing you act out the
advice I offers you does me good. You do me good too, every time you
comes to see me; it's cheery to hear and see you."
"But that's very tame for us," said Roy, a little scornfully.
"Oh, well, if your own likes must come into the question, it's a
different story! I didn't know it mattered about our feelings as long as
the good is done! 'Tis a bad principle to try to please others only when
it pleases ourselves."
Roy looked a little ashamed of himself. He said no more on the subject,
and shortly after he and Dudley ran home to tea.
They were very disappointed when their aunt refused to let them go out
again that evening.
"It is too damp a night for Jonathan to be wandering through wet grass
and bog. You can go, David, if you like, but he must wait for another
opportunity."
"I shan't go without Roy," said Dudley, sturdily.
"We'll come and make a cave in the attic," suggested Roy, trying to be
cheerful.
And for the rest of that evening they were absorbed in making a great
dust and racket amongst lumber boxes far away from their grandmother's
hearing.
IV
AN AWKWARD VISIT
"And how do you know a river has been here?"
"By the soil and by the relics I have found. Look at this fossil. Do you
see the outline of the fish? Fish don't live on dry ground."
"There might have been a fishman passing by who dropped one out of his
cart."
Old Principle laughed at Dudley's sceptical notion, and went on
shovelling out earth with great alacrity. It was Saturday afternoon: old
Principle had shut up his shop and taken the boys up to the hills
surrounding the little village, where in a ravine between two
precipitous crags, in the midst of a green bower of ferns and moss, he
was hard at work excavating an old cave that had been buried for many
years out of sight.
Dudley and Roy were eagerly helping and chattering as only boys know
how.
"This little ravine has been formed by a mountain stream rushing down,"
continued the old man, resting on his spade for a minute; "'tis a good
principle, Master Dudley, to trust grown-up folks' knowledge better than
your own."
[Illustration: "Old Principle laughed at Dudley's notion."]
"I wish," said Roy, reflectively, "that this cave was nearer home; it
would be so lovely to come out whenever we wanted to, wouldn't it, Dudley?
Perhaps some king has hidden away in it, or soldier when he was pursued
by his enemies!"
"Hulloo," said Dudley, looking up the hill; "here is such a funny
looking woman coming down with a donkey, her skirt is nearly up to her
knees, and she has a man's boots on."
Old Principle paused in his work, and in a minute or two greeted the
newcomer.
"Good-afternoon, Mrs. Cullen, how's your husband to-day?"
"Badly, very badly, but I's forced to leave he. I lock the door and put
the key in me pocket, for I's bin up the hill yonner cuttin' peat sin
seven o'clock this mornin'. He do get awfu' lonesome, he say, an' if me
niece hadn't a married and gone to 'Merica, I should have kept she to
tend him."
"Who is she?" asked Roy, as after a few more words the woman moved on.
"She lives at the bottom of the hill over there. Her husband has been
ill of consumption these last two years, and she works to support them
both. She's a hard-working woman, is Martha Cullen; she works in the
fields harvesting just now; if I could feel I'd be welcome I would go to
sit with her husband sometimes, but she's very queer, she won't let a
neighbor come near him, I have tried more than once. It seems hard on
him to be bedridden there day after day without a soul to speak to; or
any one to give him a drink!"
Roy gazed thoughtfully after the retreating figure of the woman, and
then turned his attention again to the cave.
When an hour later he and Dudley were walking home footsore, and rather
dirty, but with little bundles of treasures from the cave in their
grubby hands, he startled his cousin by saying--
"To-morrow we'll go and see Martha Cullen's husband. It's an opportunity
for us."
"How shall we get in?" queried Dudley.
"Climb in at the window. She told old Principle she would be out all day
at Farmer Stubbs. We'll go and do him good."
"How?"
"We'll wash his face, and make him a cup of tea, and sweep his room, and
give him his medicine," responded Roy, readily; "that's what nurse does
when she goes to visit any of Aunt Judy's sick people."
Dudley did not look as if he relished the prospect before him.
"That's girls' and women's work," he said; "boys needn't do that kind of
thing."
Roy flushed up angrily.
"All right, if you don't want to come, stay at home. It is a week since
we started to do good when the opportunity came, and we haven't done any
good to any one. I'm not going to waste any more time."
Then after a pause he added, "Besides I think it will be rather fun
breaking into a strange cottage; we may have to get down the chimney."
At this Dudley's face cleared.
"I'll come," he said; "we'll go directly after dinner."
"And we'll stow away a little of our pudding to take him--sick people
always have puddings."
They had no difficulty in carrying out this plan. They always dined in
the nursery, and if nurse wondered at the amount of pudding that her
charges managed to consume that day, her old eyes were not sharp enough
to detect the transfer from plates to pockets. She sent them out into
the garden to play, and they soon were scampering out of the back gate
and along the road toward the little cottage at the bottom of the hill.
It was a warm afternoon, and when they at length came near it they threw
themselves down on the grass to rest.
