Ruby Grigg on the green at Bridgepath, and the good work was making
steady progress in that hamlet. A few of the adversaries continued
rather noisy and troublesome; but it was observable that these avoided,
as by common consent, one particular beer-shop, which used to be a
favourite resort of the roughest and most dissolute characters, while
the publican himself who kept this house was to be seen, at first
occasionally, and now regularly at the service which was held in the
schoolroom on the Sunday evenings.
News of this happy change had reached Horace from several quarters, and
gave the sincerest pleasure to himself and his uncle. Meditating
thankfully on these things, the young man was passing one afternoon down
a by-lane which led to Bridgepath. It was a lonely spot, far from any
house. On either hand the lane was closed in by tall hedges, and a
broad belt of turf skirted the rugged road on each side, affording
pasture to any stray beasts which might wander thither unbidden. Wild
flowers and singing birds filled the untrimmed bushes; while the lowing
of cattle, faintly heard from some far-off farm or pasture, added depth
to the solitude. With his face turned in the direction of Bridgepath,
Horace had just crossed the top of another and narrower lane, which
joined at right angles that along which he was walking, and had passed
the opening about a hundred yards, when he was startled by hearing a
voice behind him shouting out, "Hi! Hi! Hi! Mister!" He looked back,
and the sight that met his eye was not reassuring. A tall figure, bare-
headed and without a coat, was striding after him, tossing its arms
about, and brandishing in the right hand a long whip.
The thought at once suggested itself to Horace that this must be some
poor lunatic escaped from an asylum, and the idea of a solitary
encounter in that lonely spot was not an agreeable one, especially as
the young man had no other weapon with him than a thin walking-cane, and
he was well aware that these poor creatures, when excited and at
liberty, often exhibited great strength of limb, and made use of it
without scruple to the detriment of any they might fall in with; so he
took no heed of the outcry, and hastened his pace onwards. But this had
only the effect of exasperating his pursuer, who bawled out to him to
stop, and then began to make after him with a shuffling sort of run. So
when Horace looked back, and saw the presumed lunatic thus quickening
his speed, and also wildly flourishing his whip, he fairly broke into a
run himself, considering that, under the circumstances, "discretion
was," undoubtedly, "the better part of valour." He was, however,
arrested in his flight by a roaring burst of laughter from the supposed
madman, which made him pause for a moment and turn full round; and then
he became convinced that the cause of his anxiety, who was now leaning
his back against a bank, and still laughing vociferously, was none other
than the old caravan hawker, Ruby Grigg.
As soon as he could recover himself, the old man began to walk quietly
forward, motioning to the other to come and meet him. Horace did this,
though with some little reluctance, not feeling sure that the old man's
excitement might not be caused by either insanity or drink. But he was
soon satisfied that all was right on that score, as the two drew nearer
together.
"So you took me for a highwayman or a madman, Mr Horace!" said the old
man, still laughing. "Eh! I don't wonder; you must have thought it
very strange. But I never thought how it'd look when I hollered arter
you; I were only afeard you'd get out of hearing, and I've something to
tell you as'll make your heart right glad, I know."
"What is it, my friend?"
"Well, can you spare me a few minutes, and I'll tell you? My van's just
a few yards down the lane you crossed a minute ago. You didn't look
that way as you passed, and I didn't take it in at first that it was
yourself; and when my wife said, `There's Mr Horace Jackson just gone
by,' I ran to the top of the lane just as I was, whip and all, and
shouted arter you. Can you come with me for a minute?"
"With all my heart," replied the other.
So they turned back, and soon reached the van, which was drawn up by the
hedge-side, Grip and the old horse strolling about at leisure, and Mrs
Gregson being engaged in cooking something savoury in an iron pot which
was suspended over an open-air fire, gipsy fashion.
When Horace had seated himself on the bank, the old hawker plunged into
his travelling shop, and having returned with something in his right
hand, seated himself by his young companion. "It's this here little
Testament as has been and gone and done it," he said abruptly, opening
his hand at the same time and disclosing the book which Horace had given
him at their last meeting.
