FRANK'S MESSAGE REACHES "MUDDIE."
AS the Rayburns drove out of town, a gentleman in a small trap passed
them, and just where the road to Edgestone joins the main road, they
overtook him. Something had gone wrong with his harness. Fred Rayburn
called out—
"Can we help you in any way, sir?"
And the other replied, "Thank you, but I've got it all right now."
Jumping into the trap, he drove on, soon passing the heavier vehicle
again. As he did so, he took off his hat to the occupants.
Little thought the Rayburns that this pleasant-looking man could
have told them about their boys very easily. As little thought Dr.
Wentworth, as he wondered what was bringing a trio of strangers to
quiet Edgestone, that they came to clear up the story that had baffled
him so long, and to rob him of his adopted son. Had he seen Fred
Rayburn nearer, or had an opportunity of conversing with him, the
likeness both to young Fred and to his cherished photograph would have
struck him; but a magnificent dark beard had altered the elder Fred a
good deal, and the likeness escaped the doctor's notice. He was soon
out of sight.
The travellers reached Edgestone presently, and stopped at the little
inn, as the Cygnet called itself, though it really was only a decent
kind of public-house. Here they alighted, and told the driver to put up
his horses for a time.
"Can we have a private sitting-room?" Mr. Rayburn asked, looking
doubtfully round the parlour they had been requested to enter; it
possessed a strong smell of tobacco and a sanded floor.
"This is our only parlour, sir, and the Edgestone Club meets here most
evenings."
"Janet, you must stay here while I inquire where the doctor lives. It
will be better, dear; you look very tired, and this will spare you a
little. I will come back to you as soon as I find him."
Now that the truth must soon be known, poor Janet's hopes and courage
had deserted her. Till now she could not know soon enough. Now she
would gladly have put off certainty a little longer. It was all she
could do not to entreat her husband to wait a little, but she held her
peace and subsided into a very unpromising wooden armchair. Fred turned
to the mistress of the Cygnet, and said—
"Will you bring Mrs. Rayburn some tea as soon as possible?" He followed
her out of the room, shutting the door. "Stay, if you please. Can you
tell me where the doctor lives? You have not more than one, I suppose,
in so small a place?"
"I may say there's only one, though his son is well-nigh a doctor too,
and they do say he set Jerry Davidson's leg as handsome as possible,
the doctor being away at the time. He lives on the green, sir, the
second house from the church. I'll show you the green. Step this
way, sir; you can see it from our door, and the second house is Dr.
Wentworth's."
"Wentworth! I thought his name was Giles?"
"Oh, that's his son—his adopted son, sir."
"Thank you. Well, come what may, we shall know soon—my poor Janet!"
Janet and Lily had some tea. The Cygnet knew a great deal more about
beer and punch than about tea, and consequently, it was not very
refreshing. Lily began to feel anxious about her mother, she looked so
pale.
"Mother dear," the girl said, "let us go out and get a little fresh
air. We need not go out of sight of the door, you know."
"It is very close indeed; I am half smothered," poor Janet said; and,
more to please Lily than because she hoped for relief, she tied her
bonnet and stood up. The busy landlady heard the door open, and came
into the passage.
"We are going to walk about a little," said Lily.
"Maybe you'd like to see the church, ladies? Sexton lives next door,
and will lend you the key of yonder little gate, just t'other side
of the road; it opens into the churchyard—the seminary, I believe,
gentlefolk call it—and it's a matter of general remark that our church
and the churchyard are very pretty; I've known people come from a
distance to see them. I'll just get you the key."
She rushed into the nearest cottage, and came out carrying a key. "Here
'tis, ma'am; and if you go up the steps you'll see, just before you,
near the top, two little graves, kept beautiful with flowers, and when
you come back, I'll tell you the story of them two graves, which is
worth hearing, I assure you, besides being true. Here's the key of the
gate—the wicked gate, sexton calls it, but it's a good gate enough, and
handy when one don't want to go round to the big one."
To stop the torrent of words, Janet took the key, and she and Lily
crossed the road.
"How she does chatter!" Lily said. "But we may as well go in, mother.
It will be quieter than out here, don't you think?"
"Yes, so it will. We can watch for your father well enough there."
