EXPLANATIONS AND FORGIVENESS.
WORN out with fatigue as little Jack was, it was small wonder
he slept soundly the night following his harrowing experiences on the
moor, in spite of his deep concern about his stepbrother. He was
awakened by the sound of voices, and opened his eyes to see Jane
standing by his bedside with a tray containing his breakfast in her
hands, and his mother bending over him. With awakening thought came
remembrance of last night's adventures; and he started up in bed,
looking eagerly around for Theodore, an expression of distress and
sorrow on his countenance.
"Theodore is safe, my darling," Mrs. Barton said, as she kissed her
little son. "I will tell you where he is, and all I know about him,
whilst you eat your breakfast."
"And mind you eat all you can, Master Jack," Jane told him, "for you
are looking but poorly this morning. But there!" with an indignant
sniff, "'tis no wonder, I'm sure! I hope all that happened to you
yesterday will be a wholesome lesson to you, and Master Theodore
too."
Now that her mind was at rest concerning the safety of her little
master, Jane felt it would be a great relief to her feelings to give
the boys both a good scolding; and she had the satisfaction of seeing
a guilty flush rise to Jack's pale face before she left the room.
Alone with his mother, he soon learnt what had befallen his
stepbrother after he had left him; for the blacksmith, true to his
promise, had called at the farm ere he had returned to his home, and
had told all he knew concerning Theodore. It was now nine o'clock,
and further news was expected every minute; for Mrs. Barton rightly
guessed that her husband would bring Theodore back to the farm
as soon as possible.
At first Jack's mind had room for only one thought—his stepbrother's
safety. But as his mother talked to him, he saw that her eyes were
full of reproach, and his conscience told him the cause.
"Jack," she said at length, "you knew you and Theodore were acting
wrongly yesterday, did you not?"
"Yes," he acknowledged, hanging his head.
"It was very naughty of you, and very unkind to all of us!"
"We meant to be home before dark," Jack began, then added quickly,
"oh, mother, I knew all the time you wouldn't have let us go alone
if you'd known!"
"And you purposely kept Jane in the dark, too?"
"Yes."
"Oh, Jack!"
The sorrowful tone of his mother's voice cut Jack to the heart;
a great lump rose in his throat, and he restrained his tears with
an effort.
"I'm very sorry," he murmured; "and so is Theo—he told me he was!"
"You boys have made us very unhappy, and upset the whole
household—nay, more, the whole village!"
"I am very sorry," Jack repeated; "I am indeed! I hate to think
we have made you miserable, and given so much trouble to everybody.
We did not mean to get lost."
"Well, I will say no more about it, for I think you have had
punishment enough. But I hope you will never act so wrongly again."
"Never, never!" Jack cried. "Oh, mother, do please believe that!"
"I do believe it. When you say your prayers, do not forget to thank
God for His mercy in saving you from a horrible death last night.
Oh, my boy, shudder when I think what might have happened!"
A hot tear splashed down Jack's cheek, but he wiped it hastily away.
His mother saw that he was truly repentant, and said no more;
but before she left him she gave him a loving kiss, which he knew
expressed her full forgiveness.
His breakfast finished, Jack got up and proceeded to dress. He felt
very tired, but otherwise perfectly well. A long while he knelt
in prayer, for he had so much to thank God for this morning, and he
did not forget to humbly ask pardon for his wrong-doing. He realised
quite well that he ought not to have allowed Theodore to influence
him to visit the Hermit's Cave without Mr. and Mrs. Barton's
knowledge; but his fear of being thought a coward had made him fall
in with his stepbrother's plans. He had known it was wrong—there lay
the sin.
When Jack went downstairs he found a messenger had just arrived
to say that Mr. Barton and Theodore were coming; and presently
a caravan was seen entering the farmyard, drawn by a large grey
horse, followed by a group of dark, curly-haired gipsy children.
Moses Stanley walked at the horse's head, whilst his wife rode
in front of the caravan.
Neither Mr. Barton nor Theodore were visible until the caravan came
to a full stop in front of the door, and Moses let down the steps,
when the former appeared and smiled as he caught sight of his wife,
who with Jack and the rest of the household had come into the yard.
"How is Theodore?" Mrs. Barton asked, whilst Jane tried to peer
into the caravan.