Greatly surprised and touched at these words, Horace looked earnestly
into Reuben's face for an explanation, and as he did so, it struck him
that the old expression of cunning had given place to one of gentleness
and peace.
"I'll tell you all about it, sir," proceeded the other. "You must know
as I haven't been easy in my mind for some time past--never since that
new schoolmaster at Bridgepath said a few words to me last feast-day.
You know I often come to the village, 'cos I've some good customers
there, and I never used to miss the feast. Well, I'd heard a deal about
the new goings on there long afore I set my own eyes on any on 'em, and
I weren't best pleased, nor weren't my best customers neither, you may
be sure. But still, down in my heart, I couldn't help feeling as things
were being changed for the better; yet it didn't quite suit my pocket
that they should be, and so I were very cross, and ready to take
everything by the wrong handle. So when the schoolmaster came and spoke
to me, I were as grumpy at first as a bear with a sore head, as the
saying is. But he wouldn't see it--no, not a bit, and talked to me as
pleasant as if I'd been all the while looking sugar and honey at him;
and I began to feel very uneasy all over. Then, too, I couldn't help
seeing as the boys and girls were as different as possible from what
they used to be. Many was the time as I've sworn with a big ugly oath
as I'd set Grip at them, when they came up and plagued me and wanted to
meddle with my goods. But there weren't no need for it now. Yet I
stuck out for all that, and talked it over with the keepers of the beer-
shops; and we all agreed as it were a great nuisance setting up this new
school and reading-room. But we didn't really think so, except that it
began to hurt our trade; for this was where the shoe pinched. And then
it was, when my mind was a-playing at `see-saw,' first up on this side,
and then up on the other, that you was sent that day to have a talk
about the children and my own blessed little 'un, and to give me the
Testament. When you was gone, I grumbled to myself at first, `Precious
humbug this! What's the use of a Testament to me? I ain't a-going to
pull a long face and sing psalms,' and I were half in the mind to throw
it away."
"And what stopped you, old friend?" asked Horace.
"I'll just tell you, sir," replied the other. "When you gave it me, I
stuck it in my coat-pocket, next my little girl's picture-book: and when
I took it out again, t'other little book came with it, and I couldn't
for the life of me do it any harm. So I put 'em both back again side by
side; and the next time as we camped in a quiet place, I took the
Testament out and began to read a bit out loud. And Sally heard me, and
she came and listened with her mouth and eyes wide open, and then asked
me what the book was and where I'd got it. I told her all about it; and
then she asked me if I thought I could find in the book them last words
which our dear little 'un spoke. I told you, sir, you'll remember, as
she said, `Jesus said, "Suffer the little children to come unto me."'
Them was her last words, poor thing! Well, we sat on these steps day
after day and hunted for them words between us; and we found 'em at
last. But we found something else as we hadn't been looking for. We
found a couple of miserable old sinners, Ruby and Sally Grigg, as was
going along the broad road to destruction." He paused, for his voice
had become choked and troubled.
"And did you find nothing more?" asked Horace, deeply interested.
"Ay, to be sure we did, sir. We found Jesus Christ was willing to have
us; and we found peace--not at first, nor all at once, but by degrees,
and after a while. Sally were the first to get a firm hold: but I
believe I've grasped it myself now, and by God's help I mean not to let
go."
"This is indeed joyful news, dear friend," said Horace Jackson, when he
could trust himself to speak. "Who would have thought it?"
"Ay, who indeed?" said Reuben warmly. "And now," he added, "I want a
bit of advice, sir, from you, for it ain't all grass and gravel with me
now; there's some deepish ruts and some stony roads before me, and
that's why I were so anxious to stop you just now, sir, that I might
tell you all about it, and get a word or two from yourself to give us a
bit of encouragement."
"I am truly thankful--I can't tell you how thankful," replied the young
man. "The Lord has indeed done great things for you, and I shall be
only too happy to be helpful to you in any way that I can."
