CONCLUSION
IT was Mrs. Burt who took up Dick Farrant's letter. Robin had dropped
it as though it had burnt his fingers, and as his mother hastily
skimmed through its contents she understood the impulse which had
caused him to do so.
"Read it aloud, please, mother, so that the others may hear," said the
little boy, his voice trembling with agitation.
She complied, whilst the three men listened in silence, Robin watching
their faces to see the effect the communication had upon each one. The
letter ran thus:
"DEAR ROBIN,—When you get this I shall most likely be in Canada, thanks
to old Blamey. He's a proper sort—one who doesn't hit a chap when
he's down, and I'm sorry I ever spoke against him. He's been a real
friend to me since I came out of jail, and I shall never forget it. I'm
going to work hard when I get to Canada, and I'm going to try to keep
straight. Old Blamey says I must pray to God to help me, and that's
what I'm going to do.
"And now I want to tell you something which will make you think worse
of me than ever—you've thought me bad enough before, I know. I served
you a mean trick—I don't think you ever guessed I did it. I stole
your savings—it was a wicked thing to do. I knew where they were kept
because I happened to be passing the window one evening when you and
your mother were in the kitchen, and I saw she was locking away money
in her workbox on the dresser. I didn't think then of taking the money;
but afterwards I got betting and lost, and was tempted to do it. I took
it one Saturday evening, when no one was about and I'd watched you and
your mother go out. I found our door-key fitted your door, so I had no
difficulty in getting into the house, and no one saw me.
"If I live, you shall have the money back—I've felt dreadful about it
ever since. I stole it. Do try to forgive me. Old Blamey says when
people repent they should confess their sins to God and He will forgive
them, and I believe it's true, for I've confessed mine to Him—a pretty
black list it is; I haven't kept anything back—and I've felt happier
since. It isn't at all likely you and I shall ever meet again, but I
sha'n't forget you—you were always a plucky little chap. I've written
you quite a long letter; I wonder what you'll think of me when you read
it.
"Good-bye now, from
"DICK FARRANT."
"P.S.—There was a Bible in my cell in jail, and I found that verse you
told me about—you'll remember."
"There, what do you think of that?" burst forth Robin, as his mother's
voice ceased.
No one answered for a minute; then his grandfather, who had been
listening with the closest attention, replied:
"I know what 'I' think, my boy—that the writer of that letter is not
far from the Kingdom of God."
"I agree with you, Mr. Rodway," said the cobbler; "I was not certain
about it before, though I hoped it. I believe he is thoroughly
repentant."
"I am sure I never guessed it was he who stole Robin's savings," said
Richard Burt; "I must say I am glad he has confessed it, for his having
done so clears me from suspicion—perhaps it's selfish to think of that,
but I've always had an idea that the folks in Sun Court believed me to
be the guilty party. Did you ever suspect Dick, Mr. Blamey?"
"Yes," Jasper admitted, "I did. I'd had my eye on the lad and knew
he'd been flush of money about the time the theft had been committed.
I am most thankful that he has owned up. What do you feel about it,
Robin?" he asked, turning to the little boy. "He has asked for your
forgiveness, you know. When I write to him as I have promised to do,
shall I give him a message for you?"
"Yes," answered Robin. He had grown quiet and thoughtful, and his face
was very grave. "Please say that of course I forgive him—oh, he will
never know the unhappiness he caused us all—and tell him I would have
liked to see him to say good-bye, and that I am glad he found the verse
in the Bible which I told him about. I think that's all."
"What was the verse, my dear?" inquired his mother.
"'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet
sinners, Christ died for us,'" quoted Robin. "I so well remember
repeating it to him—it was just before father's accident. Fancy his
having borne it in mind!"
They had left their places at the table now, and Robin Rodway senior
drew the cobbler to the window and pointed out a cottage a little
further down the street where he thought it likely he could be lodged,
whilst Mrs. Burt began to collect the tea-things to carry into the
scullery to be washed. Suddenly she desisted in her task, and said,
looking at her son:
"Do you recollect the night on which you gave me the first two
shillings you received from Mrs. Groves?"
"Yes, mother," Robin replied, "of course I do. Why?"
"Well, I believe that must have been the occasion on which Dick saw me
put money in my workbox, for I remember hearing footsteps outside the
window."
"Yes, and we thought it was father—I looked out and saw him there. It
was the night I brought home that nice bit of mutton, you know," Robin
explained to his stepfather, who was regarding him inquiringly; "you
said what tender meat it was; and, after supper, you went into the
court."