"Not very bright, of course, Mary; but better than I expected
he would have been this morning," was the response.
"Well, Jack, are you all right?"
"Oh, yes, thank you, father!" the little boy answered.
"That's well. Stand back a minute, Jane. You shall see Theodore
in a minute."
Even as Mr. Barton spoke, Theodore appeared at his side, looking very
white and crestfallen.
Jane caught him in her arms, and bore him triumphantly into the
house, covering his face with kisses; which treatment secretly
irritated him greatly, for he felt his position anything
but dignified for a boy of his age.
In the parlour, Jane laid him on the sofa, and stood back herself
to allow Jack a few words with his stepbrother. But the boys had very
little to say to each other then. Jack merely enquired how Theodore
was feeling, and if his hand was sore; whilst Theodore murmured in a
husky voice:
"I'm all right, old fellow."
Mrs. Barton remained in the yard to speak a few words to Moses and
Miriam, and to learn that the gipsy family intended to encamp in one
of Mr. Fry's fields for a few days. When she entered the parlour with
her husband, Theodore glanced at her nervously. She spoke to him in
her usual kind and affectionate manner; but he could find no words
in response, and a little hurt, she left him to Jane's tender
mercies.
Mr. Barton had sent for a doctor to look at Theodore's hand. When he
arrived, much to every one's relief he made light of the case, and
said the wounds would soon heal; but added that the boy had had
a shock, and he must be kept quiet for a few days. He was to get up
late, go to rest early, and take life easily.
"Am I to have my breakfast in bed?" asked Theodore.
"Certainly," the doctor replied, laughing; "do so by all means,
if you wish."
Theodore smiled with gratification on hearing this; for he looked
upon being allowed to breakfast in bed as a great treat, having never
done so but on the very few occasions when he had had bad colds, and
Jane had indulged him.
He lay on the sofa all day, on the whole finding being an invalid not
an unpleasant experience, now that his hand was less painful. He told
Jack all about Miriam, and what a cosy home a caravan really was,
saying that he thought he would like to be a gipsy, and travel about
the country as he pleased.
During the day an unexpected visitor arrived at Blackburn Farm,
no other than Peter Blake, the owner of the white-washed cottage
and the fox-gin. He was terribly grieved at what had occurred,
he told Mr. Barton; he would not have had it happen for any amount
of money! He confessed he had set the gin because he was so
"worrited" with foxes—that was his only excuse. He hoped the young
gentleman was not seriously injured, and if Mr. Barton would refrain
from prosecuting him, he would faithfully promise never to set a trap
again. As there was no advantage to be gained by prosecuting the old
man, Mr. Barton relieved his mind on that score, and accepted his
promise. Peter Blake was profuse in his gratitude and thanks, as,
indeed, he had good cause to be. He explained his absence from home
on the preceding night by telling how he had gone to visit a sick
brother living in a neighbouring village, and had sat up with his
wife as she had had no one else at hand to assist her in the nursing.
When he had returned home early in the morning he had found his gin
unset and bloodstained, and the hedge trampled down. Later he had
learnt what had befallen Theodore on his premises, and had hastened
to Mr. Barton to express his regrets.
"I hope I have done right in letting the matter pass thus,"
Mr. Barton said to his wife when Peter Blake had gone, much relieved
at the knowledge that Theodore's hand was doing well, and with the
assurance that he would not be prosecuted, "but Fry tells me the old
man will have all the hunting folks in the county down on him
for having tried to entrap a fox, and I judged he would find that
punishment enough."
That same afternoon Mr. Barton asked Jack, who was hovering about his
stepbrother with tender solicitude, if he would like to pay the
gipsies' encampment a visit; and accordingly the two started off
together, leaving Theodore and Mrs. Barton alone. She moved her chair
close to the boy's sofa, and strove hard to amuse him, but it was
a thankless task, for Theodore was disinclined for conversation,
being secretly annoyed because Jack had left him.
"Shall I read to you?" Mrs. Barton asked, "or would you like me
to tell you a story?"
Theodore declared his head ached, and he wanted to be quiet.
On hearing this, his stepmother removed her chair to the opposite
side of the room, and took up some needlework. Theodore watched her
wistfully, regretting that he had driven her away. He thought her
face looked a little sad and pale, and once he fancied he heard her
sigh. She must have been very anxious about Jack last night,
he remembered, and he was conscious that he ought to exonerate
his stepbrother from blame in her sight.