"Thank you, sir, kindly; 'tain't worldly help as I wants from you. I've
earned enough for me and Sally to last us as long as we live; and it's
almost time as I sold the old van, and settled down somewheres for the
rest of my days. But it's just this, sir--I want to do some work for
the Lord, who's been and done so much for Sally and me. Now I could, as
I said just now, sell the old van and settle down; but then I mightn't
be able to do much good, and my old limbs would get stiff for want of my
regular exercise, and I should just be snoozing away the rest of my time
in a big arm-chair. Now I ain't quite used up, nor Sally neither. So I
could keep on the move from place to place, dropping a word for Christ
here, and a word there, where I've been used to drop scores of words for
the devil; and if you'd put me in the way, I could take a lot of
Testaments and other good books with me, and sell 'em instead of the
poisonous trash as I used to carry. Now, what do you advise me?"
"You couldn't do better, old friend," replied Horace; "you would be
showing then your colours, and doing real work for the Master--better
far than you could if you settled down."
"Well, I think so too, sir; and you must know that I've begun to do a
bit for the Lord already, though in a poor sort of way. I used to sell
smuggled goods on the sly, and bad songs and bad books, but I've dropped
all that now. You may look my van through, drawers and cupboards and
all, every corner of it, and you'll not find a scrap of the bad sort
now. Eh! How some of my old customers do stare, and how some on 'em do
jeer, when I tells 'em as I've done selling the old things as they
delight in. But it don't matter. I've made up my mind, and they're
beginning to find that out. They call me an old humbug, and tell me as
Sally and I shall end our days in the Union. But I ain't afeard; it
ain't the likes of them as can send me there, and I know I'm safe in the
Lord's hands."
"That's very true," said Horace; "you'll be taken good care of while you
are in the path of duty, and you will have many a noble opportunity of
helping on the good cause as you go from place to place. Many will get
a word from you which they might not be in the way of hearing otherwise,
and the very fact of such a change in the hearts and lives of your wife
and yourself must tell on the consciences of many who see what you are
now and know what you were in times past."
"I believe you sir," said the old man. "Now, there's one who's been
touched already--Jim Grimes, who keeps `The Old Fighting-Cocks' at
Bridgepath. He were mightily surprised at first when he seed as I'd
given up my old ways; he wouldn't believe as it were the true thing, and
he were for chaffing me out of it. But he found out after a bit as I
was real. 'Tain't for me to boast--it were the Lord's doings, not
mine--but when he came to be persuaded as I had taken to the better way
in earnest, he couldn't make it out at first; but now he has come to set
his feet on the right road, too, I trust, and this has made me think as
there's work for the Lord for me to do in a quiet way without giving up
the van--in a quiet way, I say, sir, for I don't want to be put in a
`mag.'"
"Put in a `mug,' old friend!" exclaimed Horace, in amused surprise;
"what can you mean? Is it slang for putting you in prison? Why should
any one put you in prison for such a work as you are purposing to carry
on? If any one tries to get you into trouble, come or send to me; they
shan't interfere with you."
"Nay, nay, sir," replied Ruby Grigg, with a laugh. "Thank you kindly
for what you say; but you've not got hold of my meaning. What I'm
driving at is this: I don't want people to put me in a `mag,'--mag's
short for `magazine,'--one of them monthly or weekly papers as is full
of pictures, and serves as town-crier to all the good deeds as is being
done."
"Ah, I understand you now," said Horace, smiling in return; "you want to
work quietly for Christ in the shade, and not to be made a public
character of."
"That's just it, sir; I wouldn't be put in a `mag' for all the world.
I've knowed many a good man spoilt by being put in a `mag.' It blows
'em up with pride; and then them as don't get put in the `mag' is fit to
burst with envy and jealousy."
"I believe, my friend," said Horace, "that there may be a great deal of
truth in what you say. A good man's usefulness may be injured by his
being dragged into public notice; for no sin needs such watchfulness on
the part of Christians, especially those at the beginning of their
course, as pride. There is too much of this trumpeting in our day; it
spoils the simplicity and reality of many a character."
"I've seen it, sir," replied Reuben. "I used to laugh at it formerly,
but I grieve over it now. At any rate I'm sure, sir, as you won't put
me in a `mag.' I don't want to see myself in a couple of picturs, one
with me and my van as they was, and t'other with the likeness of Mister
Reuben Gregson in a brand new suit of clothes and a white choker,
looking for all the world like a regular parson. 'Twouldn't do me no
good. I just want to do a little work in a quiet way--to jog along,
telling how the Lord has done great things for me, and just to mix up a
few Bibles, and Testaments, and tracts as I'm selling my goods. And I
don't want no reward here, and no notice, leastways no public notice.
