One May afternoon Miles came home with the news that, through the
influence of an engineering friend, he had been offered a post in
connection with a new railway which the ever-increasing mining industry
in Mexico had rendered necessary. The salary proposed was a handsome
one for so young a man. He owed the offer entirely to Mr Owen's good
offices, and would be required to sail as soon as his outfit could be
got together.
Dr Trevor rejoiced in his son's success, and warmly congratulated him
on having had so short a time to wait for an opening. He took a man's
view of life, and felt that it was time that Miles faced the world on
his own account; but the youth faded out of the mother's face as she sat
in her corner and listened to the conversation.
"Luck!" They called it luck that Miles, her darling, should be sent to
the other side of the world, to a wild, dare-devil country, the very
name of which conjured up a dozen thrilling tales of adventure. "A five
years' appointment!" The words rang like a knell in her ears!
Of course, she had known all along that a separation must come, but she
had hoped against hope that an opening might be found somewhere within
the borders of the United Kingdom, when she would still be able to feel
within reach in case of need. Now it was indeed good-bye, since it must
at best be a matter of years before she could hope for another meeting.
Oh, this stirring up of the nest, how it tears the mother's heart!
Mrs Trevor looked across the room to where Miles stood, almost as tall
and broad as the doctor himself, and her thoughts flew back to the time
when he was a little curly-headed boy who vowed he would never leave his
mother. "I won't never get married," he had announced one day. "You
shall be my wife. You are daddy's wife, and I don't see why you
shouldn't be wife to both your darlin's!" Another day--"I'll stay with
you all my life, and when you're a nold, nold woman I'll wheel you about
in a Barf chair." Later on had come the time when the first dawning of
future responsibility began to weigh on the childish mind--"I can't sink
how I can ever make pennies like daddy does! I can't write proper
letters like grown-ups do, only the printed ones!" he had sighed, and
she had bidden him be a good boy and do his best for the day, leaving
the future in God's hand. "God will give you your work!" she had told
him; and how she and his father had rejoiced together when his
absorption in a box of tools, and his ingenuity therewith, had pointed
out a congenial career. She had prayed and trusted for guidance in
bringing up this dear son, and that being so, she must now believe that
the offered post was the right thing, and that the distant land was just
the very spot of all others where God wished him to be.
When Miles turned to his mother, she had a smile in readiness for him,
and if it were rather tremulous, it was none the less sweet. She would
not allow herself to break down, but threw herself heart and soul into a
study of the Stores' list, which could not be delayed another day,
seeing that it was suggested that Miles should sail in a week's time. A
week! Only one week! Was it really possible that the following day was
the last Sunday which would see a united family circle round the table?
Every female member of the household shed tears on their pillows that
evening, and Betty was convinced that she had lain awake all night long,
because she had actually heard the clock strike one. Mrs Trevor's
vigil was real, not imaginary, and she was thankful when it was time to
get up, and get ready for that quiet early service at church which would
be her best preparation for the week. Her hard-worked husband was
sleeping soundly, and she would not waken him, but a feeling of unusual
sadness and loneliness oppressed her as she made her way through the
silent house. She had depended so much on her big strong boy, had grown
into the habit of consulting him on many matters, in which, by helping
her, he could save his father trouble. That was all over now. She must
learn to do without Miles' aid! And then suddenly from behind the
dining-room door a big figure stepped forward to meet her, and Miles'
voice said, in half-shamefaced tones--
"I thought--I'd come too! I thought we'd go together!"
"Oh, Miles!" cried his mother, and could say no more, but her heart
leapt with thankfulness for all that that action meant--for this sign
that her boy was anxious to dedicate himself afresh to Christ's service
at the beginning of his new life. She passed her hand through his arm,
and they went out of the house together, unconscious of the presence of
a third figure which had looked down at them from an upper landing.
Betty had awakened to fresh tears, and, hearing her mother stirring, had
hurried into her clothes, so as to accompany her to church; but in the
very act of slipping downstairs Miles' voice had arrested her, and she
had drawn back into the shadow. The Betty of a year ago would have
continued her course unabashed; the Betty of to-day divined with a new
humility that her presence would mar the sacredness of that last
Communion of mother and son, and turned back quietly to her own room.
The days flew. The first mornings were spent at the Stores, choosing,
ordering, and fitting; the afternoons in marking and packing the
different possessions as they arrived. Then there were farewell visits
to be paid, and to receive, and a score of letters and presents to
acknowledge. Relations turned up trumps, and sent contributions towards
the outfit in money and in kind; the General presented a handsome
double-barrelled fowling-piece, which thrilled Miles with delight and
his mother with horror. Miss Beveridge gave a "housewife" stocked with
all sorts of mending materials--fancy Miles darning his own socks!--and
Cynthia Alliot sent across a case containing one of the most perfect
quarter-plate cameras that ever was seen.
