THE DAWN OF A HAPPIER TIME
A MONTH had elapsed since Richard Burt had been knocked down by the
motor-carriage, which had hurt him so badly that he had lain at death's
door for several days and was now only strong enough to sit out in an
easy-chair in his bedroom for an hour or so at a time.
The accident having occurred close to Sun Court, the injured man had
been conveyed to his own home instead of to a hospital, and the driver
of the motor-carriage, who was its owner too, though he had been in no
way to blame, had generously provided a trained nurse to take charge
of him, and had given Mrs. Burt a sufficient sum of money to meet the
expenses of his illness.
It was exceedingly hot in Sun Court on this cloudless July day, though,
being afternoon, there was no sunshine there; but the air was close
and oppressive, and Richard Burt sighed wearily as he sat close to
his bedroom window alone. He was tired of his own company, and was
half-inclined to call to his wife; but remembering that, when she had
left him an hour previously, she had said she had some washing to do
and the kitchen to clean, he refrained from summoning her upstairs
without need. How he wished old Jasper Blamey would come and talk
to him, as he had frequently done since the nurse had left and he
had been well enough to see visitors! Time had been, and that not
long since, when he had shrunk from conversing with the cobbler, but
Robin's stepfather had altered greatly in the last few weeks. He had
narrowly escaped from death, and that knowledge had caused him to think
seriously about many things which he had never considered before, and
he was now a deeply repentant man, desirous of leading a better life.
"Hulloa, father, awake?"
Richard Burt brightened and smiled at the sound of his little stepson's
voice addressing him cheerily. He turned his hollow eyes towards Robin,
who had crept upstairs with as little noise as possible, thinking the
invalid might be taking a nap, and answered:
"Wide awake! I haven't been asleep all the afternoon. I've done nothing
but think. I'm glad you're come, Robin. I was tired of being alone."
The boy smiled and came to the window, where he stood close to his
stepfather, looking out into the court.
"Isn't it hot?" he said. "It was stifling in school this afternoon. I'm
glad the holidays are so near."
"When do they begin?"
"On the 1st of August—that's next Tuesday. I saw mother as I came in;
she's gone now to get some milk. I wanted to go for her, but she said
she'd rather I kept you company, and that the air out of doors would do
her good. She has a bad headache."
"Poor soul! She's looking ill," said the invalid, in a regretful tone.
"She's had more than enough to pull her down. I hope God will let me
live to try to make up to her for the past; but I'm shaky still."
"Oh, you'll soon get better!" Robin interposed brightly. "The doctor
says so, only you mustn't worry."
"I worry about what's gone by, my boy. Folks have been very good to me
during my illness. I haven't deserved such kind treatment as I've had.
By the way, I've been thinking a great deal to-day about that letter
your mother had from your grandfather. I thought she'd made up her mind
that you were to go to Newlyn. How is it you haven't gone?"
"As if I could have gone when you were so dreadfully ill!" cried Robin.
"Mother wrote and told grandfather she couldn't spare me then, and he
quite understood. He wrote back so nicely about you—said he'd read
of your brave act in the newspaper, and that he hoped God would soon
restore you to health. Mother had a letter about you from Mrs. Groves,
too. Why, you're a regular hero, father!"
"A hero?" the man exclaimed, his pale cheeks flushing suddenly. "Oh,
Robin, 'you' to say that, and I've heard you call me a brute!"
"That was when you weren't yourself—when you used to hit poor mother.
But I don't think you'll ever do that again. Mr. Blamey said to me
yesterday:
"'Robin, I believe your stepfather will live to be a comfort to you and
your mother yet.'
"And, father, I'm sure you will." The boy's tone was glad and
confident, and his face bright with hope.
Richard Burt was deeply touched, and, being very weak, he could not
restrain his emotion.
"I don't deserve that you should care anything about me, and yet you
do," he said, tears trickling down his cheeks. "I've been a bad man,
and treated you and your mother most cruelly, although when I married
her I promised to do my best for you both. I've done my worst—yes, I
know I have. The drink has brought me very low. Times and times your
mother has tried to persuade me to take the pledge, and I'd never
listen to her, but I've made up my mind that I'll do it now."
"What, take the pledge?" cried Robin, half incredulously. Then, as his
stepfather nodded assent, he exclaimed, "Oh, how glad I am! This is
good news indeed! Does mother know? Yes. And Mr. Blamey? Yes. Oh, how
pleased they must be! I am delighted—simply delighted!"
He looked it, with his big grey eyes shining with happiness, and a deep
flush on his usually pale cheeks. "Oh, here's mother!" he said, as,
hearing a footstep in the yard, he glanced out of the window and saw
Mrs. Burt. "I suppose she's met the postman, for she has a letter in
her hand."