I've had more reward nor I deserve already; and if I make a few kind
friends, such as yourself and the colonel maybe, I'd rather do it, Mr
Horace, in a quiet way, and then I shall feel as I'm doing the work for
the Lord himself out and out."
"Well, dear old friend," said Horace, "it shall be as you say, so far as
I am concerned, and I can answer for my uncle too. And I feel sure that
you are right, I understand now how the change has taken place in James
Grimes. Yes, the Lord honours steady consistent example, and I do
heartily thank him that he has seen fit to enlist you in the increasing
and noble army of `workers in the shade.'"
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
A SURPRISE.
Mr Horace Jackson has completed his twenty-first year, and the day is
to be marked by a grand gathering in the grounds in front of Park House.
The persons invited on the occasion were all the tenants on the estate,
the two Misses Stansfield, and Lady Willerly and her daughter. Ruby
Grigg also and his wife Sally were present by special invitation.
The colonel had never formally declared that his nephew was to be his
heir, though it had been generally understood that such was to be the
case. And now the proceedings at Riverton Park were to be of so quiet a
character, that people began to question whether after all this
celebration of the young man's coming of age might not merely be an
ordinary keeping of the majority of one who might not in the end turn
out to be the real heir to the property. Such was the conjecture of the
public as the preparations were watched and commented upon. "And yet
who can tell?" exclaimed ungratified curiosity reproachfully, "for the
colonel never does anything like other people." There was, however, one
person who was abundantly satisfied, and that was old John Price; but
nothing could be got from him, though a host of questioners assailed him
as he made his way down to the house, on the morning of the birthday
gathering, seated on an old pony as prudent and impenetrable as himself.
It was a glorious day, and, after a hearty noonday meal, all the guests
were collected on the lawn in front of the mansion. The colonel, his
sister, and their nephew, having dined with the company, now occupied
the centre of a group which had gathered on the steps of Park House,
consisting of the ladies invited and old John Price. Scarce a sound was
heard but the rustling of the leaves of some of the noble trees, as all
sat waiting for what was to come next, for certainly something special
was expected by all, though they could scarce have told why. At last
the colonel stood forward, and, raising his hat from his venerable head,
just closed his eyes for a moment and murmured a few words to himself
and then, his voice trembling at first with emotion, spoke as follows--
"My dear friends, I am about to bring strange things to your ears, but I
trust not disagreeable ones. And first of all, let me introduce to you,
under a new name, Mr Horace Walters, the only son and only child of your
late squire, and the present and, I trust for many happy years to come,
future proprietor of the Riverton estate."
He paused as the whole company rose to their feet and vociferously
cheered the young master. Looks of astonishment and perplexity were
then exchanged by many as they resumed their seats, but these soon gave
place to most earnest attention to Colonel Dawson, who thus proceeded--
"You may some of you be wondering, dear friends, how I can have
permitted your dear young squire to have assumed and carried with my
sanction a name among you that is not really his own; but I shall soon
show you what will, I am sure, be perfectly satisfactory to you all on
this point. What I am now going to tell you is not a mere tale to
gratify curiosity. I have a sacred duty to perform in telling it; for
it was the earnest request that I should do so of one who had a right to
claim it of me--I mean your late squire, the father of my dear young
friend here, whom I shall never cease to call my dear nephew.
"You must know, then, that some twenty-five years have now passed since
I retired from the army. I was living at that time in a quiet way in my
native county, when a cousin of mine, who used to be my special
companion and friend when we were boys, died, and left me, to my
considerable surprise, a large property in Australia, in which country
he had been living for many years as an extensive sheep-farmer.
Believing that property has its duties as well as its profits, I
resolved to go over and see what my new acquisition was like, and what I
had best do with it. I had no thoughts at first of settling in the
colony. But I found when I got there a great deal to do and a great
deal to undo before things could be set properly in order; and by the
time I had got things into shape I had got so used to colonial life, and
so well satisfied with its freedom from many of those fetters which
society imposes on us in many of her usages in the old mother country,
that I made up my mind to settle, for a time at any rate, in my adopted
land.
