The Lost Will
We spent the rest of that day in a state of effervescence. No one
seemed to be able to settle down to anything; and we were so excited
that even dinner had little attraction, especially as we were told
that father and mother and the strange gentleman had driven off to
Colchester.
"So we shall dine here, then," said Rupert, with a look at Jack, who
had fixed himself in an armchair in a most determined attitude;
"unless you prefer going up to the tower-room."
"Never again," said Jack, gravely; "uncle says we've done him good,
and when he comes back I mean to ask for our reward. 'Tis a very
good den that we live in, to laugh, or to talk, or to play in; but to
hide or to think, or to be quite alone, 'tis the very worst den that
ever was known."
"Bravo, Jack! poor old Hudibras wouldn't know his own lines if he
were here. Give us some more of that sort of thing to make the time
pass till uncle comes home. I'm just burning with curiosity."
A glass of cold water down his back, under pretence of extinguishing
him, ended in the aggressor being put out himself.
It seemed a long day in spite of all the fun we managed to get in one
way or another; but "be the day weary, be the day long, at length it
ringeth to evensong," and about seven o'clock we heard the horse's
feet in the yard, and my parents came in alone. Even then we had, of
course, to wait a short time before they were ready to tell us what
we were longing to hear.
"Now I'll tell you all about the mysterious stranger," said father,
at last. "But I am tired, and you must not interrupt me. You will
have plenty of time to ask questions another day. It is just fifteen
years since my half-brother Joe was in this room. His mother died
when he was about three years old, and at her request your
grandfather sent the little fellow over to Normandy to be brought up
by his mother's brother. This brother was a very rich man, and when
my father married again he offered to adopt Joe, bring him up as his
own son, and leave him all he possessed, if my father would consent.
He would not, however, do this, and insisted on Joe returning home at
once, so one of my first recollections is being carried about by my
big brother Joe. As I got older I used to spend most of my days in
the tower-room, where Joe was always busy with some carpentering, or
work of one kind or another. Your grandfather was a severe man, very
harsh in his management of children, and Joe often resented what he
considered his unkindness. That oak chest, which was nearly the
cause of your death the other night, Harold, was the cause of our
separation. One day the French count came to stay with our father,
and Joe, who was really very fond of him, owing to having spent his
early years with him, wanted to go back with him; but our father
would not consent. Joe tells me now that he distinctly heard the
Frenchman say, 'Well, I've made my will in his favour, and I shall
leave it with you. I've made you executor, and when I am dead you
will let the boy come over to Normandy. It's a pity you won't let
him go back with me, for there are people who would like to oust him
out of his property if they could.'
"Years passed away, and one day, when Joe had been imprisoned in the
tower-room for some naughtiness, he ran away, climbing down by those
very steps that he climbed up yesterday, and which he had made when
quite a youngster, to be able to get in or out of his play-room as he
liked. I said your grandfather was a harsh man; and when he heard of
Joe's flight, he knew of course he had gone to Normandy, and he made
a solemn vow that Joe should never enter the house again. I was
about twelve then, and old enough to see that, however harsh my
father might be, he really loved his elder son. He was never the
same again, and one morning we found him struck by paralysis. He
recovered consciousness before he died, and seemed anxious to tell us
something, but he could neither write nor speak distinctly, though I
fancy he wanted to say something about Joe. My mother and I lived
alone here, writing occasionally to Normandy, but never expecting to
see Joe again. One day, fifteen years ago, I was sitting writing,
when a servant came to say that a stranger had called, and had pushed
past her, saying he wanted to go to the tower-room. Running upstairs
quickly, I found your Uncle Joe kneeling at the oak chest, which
stood open. I was angry at his impertinence, and seizing him by the
collar as he knelt, I shook him violently and reproached him with
killing our father, and then coming into the house in that fashion.
He was pale with anger; but he is a noble character, in spite of all
his faults. He remembered that we were brothers, and would not
strike me. 'I came to see if I could find the Count D'Arcy's will,'
he said; 'a cousin of his claims the estate, and I have nothing to
prove that he made me his heir. I know the Count gave it to our
father.' 'And I know that our father forbade you to enter the house
while he was alive. I shall not allow it now he is dead. Go!' I
replied, pointing to the door. He went, and I have never seen him
till to-day."
"What has he been doing all these years?" I asked, unable to restrain
my curiosity any longer.
"He has been working hard and making a name for himself at Rouen,
while the Count's cousin has been squandering the estate. From time
to time, he tells me, he has come over to England, stayed at the
Watermill, with the old woman who nursed him as a baby, and made
occasional visits to the tower-room in search of the will which was
to restore him to his rights, going and coming always by means of
those steps."
"Whatever made him think of that place?" said Jack, finding that my
interruption was unreproved.
"He says that he remembered your grandfather telling some one that
there was a false bottom in the oak chest which made a splendid
hiding-place. He had tried several times to get it open, but he had
never succeeded. The last time he tried was on that evening when he
heard from old Jane that we had gone to Colchester. When he opened
the lid of the chest he found Harold inside quite unconscious and
almost suffocated. Of course, he knew the ways of the house; so he
carried him to the coachman's room, where he stayed with him till the
gong sounded for prayers."
"Then they were his footmarks we saw in the mud," cried Rupert.
"What a joke. Don't you tell him I said they were nineteens. What
is he like? Is he very cross?"
"Here he comes, so you can judge for yourselves," said mother,
opening the door to admit our new-found uncle, who turned out to be
just as jolly as any boys could wish.
* * * * *
Years passed by. Uncle Joe, by means of the will, which was hidden
in the oak chest, came into possession of a beautiful little estate
in Normandy, where we all spent many happy days with our French
cousins, for he had married a Frenchwoman. I say _we_, because,
thanks to my cousins' good influence on mind and body, I became as
strong as any one could expect, and was able to enjoy school life in
a quiet way, though never fit for rough games, and always rather
sensitive about the slight hump on my back.
Never shall I forget my grief when those first holidays were over,
and father and mother and I stood at the door to wave our farewells.
"God bless you, children," said father; "you've done us all good."
"Then you don't wish the savages had never come, uncle," shouted
Jack, with a merry smile.
"No, no, no!" replied father; and then the carriage went out of
sight, though the sounds of the Australian "cooee" reached us for
some minutes afterwards.
THE END.
LONDON: KNIGHT, PRINTER, MIDDLE STREET, ALDERSGATE, E.C.