On entering the house Mrs. Burt came straight upstairs. There was about
her an air of restrained excitement which caused her husband and son to
look at her expectantly. She inquired how the invalid was, and, having
been assured that he had not sat out too long, and was feeling much
better, she turned her attention to Robin, and said:
"I've heard from your grandfather again—oh, he is a good, kind man!—and
he wants you, at any rate, to spend your holidays with him, and asks
when they begin. And oh, Richard—" here she addressed her husband—"he
has actually invited you and me to pay him a visit! He says he has
three bedrooms in his cottage, and the woman who does his housework
goes home to sleep, so that he has two spare bedrooms. He thinks that
a change of air for a month would set you up in health, and he says
that he'll take you out in his boat, and if you don't care for that,
you'll be able to sit on the beach, and—oh, do let us go!" she cried,
in conclusion.
"I wish we could," her husband replied, "but I really don't see that
it is possible. Where are we to get the money to pay our expenses? No,
it's not to be thought of!"
"Oh, yes, it is!" she interposed, with a happy laugh such as had not
passed her lips for years. "The money for our expenses is in my pocket.
Yes," she nodded, as her companions regarded her with amazement and
incredulity, "I mean it; I've had another letter you've not heard of
yet."
She drew an envelope from her pocket as she spoke, and took therefrom a
sheet of notepaper and a five-pound note. "Listen to this," she said,
and proceeded to read aloud:
"The Retreat, Newlyn,
July 27, 190—.
"DEAR MRS. BURT,—I am sending you a little present. I have long wished
to make you one, but I have not been in the position to do so till now.
The fact is, I have been so fortunate as to sell my picture, 'Ragged
Robins,' to a rich American gentleman, who happened to fancy it, and
I want the mother of the ragged Robin who proved such an excellent
model to have a share in the profit it has brought. Please accept the
enclosed five-pound note.
"I trust your husband is making a good recovery, and that you and your
little son are well. A change of air would do you all good. Hoping it
may not be long before we meet,—
"Believe me,
"Yours very truly,
"ELLEN GROVES."
"Oh, mother, she knows of my grandfather's invitation!" cried Robin
excitedly. "She would not have written 'a change of air would do you
all good' if she had not! Oh, how very kind she is! Will five pounds be
as much money as we shall want if we do all go to Newlyn?"
"Yes, my dear. We'll pay a month's rent ahead to keep our home here,
and the remaining money will be sufficient to meet the expenses of
our journey to Newlyn and back. I believe Mrs. Groves guessed how I
should spend this five-pound note when she sent it—don't you think so,
Richard?" And Mrs. Burt glanced at her husband smilingly as she spoke.
"Yes," he agreed, "I do; and I daresay a change of air might set me up
in health. I don't think that I shall ever pick up my strength here in
Sun Court; but at the same time, I don't feel I ought to share this
money—"
"Oh, but I am sure Mrs. Groves intended that you should; you have
admitted that yourself," interposed his wife. "Oh, Richard, let bygones
be bygones!" she continued earnestly. "God knows I'm willing to do
that. We haven't been happy together in the past, but let us look
forward to a brighter future. We will start afresh."
He made no response in words, but he gave her a grateful glance, and
in his heart he registered a solemn vow that, God helping him, he
would never cause her trouble again. Conscious of his weakness, he
appealed to his Father in Heaven for aid, for on his bed of sickness
he had turned to Him who is very pitiful and of tender mercy, and he
prayed that he might be granted the opportunity of making up to his
long-suffering wife and her little son for some of the misery he had
caused them in the past.
So it was decided that the invitation to Newlyn should be accepted, and
Robin hastened to seek the old cobbler to take him into his confidence;
he had fallen into the habit of carrying all his joys and sorrows to
the kind neighbour who was ever ready to lend him an attentive and
sympathetic hearing.
On this occasion Jasper listened to all he had to recount in perfect
silence; but the expression of his countenance betokened his pleasure,
and, when Robin had finished his tale, he did not speak for several
minutes, but sat looking at the little boy, with a thoughtful
expression in his dark, bright eyes.
"Ah, what did I tell you?" he exclaimed at length. "Did I not say that
maybe there was a happier time coming for you and your mother?"
"Yes, I remember you did, Mr. Blamey."
"I think, my boy, that the beginning of that happier time has come. 'It
is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes.' No one but the
Lord could have brought your stepfather to repentance; you see we did
not pray for him in vain?"
"No, indeed! Oh, Mr. Blamey, who would have guessed yesterday that such
a treat was in store for us all as a month at Newlyn? Why, the reason
I grieved so much about the theft of my money was because mother could
not have a holiday! And I was only going to give her one day on the
moor, and now she will have a whole month by the sea! And to think
that Mrs. Groves should have sent us that five pounds! It is really
wonderful!"
"Yes," agreed the old man, "that it is."
"It seems to me," said Robin, smiling, "that we have a great many
friends."
His thoughts had flown to Miss Maggs, and from her they passed to Dick
Farrant. Robin felt a deep sense of gratitude to Dick, who had been
kind and sympathetic during Richard Burt's illness; and after tea that
evening, he lingered about the court in the hope of seeing him, to tell
him his news.
But Dick did not come home that night; and the following day it was
known to everyone in Sun Court that the lad had been arrested by the
police for having stolen a box of expensive cigarettes from a tobacco
shop. He was brought before the magistrate the next morning, found
guilty of the charge laid against him, and sentenced to ten days'
imprisonment, so that Robin left Plymouth without seeing him again.