"Oh, yes, I remember," interposed Richard Burt, "and caught Dick
Farrant looking into our kitchen window. I'd been having a word with
his father, and when I came out of the Farrants' house, there was Dick
watching you and your mother. The moment he caught sight of me, he
slunk away."
"Ah," exclaimed Mrs. Burt expressively, "he had been making good use
of his eyes—he had marked where our money was kept. Oh, Mr. Blamey's
going," she added, with a change of tone.
"I am going to try to get lodgings," explained Jasper; "and if I do,
I may perhaps stay here a few days, in which case I shall see more of
you. When do you go to your new home?" he inquired, glancing from Mrs.
Burt to her husband.
"Not for another fortnight," the latter replied; "the couple whose
places we are to take will not be leaving till then."
"A little longer holiday will do neither of them harm," remarked
Robin Rodway senior, with a smile, "and I'm in no hurry to part with
my guests. By the way, my grandson is learning to manage a boat, Mr.
Blamey; we shall want to take you out sailing with us—that is, if you
like the water?"
"Yes, I like it," Jasper answered; "but I've been on it very seldom."
"Grandfather and I go out in his boat nearly every day," said Robin
eagerly, "and often Mrs. Groves lets Master Gilbert go with us. We will
take you to all the pretty places around here. Oh, we will give you a
splendid time."
And a really splendid time the old cobbler had. He obtained the lodging
which had been recommended to him, and remained at Newlyn several days,
enjoying to the full the beautiful sunny August weather. Never had he
spent a happier holiday, for everyone was kindness itself to him and
tried to give him pleasure. He made the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs.
Groves and their little son, and, though he did not see the picture
for which Robin had stood as a model—for that had gone to America—he
saw many others which filled him with the greatest admiration and gave
him much to think of long after his visit was over. Then, too, it
was a source of deep thankfulness to him to note that Robin and his
grandfather had become already much attached to each other, and that
the old sailor was evidently on the friendliest footing with Mr. and
Mrs. Burt. Surely his late neighbours' lines had fallen in pleasant
places.
"It's wonderful what a change has come over Richard Burt," Jasper
thought again and again during those peaceful, happy days by the
Cornish sea. "Yes, it's wonderful—it's the Lord's doing. And his
wife—why, she seems to have grown years younger these last few weeks.
And Robin—well, he's not much like the little, pale-faced fellow who
used to come and pour out his complaints of his stepfather to me. Dear,
dear, how I shall miss him! God Almighty bless and keep him."
"O Mr. Blamey, I wish you would stay at Newlyn," Robin said coaxingly
to his old friend on one occasion when the two were alone together. "I
am sure such a good cobbler as you are would find plenty of work here."
"I think there's more where I came from, my boy," Jasper replied; "work
for my Master, I mean. This is a lovely spot, but for me there's no
place like Sun Court."
So, in due course, the old man returned to his home and took up
the routine of life again. He succeeded in disposing of the Burts'
furniture for a fair sum, and, acting under instructions he had
received, paid the rent due, and forwarded the amount remaining to
Richard Burt. Then, one evening, in fulfilment of a promise he had made
to Mrs. Burt and her little son, he called on Miss Maggs and informed
her of his late neighbours' changed circumstances.
"Well, I 'am' glad," she said heartily, "especially for the sake of
Robin and his mother, who deserve their good fortune. As for the
man—humph!" She frowned and shook her head.
"He has given up the drink entirely," Jasper assured her; "and we know
for certain now that he did not steal his stepson's money." And he went
on to explain who had been the thief and what had become of him.
"Humph!" exclaimed Miss Maggs again when he had finished his tale. "So
you expect that young scapegrace to turn over a new leaf, do you?"
"I've a notion he's turned the leaf already, ma'am, by the grace of
God," was the hopeful response.
"Maybe, maybe," she allowed, her countenance softening. "You'll miss
Robin, Mr. Blamey, won't you?" she inquired. Then, as he assented, she
continued: "I shall never forget the first time I saw him in his ragged
suit—but there, I suppose if he hadn't been ragged Robin, Mrs. Groves
wouldn't have wanted him for her model, and things wouldn't have been
as they are to-day."
"No, ma'am," agreed the old man thoughtfully. "I remember it was a
terrible blow to poor Robin when his stepfather pawned his better
clothes; but how often we find that God turns our misfortunes into
blessings, and I am sure He has done so in this case."