"I had a house of my own in Melbourne, and used to visit my country
estate from time to time as I found it necessary. One day, as I was
walking along one of the principal streets of the city, when I had been
settled in the colony a few years, I noticed a little boy of rather
superior appearance, who was neatly but plainly dressed, walking slowly
past the shops with a very sad expression on his face and his poor eyes
full of tears. I stopped him, and asked what was the matter. He was
reluctant at first to tell me; but on my getting his confidence by the
sincere interest he saw I took in him, the little fellow told me that
his dear old nurse was very ill, and he was afraid she would die before
his father came back.
"I went with him at once to his home, which was a very humble one in a
side street, and found the poor woman, the child's nurse, quite
sensible, yet manifestly near her end. The neighbours had been kind,
and had done what they could; but it was too plain that human skill
would not avail to restore the old woman to health or prolong her life.
But she was quite able to listen to me; and when I had offered a prayer
by her bedside, she evidently felt that she could confide her sorrows
and troubles to me.
"She told me that her master, the little boy's father, was called
William Jackson; that he had come from England a few years before, after
the death of his wife, to try his fortune in the colony, having lost his
property in England. She herself, having known him from his infancy,
and always having lived in his family, came with him to Australia to
take care of Horace, his only child, who was then an infant. Her master
had found employment in the city, but was anxious to see if he could not
meet with success at the gold-diggings. He therefore had left her and
his little son three months since, and they had only heard from him
once. Horace was now six years old, and was going to a day-school in
the city; and as Mr Jackson had left a sum of money with her which was
not yet exhausted, she was not in want as regarded herself or the child,
and was now anxiously looking for the father's return. But it had
pleased God to lay her low with sickness; and feeling that her time must
be short, she was deeply concerned as to what was to become of her
little charge, whom she loved as dearly as if he had been her own.
"I told her not to distress herself on this subject, but to cast this
burden on the Lord, and that I would see what could be done. Her poor
face lighted up when I said these words; and from the reply which she
made, I concluded that she was a pious woman and knew where to lay her
cares. So I went home, and after giving the necessary directions for
the poor nurse's comfort, I began seriously to consider what was to be
done for the poor child; and after putting the matter before the Lord, I
resolved to take him into my own house, and treat him as my own till his
father should turn up. And so a week later, when the faithful old nurse
was buried, I took the little Horace to live with me, and we have never
been long separated from that day to this.
"But what of William Jackson, his father? Months rolled on, and no
tidings--a year, and no tidings. Horace had learned to call me uncle,
and I to call him and speak of him as nephew: and though friends and
neighbours at first perfectly understood that this was only a loving
mode of address, not at all intended to deceive anybody, yet in process
of time it became so completely a matter of course with us, that we can
hardly either of us believe that this relationship does not really exist
between us, and so I shall be `Uncle Dawson' to him, and he will be
`Nephew Horace' to me till death parts us. Horace was now seven years
old, and I felt only too thankful to mark in him the evidences of a real
love to that Saviour whom his good old nurse had taught him to know and
serve in his childish way. And so the boy was twining himself tight
round my heart, and, to tell the honest truth, I began to dread the
father's return, and almost to hope he might never come back to claim
his child.
"It was one beautiful day in February. You must remember, dear friends,
that February is one of our hot months in the southern hemisphere.
Horace was at school, and I was sitting by an open window in my private
room, which looked on to the garden at the back of my town house.
Something came between me and the light. I looked up from my writing.
A man stood by the open window, and did not move away as he saw my eyes
fixed on him. He wore a broad palm leaf hat, which rather shaded from
my view his full features; but I could see a noble countenance, which
was rendered strikingly picturesque by the profusion of beard and
moustache, which had evidently been long untrimmed. His upper clothing
consisted of a faded blouse, fastened round the neck by a black silk
handkerchief. He had also coarse duck trousers on, bound round his
waist by a leathern belt, and well-made boots on his feet, which were
remarkably small for one of his robust make.