"We mustn't frighten the old man," said Dudley, gazing at the thatched
cottage with a critical eye. "I see the windows are tight shut in
front, but there's one open at the side; we must creep up very quietly
and get in before he sees us, and then we can explain who we are."
"And if the window won't do, we'll try the chimney, it looks a jolly big
one."
Then after a pause--
"I suppose he'll be glad to see us?"
"Of course he will. He must be dreadfully dull all alone."
A few minutes after, they were holding a whispered consultation outside
a small pantry window through which Roy was going to squeeze himself.
"I'll go first. It will be a tight fit for you, Dudley, but I'll give
you a good pull through, and you must hold your breath well in."
"It's a kind of housebreaking," Dudley said, ripples of fun passing over
his face; "I don't mind visiting sick people if we go in at their
windows like this!"
But Roy's little face was full of anxious gravity and purpose, and he
checked Dudley's inclination to laugh at once.
He accomplished his part successfully, and then poor Dudley was hauled
and pulled at till purple in the face, and breathless with exertion, he
exclaimed, "I'm being squashed to a jelly; let go, I can't do it!"
"Just one more try--now then--there, we've done it!"
But Roy's exclamation of delight was drowned in an awful crash, as
Dudley swept off some shelves a bowl of milk, two plates, and a cup of
soup, and fell to the ground himself in the midst of it all.
Immediately a man's voice called out, "Who's there! Hi! Help! Thieves!
Help!"
Roy darted into the kitchen, and confronted a tall, hollow-cheeked man
who had scrambled out of his bed in the chimney corner, and stood
trembling from head to foot clutching hold of the bed-post, and coughing
violently.
He did not seem at all appeased at the sight of the boys, but shook his
fist at them in a paroxysm of fright and rage.
"Go away, you young blackguards--a robbin' honest folk, and a darin' to
show yer impudent faces, and disturbin' a dyin' man, knowin' as he's too
bad to give yer the hidin' ye desarve!"
Roy was quite taken aback.
"You're quite mistaken--let us explain--we've come to see you and do you
good. Don't you know who we are? We live at the Manor. Look--get back
into bed again, you'll take cold. We've brought you some pudding."
Here a parcel of currant pudding was taken out of his jacket pocket and
held out temptingly.
"A' don't believe a word! Ye've been in the pantry a smashin' the
missus' things, and a eatin' and a drinkin' all ye can lay hands
on--begone, I tell ye!"
"That was me," put in Dudley, edging up to the irate invalid; "you see
the door was locked and we had to come in at the window, and I'm rather
fat about the shoulders, and Roy jerked me through too quick and I fell
amongst some plates. But we really haven't stolen anything, we aren't
robbers!"
"Begone, ye rascals!" repeated the old man, and then such a violent fit
of coughing took possession of him that he sank back on his bed
perfectly exhausted and helpless, waving them away and shaking his head
at them when they tried to approach him.
Dudley looked doubtfully at Roy.
"I'm afraid we aren't doing him any good," he said, slowly. "He won't
let us."
"No," was Roy's response, "we must go, I suppose. He is a foolish,
stupid old man, or he would listen to us and let us explain."
Then advancing again to the sick man Roy said slowly and solemnly,
"You'll be very sorry one day when you know how you've treated us, and
we shall never, never try to see you again, or bring you pudding or
comfort you, _never_! If you had let us, we should have washed your
face and hands, and made you some gruel, and given you your medicine,
and then sat down by your bed and talked nicely to you, but you won't
let us do you good, so we shall leave you, and if you're lonely locked
in here all day with no one to speak to, it's your own fault!"
Then holding his head up bravely, Roy marched out of the kitchen, and
Dudley followed him with some misgivings as to his exit again by the
pantry window. But Roy solved this difficulty.
"Look here, the key is in the back door; we will unlock it and get out
properly. I'm sorry we've smashed those plates."
They walked home in the deepest dejection; as they went through the
village there met them on the bridge the same man that had passed them
when on the garden wall. He was much the worse for drink, and seemed
inclined to be quarrelsome.
"Look 'ee here now, I'll just trouble 'ee to give me another sixpence,
young gent, or I'll help myself, and no nonsense, for I'm the feller for
fightin'!"
He stood barring their way, lurching from side to side, and brandishing
a stick in his hand.
Neither of the boys were daunted. Dudley shouted out,
"Let us by at once, or we'll make you! You'd better look out how you
cheek us!"
And Roy in a moment had his jacket off, and was rolling up his shirt
sleeves.
"Come on, Dudley, we'll lick him into shape, if he dares to touch us!"
What might have befallen our two little heroes cannot be told, for at
this critical juncture the rector came up, and in stern, commanding
tones ordered the man on.
"That stamp of man is a pest in the place," he said; "he won't be
influenced for good but hangs about the ale-houses and lives on the
proceeds of his begging. If people only knew the harm they do in giving
him money instead of a little honest work! Well, boys, run along home,
it's a good thing I came up to stop a free fight. How do you think you
two atoms could have got the better of a man like that? 'Discretion is
the better part of valor' remember. Keep your fists for a good cause.