"When this you see,
Send snaps to me!"
was inscribed on the inner wrapping, which Miles quietly folded and put
away in his pocket. He would not need the camera or any external aid to
help him to remember his mentor of the golden hair and sweet grey eyes.
Cynthia came over very often those last few days, and diffused a little
fun into the gathering gloom by constituting herself Miles' sewing-
mistress, and sitting over him in sternest fashion while he fumbled
clumsily at his task. Rumour had it that she even rapped his knuckles
with the scissors when he took up half a dozen threads at once in his
second darn; and even Mrs Trevor was obliged to laugh at her imitation
of Miles' grimaces when trying to thread a needle. In the end Pam was
made happy by being commissioned to thread dozens of needles with long
black and white threads, and then stick them in a special needle-book,
with their tails twisted neatly round and round.
As for Cynthia, she revelled in her position as instructress.
"I've suffered so much myself, that it is simply lovely to turn the
tables on someone else," she announced. "I am going to see this
business through in a proper and well-regulated fashion. Now that the
technical course is finished, you are going to be put through a _viva
voce_ examination. Sit down in front of the work-basket, and answer
without any shuffling or trying to escape. Now then! Distinguish
between a darning-needle and a bodkin." She nipped up Mrs Trevor's
spectacles from a side-table, as she spoke, perched them on the end of
her nose, and stared over them with an assumption of great severity.
Miles grinned complacently.
"Easy enough. One pricks and the other doesn't."
"A very superficial reply! To what separate and distinctive duties
would you apply the two?"
"Wouldn't apply them at all if I had my way," began the pupil daringly,
but a flash of his mistress's eye recalled him promptly to order, and he
added hastily, "One you use to darn things up with, and the other to
drag strings through tunnel sort of businesses, and bring them out at
the other side."
"No engineering terms, please! Your matter is correct, but the manner
leaves much to be desired. Question number two is--Which thread would
you use to affix (a) a shirt, (b) a boot, (c) a waistcoat button?"
"The first that came handy," replied Miles recklessly, whereupon Pam
squealed with dismay, and was for labelling all her needles forthwith,
but Cynthia rapped sternly on the table, and would have each bobbin
brought out in turn, and so carefully examined that its qualities could
not easily be forgotten. Then, and only then, would she consent to pass
on to the third question, which concerned itself with the vexed question
of darning.
"Three, State clearly, and in sequence, the steps necessary for
repairing a hole in the sole of your sock."
Miles shrugged his shoulders with a despairing gesture.
"Oh, if you mean how a woman does it,--drag the old thing tightly over
your left arm, so that you have only one hand to work with, fill your
needle with a silly stuff that breaks if you look at it, and begin see-
sawing away half a mile from the scene of the accident. Stick at it
until you have pulled off most of the skin on your fingers, and then
turn it round and start the whole thing over again, the other way round.
Then walk about and get a blister on your heel!"
The audience sputtered with laughter at this eloquent description, but
Cynthia gazed down her nose with an expression of contemptuous disgust.
"And how many blisters would you have if you did not mend it, pray? May
I suggest that you make the experiment and see? No marks at all for
that answer! Question number four is, Work a buttonhole on the
accompanying strip of linen."
But here Miles struck. No power on earth, he declared, would induce him
to attempt to "festoon" a hole in the accepted fashion.
"When I want one I'll make it with the nearest implement that comes
handy. There are always my teeth as a last resource. It's silly
nonsense cutting out a hole and immediately proceeding to sew it up!
Time enough for that when it begins to split--"
"Plucked! Hopelessly plucked!" cried Cynthia, rolling her eyes in
dismay. Then the spectacles dropped off her nose, and she joined in the
general laughter, and forgot her role of mentor for the rest of the
evening.
But it was not only in the matter of amusement that Cynthia made herself
invaluable during those last trying days; she seemed ever on the watch
for opportunities of service. If anything was overlooked or late in
delivery, she was ready to drive to the shop, and bring it home. She
invited Pam to lunch and tea, thereby setting her elders free and
keeping the child happy and occupied, and she steadily refused to
accompany Miles and Betty on any of their expeditions, thereby earning
her friend's undying gratitude, though perhaps Miles himself was less
appreciative of her self-denial. Her turn for a quiet word came only on
the last day of all, when Miles accompanied her for the few yards which
intervened between the two houses, and stood on the doorstep to wish her
farewell.
His face was white, and his words came out with even more than the usual
difficulty.
"It's been--a jolly good thing for me--knowing you for these last
months. You've been--a help! If I ever turn out anything of a man--it
will be a good deal--your doing!"
Cynthia stared at him with her beautiful grave eyes.
"Mine?" she cried in amazement. "Oh, why? What have I done?"
"You've been yourself!" said Miles gruffly. "Good-bye!"
He held out his big hand, and Cynthia's little fingers closed tightly
round it.
"Good-bye, Miles! I won't forget," she said simply. And with those
words ringing in his ears Miles Trevor sailed away to begin his new
life.