A POLICEMAN IN SUN COURT
ROBIN was naturally greatly astonished at Dick Farrant's erratic
conduct, but it was a relief to find that the lad had gone; for, though
he had told him of the robbery, he had had no intention of saying whom
he believed to be the thief, and, very probably, he reflected, Dick
would have asked him if he had any idea who had taken the money. Robin
did not altogether dislike Dick, though he was fully alive to his bad
qualities, which were indeed apparent to everyone. But Dick generally
had a friendly greeting for his little neighbour on meeting him, and
on more than one occasion he had interfered when Sam Brown had been
bullying him. There was nothing cruel about Dick Farrant; but the good
that existed in his character was overshadowed by so much that was evil
that it very seldom shone forth.
"Well, I suppose I'd better go home," thought Robin; "I expect father's
returned by this time. I wonder what mother's said to him—if she's told
him we've found out what he's' done?"
He ran down the dark passage and into the court. No one was about; but
as he passed by the cobbler's, he glanced into the downstair window,
the blind of which was up, and saw Jasper reading his Bible by the
light of a candle. It was later than he had imagined, he concluded, for
the old man had evidently had his supper and was reading his evening
portion of the Holy Scriptures before going to bed.
Robin had reached his own door now. He had his hand on the handle when
the door was opened from within, and he found himself standing face to
face with his stepfather, who looked decidedly relieved at the sight of
him.
"Your mother's been in a fine state of mind about you," said the man,
as he drew aside and Robin entered the kitchen. "Where have you been?"
he asked, closing the door.
Robin made no answer.
His mother, who had been seated in a chair by the table, had risen at
the sound of her husband's voice addressing him, and greeted him with
a look which told how thankful she was that he had returned. Her eyes
were red with weeping, and her lips quivered nervously. How could he
have dreamed of leaving her? the little boy asked himself.
"Where have you been?" Richard Burt repeated. "You have given your
mother quite a scare. She thought you had run away—"
"I did mean to run away," Robin broke in; "I meant never to come home
again; but, but-oh, father, how could you have done it?" he cried, a
wail of sorrowful reproach in his voice.
"I didn't do it, Robin," the man said solemnly. "No, I declare I did
not," he continued, as the little boy regarded him with incredulous
eyes. "I know no more who has stolen your money than your mother or
yourself. I really do not. Surely you'll take my word?"
"Oh, Robin," cried Mrs. Burt, "I am certain he is speaking the truth.
If you had seen how surprised and shocked he was when I showed him my
workbox you wouldn't doubt him."
"I'm a bad lot," admitted Richard Burt, in accents which were
unaccountably tremulous, seeing that he was quite sober, "and when I've
had a drop of drink I often do things I wouldn't dream of doing at
other times, but I never touched your money, Robin; if I had, I would
say so."
"Then—then who took it?" gasped Robin. It was beginning to dawn on him
that it was possible he had done his stepfather an injustice.
"That I can't say," replied Richard Burt, "and probably we shall never
find out, for it appears nothing has been taken but money, and that
can't be traced. However, I'll go to the police-station presently and
give notice of the theft; there's nothing else to be done as far as
I can see. Someone must have found out where your savings were kept,
Robin; I daresay you've told folks, haven't you?"
"No, I haven't," declared Robin, "I've never told anyone. Mr. Blamey
knew mother was keeping my money for me, but I did not tell even him
where she had put it."
Robin was feeling utterly bewildered and found it difficult to believe
that he had misjudged his stepfather, and yet Richard Burt had not the
appearance of a guilty man. The little boy glanced dubiously at his
mother, and met her anxious gaze. It was evident that she now believed
in her husband's innocence in spite of the fact that she, too, had been
quick to suspect him of the theft.
"You and your mother both seem to have formed a pretty bad opinion of
me," observed Richard Burt, after a few minutes' silence; "well, that's
my own fault, I suppose. When I married your mother, Robin, I meant to
be a good father to you, but I haven't been. I realise that. It would
have been better for you if your mother and I had never met. It's no
use saying I'm sorry I haven't been steadier, for I don't suppose you'd
believe me—though it's so. I've never ill-treated either of you in my
sober senses, have I? It's always been the drink that's been to blame."
"Why don't you give up the drink?" said Robin eagerly, surprised beyond
measure at the earnestness of his stepfather's tone.
"It's too late in the day," was the gloomy response; "what's done can't
be undone."
"Are you thinking of—of the money?" asked the little boy hesitatingly.
"Ah, you still believe I took it!" exclaimed the man.
"Robin, I am positive he did not," said Mrs. Burt; "like you, I thought
at first that he had; but he has quite convinced me that he knows
nothing whatever about it. Do believe him, my dear!"
"It's too much to expect of him," said her husband; "he thinks me
capable of anything, and he hates me—little wonder if he does," he
added with a sigh. Then, as Robin did not contradict him, he addressed
himself to him again and said, "Your mother's been telling me of the
letter she's received from your grandfather, and the offer he's made to
take you to live with him. Well, you'd better go to Newlyn—it will be
best for you. One thing I'll promise which 'll make you more satisfied
to leave your mother, and that is that I'll never lift my hand against
her again. God help me to keep my word," he supplemented, in a lower
tone.
