Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Stephanie Kovalchik and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note:
1. Small cap has been tagged with = sign.
2. When there were inconsistencies in hyphenation, the less frquent
variant was replaced with the most frequent, e.g. "ship-board" was
changed to "shipboard".
[Illustration]
=In Search of a Son.=
=BY=
=UNCLE LAWRENCE,=
=AUTHOR OF "YOUNG FOLKS' WHYS AND WHEREFORES," ETC.=
[Illustration]
=PHILADELPHIA:=
=J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.=
1890.
Copyright, 1889, by J. B. Lippincott Company.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Page
CHAPTER I.
The Despatch 9
CHAPTER II.
Two Friends 18
CHAPTER III.
Monsieur Roger 26
CHAPTER IV.
Monsieur Roger's Story 32
CHAPTER V.
Fire at Sea 39
CHAPTER VI.
Miss Miette's Fortune 46
CHAPTER VII.
Vacation 53
CHAPTER VIII.
A Drawing Lesson 59
CHAPTER IX.
The Tower of Heurtebize 66
CHAPTER X.
Physical Science 75
CHAPTER XI.
The Smoke Which Falls 84
CHAPTER XII.
At the Centre of the Earth 92
CHAPTER XIII.
Why Lead Is Heavier Than Cork 99
CHAPTER XIV.
The Air-Pump 104
CHAPTER XV.
Drops of Rain and Hammer of Water 114
CHAPTER XVI.
Amusing Physics 119
CHAPTER XVII.
Why the Moon does not Fall 127
CHAPTER XVIII.
A Mysterious Resemblance 138
CHAPTER XIX.
The Fixed Idea 146
CHAPTER XX.
Fire 152
CHAPTER XXI.
Saved 161
CHAPTER XXII.
George! George! 167
CHAPTER XXIII.
A Proof? 178
CHAPTER XXIV.
The Air and the Lungs 184
CHAPTER XXV.
Oxygen 190
CHAPTER XXVI.
Why Water Puts out Fire 200
CHAPTER XXVII.
Paul or George? 214
CHAPTER XXVIII.
My Father 222
[Illustration]
IN SEARCH OF A SON.
CHAPTER I.
THE DESPATCH.
In the great silence of the fields a far-off clock struck seven. The
sun, an August sun, had been up for some time, lighting up and warming
the left wing of the old French chateau. The tall old chestnut-trees of
the park threw the greater part of the right wing into the shade, and in
this pleasant shade was placed a bench of green wood, chairs, and a
stone table.
The door of the chateau opened, and a gentleman lightly descended the
threshold. He was in his slippers and dressing-robe, and under the
dressing-robe you could see his night-gown. After having thrown a
satisfied look upon the beauty of nature, he approached the green seat,
and seated himself before the stone table. An old servant came up and
said,--
"What will you take this morning, sir?"
And as the gentleman, who did not seem to be hungry, was thinking what
he wanted, the servant added,--
"Coffee, soup, tea?"
"No," said the gentleman; "give me a little vermouth and seltzer water."
The servant retired, and soon returned with a tray containing the order.
The gentleman poured out a little vermouth and seltzer water, then
rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and, leaning back upon the rounded seat
of the green bench, looked with pleasure at the lovely scene around him.
On the left, in a small lake framed in the green lawn, was reflected one
wing of the old chateau, as in a mirror. The bricks, whose colors were
lighted up by the sun, seemed to be burning in the midst of the water.
The large lawn began at the end of a gravelled walk, and seemed to be
without limit, for the park merged into cultivated ground, and verdant
hills rose over hills. There was not a cloud in the sky.
The gentleman, after gazing for some minutes around him, got up and
opened the door of the chateau. He called out, "Peter!" in a subdued
voice, fearing, no doubt, to waken some sleeper.
The servant ran out at once.
"Well, Peter," said the gentleman, "have the papers come?"
"No, sir; they have not yet come. That surprises me. If you wish, sir, I
will go and meet the postman."
And Peter was soon lost to sight in a little shady alley which descended
into the high-road. In a few moments he reappeared, followed by a man.
"Sir," said he, "I did not meet the letter-carrier; but here is a man
with a telegraphic despatch."
The man advanced, and, feeling in a bag suspended at his side, he
said,--
"Monsieur Dalize, I believe?"
"Yes, my friend."
"Well, here is a telegram for you which arrived at Sens last night."
"A telegram?" said Monsieur Dalize, knitting his brows, his eyes showing
that he was slightly surprised, and almost displeased, as if he had
learned that unexpected news was more often bad news than good.