Once inside the wicket, Janet would have been content to sit on the
steps which led up to the church, but she found that she could not
see over the wall; so they began to climb upwards. And the place was
so pretty, and, moreover, so unlike anything that Lily had ever seen,
that they went on and on, till they reached the top of the bank, and
saw before them the beautiful old church, with a wide, low porch; and
between them and it a number of graves. All were nicely kept, but two
were quite beautiful, covered completely with blue and white flowers,
while the grass surrounding them was like velvet. Round the white
marble cross at the head of one grave, a white clematis was trained so
skilfully that the inscription was not obscured. The other grave had a
cross, but it was of wood, and round it clung a rose-tree, with small
crimson roses in great profusion. But here, too, the growth was not
allowed to interfere with the inscription.
"Oh, mother, is not that lovely? What constant care some one must take
of these two graves—such little graves, too! These must be the two
the landlady spoke of; we must hear the story. I wonder why one has a
marble cross and the other only a wooden one?"
While Lily spoke, they were drawing nearer to the little graves, and
now the girl began to read aloud—
"'Charles William Wentworth, only child of Dr. Alexander Wentworth
and Lucy, his wife. Died April 3, 18—, aged seven years.'"
Suddenly her mother caught her by the arm, and said in a low, strange
voice—
"Lily! The other—look at it, read it!"
Lily was frightened, and she was more frightened when she saw her
mother's face. She looked at the wooden cross, and exclaimed—
"Oh, mother, what can it mean?"
"Read it to me; I may have read it wrong. Be quick, Lily, read it."
And Lily read—
"'Frank. Died September 14, 18—, aged about seven years.
He laid down his life to save his brother's. His last words
were a message to his mother, to tell her he had taken care of Fred.'"
"Oh, mother, mother, what does it mean?"
"That I have found one of my little boys," Janet said, and she trembled
so that Lily put her arms round her and tried to hold her up.
A step rang on the gravel, a young man came round the corner of the
church and stopped short on seeing strangers near the graves he came
to visit. Lily, though usually very shy, was so beside herself with
fright, that she called aloud to him—
"Please, please come here; mother is ill, and I am afraid she will
fall!"
The stranger was at her side in a moment.
"Has she fainted? I'll carry her up to the seat in the porch, and run
for water."
But Janet had not fainted, and now she steadied herself, laid her hand
on his arm, and said—
"Tell me what this means, if you are Fred?" pointing to the wooden
cross.
He looked at her earnestly. "Who are you?" he said. "Is my childish
dream come true at last? Oh, I can tell you what those words mean! My
brother lies there. We had wandered—I don't know where from. He was the
elder, and—he laid down his life to save mine."
"Then you are my little Fred, and I have found both my boys," said
Janet. "Child, don't you know me?"
"Is it true? Are you really my mother? But you are ill; don't try to
speak. Let me help you up to the porch; you can hardly stand."
He put his arm round her and guided her faltering steps to the porch,
followed by the distracted Lily, who felt as if walking in her sleep.
In the porch, there was a broad stone seat, on which Fred placed his
mother; he knelt beside her, and said—
"Is it true that you are really my mother?—the 'muddie' for whom Frank
and I fretted so—to find when we ran away? From whom we escaped, I
cannot remember. I only recall an angry, cruel face. For pity's sake,
tell me who you are."
"I am surely your mother, my son. You always called me 'muddie.' Come
here, Lily; this is your brother Fred. Why, where has the child gone?"
For Lily, having caught sight of her father and Dr. Wentworth at the
door of the Cygnet, had run down the steps to the gate, and across the
road to her father's side.
"Father," she cried, "we have found him! Mother and I, up there. Come,
I will show you the way."
"Lily, tell me—does my poor Janet know that Frank is dead?"
"I think she does. It was a little grave, all over flowers—and then he
came round the church. I did not quite understand, but mother did."
"It must have been the inscription that I told you of: she understood,
no doubt. Tell her the exact words were, 'Tell muddie that I took care
of Fred.' Mr. Rayburn, in finding Fred you've found a good and noble
son; but little Frank was a hero and a martyr, to my mind."
"He was his mother's son," was the answer.
Then they went up the steep steps, and found mother and son standing by
the flower-clad cross.
"Dr. Wentworth, I have found my mother!" cried Fred, hardly seeing that
the doctor was not alone in his agitation.
"Fred, I have found both our boys," said Janet, leaving her son and
taking her husband's arm; "and God has taken care of both of them."
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