"Oh, do you mean that?" cried Robin. "Oh, father, if you ask God, He
'will' help you to keep your word! Oh, father, I don't hate you! I
thought I did, but I don't." And, overcome with the intensity of his
feelings, the little boy burst into tears. "I don't want to go to
Newlyn now," he sobbed; "I can't leave mother, and—and when you're like
this, I don't want to leave you. If you'd only give up the nasty drink
we might be so happy together—we three."
"What, when you think that I've robbed you?" said Richard Burt somewhat
bitterly.
"I don't think it—now," Robin answered. "Oh, how glad I am I came home
to-night! What a good thing it was I met Miss Maggs."
"Miss Maggs?" echoed Mrs. Burt. "Where did you see her, my dear?"
"On the Hoe, mother. We sat on a seat for a long while, and talked."
"Did you tell her about the loss of your money?" inquired Mrs. Burt.
"Yes;" Robin coloured and glanced deprecatingly at his stepfather. "But
she couldn't believe father had taken it," he continued eagerly, glad
to remember that, "and she made me promise to go home. To-morrow I'll
call at her house and—and explain everything," he concluded in some
confusion.
Richard Burt made no remark, but a minute later he took up his hat and
went out. Mother and son were silent until the sound of his footsteps
had died away, then the former said:
"He's gone to the police-station, I expect. He's dreadfully upset about
this business. He seemed quite stunned when I showed him my workbox.
"'Oh, poor little chap!' he exclaimed, meaning you, of course. He was
thinking of your disappointment about the holiday.
"Oh, Robin, we were wrong to believe the worst of him so quickly! We
ought not to have jumped to the conclusion that he had taken the money.
If only you had not rushed off in that impetuous way and we had talked
the matter over, how much wiser it would have been!"
"Yes," admitted Robin. "Did father mean what he said about my going to
Newlyn to live with my grandfather?" he inquired a minute later.
"I hardly know; I think perhaps he did. He didn't say much when I told
him about your grandfather's letter, only that we should miss you if
you went. You had better have your supper now and go to bed. You're
looking very, very tired."
"I don't want any supper," Robin replied.
He was too excited to be hungry, but his mother cut him a slice of
bread and a small piece of cheese, which, to please her, he ate. He
had just finished doing so when his stepfather returned, accompanied
by a policeman, who examined Mrs. Burt's workbox very carefully, asked
a lot of questions, made several notes in his notebook, and then left,
remarking that he feared there was no chance of discovering the thief.
The news that a policeman had been seen to enter the Burts' house had
caused a great sensation amongst those inhabitants of Sun Court who
happened to be at home, and the officer of the law was observed with
mingled curiosity and dislike as he took his departure by a group of
men, women and children, who had assembled near the entrance of the
court, whilst from a top window of the Farrants' house Dick Farrant
watched him, with bated breath and a sickening feeling of dread. Dick
had reasons of his own for the awe with which he always regarded a
member of the police force.
As soon as the policeman had gone, Mrs. Burt told Robin to go to bed,
and, having said good-night to her and his stepfather, he obeyed. He
lay awake for a long while, listening to the murmur of voices in the
kitchen below, and grew quite feverish wondering what was being said,
for he guessed that his grandfather's offer was under discussion. He
scarcely knew what he wished himself, though a short while before
he had been so eager to turn his back on Sun Court for ever. He had
experienced a strong revulsion of feeling during the past hour, and had
spoken the truth when he had said that he did not think his stepfather
had robbed him, for there had been something convincing in the man's
manner and earnest words.
"I thought I hated him," he mused, quite surprised at the discovery he
had made that there was a tender spot in his heart for his stepfather
after all, "but I believe I'm really very fond of him. I can remember
lots of times when he's been good to me."
Memory was busy with him now. He recollected an illness—some childish
complaint—he had had, and long nights when his stepfather had watched
by his side, always patient and ready to anticipate his wants, though
he had been fretful, he knew. He could not remember an occasion on
which Richard Burt had been other than kind to him, or to his mother
either, unless he had taken too much to drink, though he had frequently
ill-treated them both when in a state of intoxication, generally
because his wife had reproached him for his condition.
"God's love may reach him yet," Jasper Blamey had said, and, as the old
man's words returned to Robin's mind to-night, they brought with them
a sense of hope, and he prayed for his stepfather with all the fervour
of his heart. He was grieved that he had misjudged him that day, and he
was—oh, so thankful that he had not followed his impulse to run away
from home, and that God had sent Miss Maggs to point out his duty to
him!
At length he told himself he really must think no more but try to go
to sleep; but then he thought of the empty workbox and a flood of
misery swept over him. Gone was the hope of a holiday with his mother
on the moor; he had saved his earnings in vain. Oh, it was cruelly
hard! He pulled the bedclothes over his head to stifle the sound of the
choking sobs which he could not restrain, and wept passionately; and,
by-and-by, utterly worn out, he cried himself to sleep.
Robin was lying in a heavy slumber when, a short while later, his
mother, candle in hand, crept softly into his room. She was followed
by her husband; and, as she drew back the sheet to press a kiss on her
son's flushed cheek, they both noticed that his pillow was wet with
tears.
"Poor little chap," murmured Richard Burt huskily, "it's a terrible
disappointment for him. Poor little chap!"