And never entice a drunken man to fight. It is a degrading spectacle."
Saying which Mr. Selby passed on, and Roy and Dudley walked home without
saying a word to each other.
By the time they had finished their tea, they recovered their spirits,
and were in the midst of an exciting game of cricket in a field
adjoining the house with the old coachman and the stable-boy, when a
summons came to them from the house to come in at once to their aunt.
"What's up, I wonder!" exclaimed Dudley, as he raced Roy up to the front
door; "Aunt Judy never sends for us at dinner time."
They found their aunt in the library. She was in her dinner dress and
the dinner gong was sounding in the hall, but her face was puzzled as
she turned from a woman talking to her, to the boys.
"My nephews are little gentlemen; you must be mistaken," she was saying.
Roy and Dudley recognized the woman immediately. It was Mrs. Cullen, and
their hearts sank.
"Come here, boys," Miss Bertram said; "I have been hearing a strange
story from Mrs. Cullen, of two boys breaking into her house while she
was away this afternoon, frightening her dying husband so much that the
doctor fears he won't outlive the night, and breaking, and stealing
things from her pantry. She insists upon it that it was you; her husband
told her so, but I cannot believe it. You would have no object in
behaving so wickedly."
Dudley's cheeks were crimson, and he hung his head in shame. Roy, as
usual, was not daunted.
"It's all a great mistake, Aunt Judy, we never stole a thing; we went
to see him and take him some pudding and do him good. We had to get in
at the pantry window because the doors were all locked, and we did spill
some milk and some soup, and broke a few plates. We couldn't make him
understand we weren't robbers, so we came away again--and we're very
sorry."
Mrs. Cullen turned furiously upon them, and her language was so abusive,
that Miss Bertram sent the boys away, and brought the poor woman to
reason by quiet, persuasive words.
"I will enquire into the matter. I cannot quite understand their motive;
boys are thoughtless, and perhaps their intentions were good. I know
they will be extremely sorry at the result of their visit. If you come
with me to the housekeeper she will give you some good, strong soup for
your husband. I will come and see him myself the first thing to-morrow
morning."
It was not till after she had dined with her mother, that Miss Bertram
sent for her little nephews again, and then she gave them a severer
scolding than they had received from her for a long time. They crept up
to bed that night feeling very woe-begone.
"I'm sure we'd better give up these opportunities," said Dudley,
disconsolately, as they paused at an old staircase window on their way
to their rooms; "you see this is the third one, and they all turn out
badly. There was that tramp who must have got drunk with your sixpence,
and then there was saving me, and that made you so awfully ill, and now
here's this old fellow that perhaps we shall make die. It all goes
wrong, somehow."
Roy looked out of the window with knitted brow.
"I was thinking of that King--Bruce--who saw the spider try three times
and then succeed. We must try again, that's all! I shan't give up yet.
It is really a big opportunity I'm looking for!"
And Roy laid his head down on the pillow that night, steadfastly
purposing to continue his rôle of benefiting the human race.
V
A LOST DONKEY
Fortunately for the boys, John Cullen got over his fright and took a
turn for the better, but Miss Bertram began to exercise more control
over their many spare hours. She took them out driving with her in the
afternoon, or expeditions by foot; sometimes to some farmhouse to tea,
sometimes to some neighboring squire who had young ones to entertain
them. And Dudley in his happy, careless way soon put all thoughts of
improved opportunities out of his head. He was ready enough to put into
action any proposal of Roy's, but left alone he was perfectly content to
enjoy himself in his own easy fashion; and Roy seemed to be willing to
let the matter rest, as he never now alluded to it.
But one morning two or three weeks later, as the boys were returning
from the Rectory with their satchels in their hands, they met an old man
they knew in deep distress.
"What's the matter, Roger?" asked Roy; "why are you muttering away and
shaking your head so?"
"Ay, young master, I be in a sorrowful plight. My donkey has strayed
away and I cannot find she nowheres. I've been up over the hills, and
not a sign of she! And it's to-morrow that's market day, and how I'm to
get my veggetubbles to town is more'n I can tell 'ee!"
"She can't be lost; when did you have her last?"
"'Twas yest'day mornin'. Ay, she be just a kickin' up her heels miles
away and a laughin' at her poor old master. She be a terrible beast for
strayin', and I just let her out on the green for a bit thinkin' to give
her a pleasure, and that's how she treats me, the ungrateful creature! I
heerd she were seen on the hills, but I'm a weary of trampin' up and
down 'em."
"We'll go out on the hills and look for her this afternoon," said Roy,
eagerly.
"If Aunt Judy will let us," added Dudley.
But Miss Bertram having gone out to lunch with some friends could not be
asked, so the two boys set out after their early dinner with light
hearts.
"It's doing old Roger good, and ourselves too," said Roy; "I'm longing
to have a good outing, and we needn't be back very early, for granny
isn't well enough to see us to-day, nurse said."