ROBIN'S HEART SOFTENS
IT was about seven o'clock in the evening when Robin, his heart full
of bitterness and rage, turned his back on Sun Court. His mind was in
a whirl of excitement, and his pale little face was set and stern as,
heedless of the direction he was taking, he passed through the crowded
Plymouth streets, and at length found himself on the Hoe, overlooking
the sea, a great sheet of silvery blue with scarcely a ripple on its
surface.
The poor child wandered about aimlessly for a while; then, weary in
body and mind, he sat down on an empty seat, every pulse and nerve in
his body throbbing painfully. He was not as yet sufficiently composed
to think with anything like calmness; but on one point he had come to
a determination, and that was that he would never sleep another night
beneath his stepfather's roof. No, he would go to his grandfather. He
was sure it would not take him many days to walk to Newlyn, and he
would beg his bread by the way and sleep out of doors in sheltered
nooks in the woods or under hedges, and God would take care of him.
Never, surely, had anyone been treated so cruelly before! His
stepfather had known the purpose for which he had saved his money,
and had even expressed approval of the holiday plan. Then why had he
served him thus? Oh, he could never forgive him! He felt he should hate
him as long as he lived. His brain seemed a fire as he dwelt on this
great trouble which had befallen him, and he rested his aching head in
his hands, whilst tears gushed from his eyes and his slender form was
shaken with sobs. He had taken so much pleasure in saving his money,
and the thought of how he would spend it had occupied his mind for
weeks. He had intended that his mother should have such a happy time;
and now a treacherous hand had robbed him, and he was enduring the
heaviest disappointment he had ever been called upon to face during his
ten years of life.
His heart ached sorely as he thought of his mother and remembered the
look of anguish he had seen on her face when she had made the discovery
that his earnings were gone. Poor mother! She had had more than enough
to bear.
"Well, and pray what may you be doing here?"
Robin uncovered his face and raised his head with a start at the sound
of a familiar voice addressing him, and encountered the concerned gaze
of Miss Maggs. He made no answer, so she proceeded:
"It's about time you went home, I should say. Do you know that it's
past eight o'clock?"
"Yes," admitted Robin dejectedly. "I suppose it must be; but I'm never
going back to Sun Court any more."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Miss Maggs. She seated herself by the little boy's
side, and gave him a long, steady look. "Humph!" she grunted by-and-by.
"You're in trouble, I see."
"Yes," he assented, with a sob he could not restrain.
"And you've made up your mind to run away from the trouble, I
suppose—to turn your back on it? I'm surprised—yes, very surprised. I
thought there was real grit in you, though you're only a peaky little
chap to look at; I thought—but it seems that I was mistaken—that you
were made of staunch stuff."
"Oh, let me tell you what's happened, and then I'm sure you won't blame
me for deciding not to go home again," broke in Robin, who saw that
Miss Maggs looked sympathetic, though her words sounded otherwise; and
forthwith he poured into her ears the story of the great wrong which
had been done him.
"I never thought he was wicked enough to steal the money, or I'd have
hidden it," he said in conclusion, after he had given vent to his wrath
against his stepfather in a flow of bitter words; "but no one else
could have taken it."
"Are you certain of that?" Miss Maggs asked thoughtfully.
"Oh, yes! No one else knew where the money was kept, not even Mr.
Blamey."
"Humph! I expect your stepfather was the worse for drink when he took
it—'if' he took it, I should say. The case is not proved against him to
my mind; but, of course, you may be right. I admit it looks as though
he's the culprit. And your mother suspects him, too?"
"Oh, yes! She didn't say so, but I read what she was thinking in her
face."
"Oh, what a curse drink is!" exclaimed Miss Maggs, knitting her brows
into a heavy frown. "Tell me, Robin, if you're not going back to Sun
Court; what do you intend to do? You've made some plan, I suppose?"
Robin explained about his grandfather's letter, and that he meant to
go to Newlyn, where he was confident that he would receive a hearty
welcome upon his arrival.
"I couldn't have left mother but for this," he said, his voice
tremulous, his eyes once more dim with tears; "but I must go now—yes, I
must! Do you think I could live with my stepfather after his serving me
this cruel trick? I don't want ever to see him again. I can't forgive
him, and I hate him, though I suppose it is wicked of me. 'He' has made
me wicked then! He has been such a brute!"
"A brute? Yes. The drink's made him that; it's sure to slay the
humanity in everyone it masters. Can't you find it in your heart to be
a little sorry for him? Sorry because he's been so weak and led so far
astray? I'll be bound to say that, if he stole your money, he repents
having done so by this time, poor man!"
"Poor man!" echoed Robin. "How can you pity him, Miss Maggs?"
"Because he's wandered away from Christ's fold. Don't you think the
Good Shepherd grieves for him? I am sure He does. 'The Lord is very
pitiful, and of tender mercy.' Ay, indeed he is! And surely all true
Christians must have some reflection of His love for even the worst of
sinners in their hearts. There's one verse in particular in the Bible I
like to remember—this:
"'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet
sinners, Christ died for us.'
"There's hope and comfort in that."
"Why, how strange! Mr. Blamey reminded me of that verse one day when he
and I were talking of father."
"Who is Mr. Blamey?" inquired Miss Maggs.