Nevertheless, he took the paper, unfolded it, and looked at once at the
signature.
"Ah, from Roger," he said to himself.
And then he began to read the few lines of the telegram. As he read, his
face brightened, surprise followed uneasiness, and then a great joy
took the place of discontent. He said to the man,--
"You can carry back an answer, can you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, Peter, bring me pen and ink at once."
Peter brought pen, ink, and paper, and Monsieur Dalize wrote his
telegram. He gave it to the man, and, feeling through his pockets,
pulled out a louis.
"Here, my good fellow," said he: "that will pay for the telegram and
will pay you for your trouble."
The man looked at the coin in the hollow of his hand in an embarrassed
way, fearing that he had not exactly understood.
"Come, now,--run," said Monsieur Dalize; "good news such as you have
brought me cannot be paid for too dearly; only hurry."
"Ah, yes, sir, I will hurry," said the man; "and thank you very much,
thank you very much."
And, in leaving, he said to himself, as he squeezed the money in his
hand,--
"I should be very glad to carry to him every day good news at such a
price as that."
When he was alone, Monsieur Dalize reread the welcome despatch. Then he
turned around, and looked towards a window on the second floor of the
chateau, whose blinds were not yet opened. From this window his looks
travelled back to the telegram, which seemed to rejoice his heart and
to give him cause for thought. He was disturbed in his reverie by the
noise of two blinds opening against the wall. He rose hastily, and could
not withhold the exclamation,--
"At last!"
"Oh, my friend," said the voice of a lady, in good-natured tones. "Are
you reproaching me for waking up too late?"
"It is no reproach at all, my dear wife," said Monsieur Dalize, "as you
were not well yesterday evening."
"Ah, but this morning I am entirely well," said Madame Dalize, resting
her elbows on the sill of the window.
"So much the better," cried Mr. Dalize, joyfully, "and again so much the
better."
"What light-heartedness!" said Madame Dalize, smiling.
"That is because I am happy, do you know, very happy."
"And the cause of this joy?"
"It all lies in this little bit of paper," answered Monsieur Dalize,
pointing to the telegram towards the window.
"And what does this paper say?"
"It says,--now listen,--it says that my old friend, my best friend, has
returned to France, and that in a few hours he will be here with us."
Madame Dalize was silent for an instant, then, suddenly remembering, she
said,--
"Roger,--are you speaking of Roger?"
"The same."
"Ah, my friend," said Madame Dalize, "now I understand the joy you
expressed." Then she added, as she closed the window, "I will dress
myself and be down in a moment."
Hardly had the window of Madame Dalize's room closed than a little girl
of some ten years, with a bright and pretty face surrounded by black
curly hair, came in sight from behind the chateau. As she caught sight
of Monsieur Dalize, she ran towards him.
"Good-morning, papa," she said, throwing herself into his open arms.
"Good-morning, my child," said Monsieur Dalize, taking the little girl
upon his knees and kissing her over and over again.
"Ah, papa," said the child, "you seem very happy this morning."
"And you have noticed that too, Miette?"
"Why, of course, papa; any one can see that in your face."
"Well, I am very happy."
Miss Mariette Dalize, who was familiarly called Miette, for short,
looked at her father without saying anything, awaiting an explanation.
Monsieur Dalize understood her silence.
"You want to know what it is that makes me so happy?"
"Yes, papa."
"Well, then, it is because I am going to-day to see one of my
friends,--my oldest friend, my most faithful friend,--whom I have not
seen for ten long years."
[Illustration]
Monsieur Dalize stopped for a moment.
"Indeed," he continued, "you cannot understand what I feel, my dear
little Miette."
"And why not, papa?"
"Because you do not know the man of whom I speak."
Miette looked at her father, and said, in a serious tone,--
"You say that I don't know your best friend. Come! is it not Monsieur
Roger?"
It was now the father's turn to look at his child, and, with pleased
surprise, he said,--
"What? You know?"
"Why, papa, I have so often heard you talk to mamma of your friend Roger
that I could not be mistaken."
"That is true; you are right."
"Then," continued Miss Miette, "it is Mr. Roger who is going to arrive
here?"
"It is he," said Monsieur Dalize, joyously.
[Illustration]
But Miss Miette did not share her father's joy. She was silent for a
moment, as if seeking to remember something very important, then she
lowered her eyes, and murmured, sadly,--
"The poor gentleman."
[Illustration]