"An old cobbler who lives next door to us, ma'am. He's a very kind
neighbour, and has done us many a good turn before now. Folks—that is,
some folks who don't understand him—call him mazed because he talks to
them about Jesus; he knows they do, but he goes on talking to them all
the same."
Miss Maggs nodded her head comprehendingly. "Does he talk to your
stepfather?" she inquired.
"Sometimes, but not often. Father keeps out of his way as much as he
can. He knows Mr. Blamey hears him when he comes home the worse for
drink and kicks up a row, and I believe he feels ashamed to face him.
Oh, Miss Maggs, you don't realise what mother and I have had to put up
with from father! Why, not two months ago he pawned my one sound suit
of clothes; so, you see, if he never robbed me of money before, he has
robbed me of other things, and I can't forgive him, I really can't!"
"I am sorry to hear you say that, Robin," Miss Maggs responded. "I
think, at any rate, that you should try to forgive him."
"It's no good trying; I know I can't." Robin's tone was firm.
"I don't, as a rule, go out at this time of day," remarked Miss Maggs
after a brief silence, during which she had studied her companion's
woebegone countenance with much concern; "but after I'd cooked my
lodgers' dinner to-night the sweet summer air enticed me out. How
beautifully blue and calm the sea is! You haven't noticed it, perhaps?
Well, look at it now. Isn't it a peaceful scene? I'm so glad we've met
and had this talk, Robin; it's always better to speak of a trouble than
to keep it to oneself. And now I want you to do something to please me;
will you?"
"If I can," Robin replied, thinking of the many kindnesses he had
received from her, and quite eager to be able to do something to please
her in return.
"You can. I want you to promise me to go home. Don't put an additional
weight of trouble upon your poor mother. You can go to your grandfather
in due course, but I beg you to return to Sun Court to-night. Will you
promise me to do so?"
"Yes," the little boy said, very reluctantly, after a few minutes'
hesitation. "I will promise that. I don't want to make mother unhappier
than she is already," he added, with a sob.
"I am sure you don't. You mustn't imagine that I don't fully sympathise
with you, my boy, or that I can't enter into your feelings. I know what
it is to be robbed myself. I shouldn't be working hard for my daily
bread now if I'd been fairly treated in the past. There was someone
very nearly related to me—my own brother, in fact—who spent all my
money."
"Was it a great deal?" Robin ventured to inquire, as Miss Maggs stopped
abruptly, with a sigh, and looked dreamily out over the sea.
"Yes," she assented, "many hundreds of pounds."
"Many hundreds of pounds!" he echoed. "Oh, Miss Maggs, how wicked of
your brother!" Then, after a brief reflection, he inquired, rather
timidly. "And have you forgiven him?"
"Yes," she answered. "Else, Robin, how could I ever say the Lord's
Prayer and ask God to forgive me?"
The little boy's head drooped and his colour rose. "I never thought of
that," he murmured.
"Well, think of it now," advised Miss Maggs. She rose as she spoke, and
Robin followed her example. "I must be going," she said, "and so must
you. I expect it's nearly your supper-time."
For a short distance their way was the same, and when they parted, it
was with the understanding that Robin was to go straight home. He was
beginning to wonder what he would say and how he would act on meeting
his stepfather. He knew that it was bound to be a painful meeting.
The evening was drawing to a close now, and it was quite dusk before
Robin reached Sun Court. At the entrance of the court he was accosted
by Dick Farrant, who, with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette
between his lips, looked a picture of indolence.
"Hulloa, youngster, what's up?" cried Dick, not unkindly. "You've been
blubbing!" He pulled his right hand out of his pocket as he spoke and
grasped Robin by the shoulder. "What's the trouble?" he asked.
"Nothing I can tell you," Robin answered. "Let me go!"
"Has the old man been walloping you?" By 'the old man' Dick meant
Richard Burt.
Robin shook his head.
"No, it's not that; it's something worse than that."
"Well, out with it! You may as well. I sha'n't let you go till you do."
Robin gave a wriggle to try and free himself from the other's grasp,
but in vain. Dick held him firmly, and only laughed at his attempt to
escape.
"Has that bully Sam Brown been hitting you about?" he questioned. "If
so, he'd better not show himself near Sun Court, or it will be the
worse for him. I know his tricks!"
"Oh, you're quite wrong!" broke in Robin. "I haven't seen Sam Brown
to-day."
"Then what's amiss?"
"I—I've been robbed."
"Robbed!" Dick's grasp on the other's arm suddenly slackened. "Robbed!"
he repeated.
"Yes—of the money I earned by being a model for that lady who came here
to see my mother. Don't you remember? You saw her. Well, someone's
stolen all the money she paid me; it was more than ten shillings. And
now I sha'n't be able to take mother for the holiday I had planned to
give her for a treat, and—oh, isn't it hard?"
Dick withdrew his hand from Robin's arm and stared at him in silence.
"I had given mother the money to keep," the little boy proceeded, "and
she had put it away in her workbox on the dresser, where we thought it
would be safe, and this evening we found the lock of the box had been
forced, and—and all the money's gone!"
He turned aside and brushed his sleeve across his eyes to wipe away his
tears. No word of sympathy did Dick Farrant speak; instead, he slipped
quietly past his companion, who, a minute later, looked round to find
himself alone.