"It was all my fault yesterday," he said, bluntly, "I mean that we
got lost. Did Jack tell you how I made him go?"
She put down her work, and glanced at him in surprise, shaking her
head.
"I told father all about it, and he forgave me," Theodore proceeded.
"I—I should like to tell you too."
"Yes?"
"If any harm had come to Jack it would have been my fault, because I
made him go with me, I did. He didn't want to go at all. So he never
told you? Well, he is a brick!" Theodore's tone was full
of admiration for his stepbrother. "I suppose he didn't want to get
me into a row," he continued, "but I hope you didn't scold him.
Oh, I don't know what I should have done if anything had happened
to Jack."
"Tell me all about it, Theodore," Mrs. Barton said, looking
mystified. "How did you make Jack go? Even if you did influence him
he was to blame all the same."
Theodore entered into an explanation, concealing nothing. When he
had finished his tale he said, dolefully, "Father thought you would
forgive me, but perhaps he didn't know."
"Oh, yes, yes; he was quite right. Say no more about it, Theodore.
God has given you boys back to us, and I don't believe you will ever
try to induce Jack to do wrong again."
"I never, never will," he declared, earnestly.
"Theodore," said Mrs. Barton, gently, "I am going to speak to you
as I speak to Jack, as though you were my own son, because I love you
dearly, and—"
"Do you really?" Theodore asked, his cheeks flushing, his eyes
shining brightly. "Do you really love me when I've been so naughty,
and made Jack naughty too?"
"Indeed, I do."
There was a struggle going on in the boy's heart at that moment
between a strong desire to respond to his stepmother's affection,
and the wilfulness and pride he had harboured so long.
"I—I don't deserve you should," he said, falteringly, "because I'm
not good like Jack. I should like to be, but I can't."
Mrs. Barton rose impulsively from her seat, and, crossing the room,
knelt down by Theodore's sofa, so that his face was on a level with
hers. There were tears in her soft, brown eyes—eyes so like her
little son's—and at the sight Theodore's mistrust of his stepmother
died for ever, and, flinging his uninjured arm around her neck,
he gave her the first kiss he had ever voluntarily bestowed upon her.
"I never really hated you," he whispered. "I only said it because
I was wicked; I often am, you know. But I mean to be better, and you
will help me, won't you, like you help Jack?"
"Oh, yes, yes; you are both my dear boys."
"And I—I will call you 'Mother,'" Theodore continued. "I don't think
she will mind—my real mother, I mean."
"No, no. I can never quite make up to you for her loss, my dear,
but I will do my best, so that some day I may be able to say to her,
'I did what I could to take your place.'"
This idea pleased Theodore. He remained very quiet for some minutes,
then he said, tremulously, "Do you know what I thought when Jack and
I were wandering about the moor last night? It was how you would hate
me if anything happened to Jack, and—and I knew I hadn't always been
nice to you, and I asked God to take care of Jack before me, because
I had made him come. Then I got caught in that dreadful gin, and when
I woke up in the caravan I couldn't think what had become of Jack,
and Seth didn't know, or Moses, or Miriam, or anyone. Oh, you can't
think how glad I felt when father came and told me Jack was all
right. Nothing seemed to matter after that. I think it was noble
of Jack not to tell how I made him go, and when I had been so nasty
to him too! I called him a coward, and said all sorts of disagreeable
things."
Theodore's face was full of excitement. His stepmother looked at him
a trifle anxiously. Rising to her feet she again drew a chair to the
side of the sofa, and, seating herself thereon, talked to him in a
soothing tone on different subjects till he grew more composed.
Presently Jane came to see how her little master was, but, finding
him deep in conversation with his stepmother, would have retired
without a word if Mrs. Barton had not stopped her.
"Jane," she said in her pleasant voice, "his father and I have
forgiven him the anxiety and trouble he caused us, and we hope you
will do the same."
"Yes, please, do, Jane," Theodore said, earnestly. "I am very, very
sorry. I suppose you found out I had taken the matches from your
dressing-table? I really don't know what we should have done without
them."
"Oh, that's what you were up to, was it?" Jane cried. "I found the
matches gone; I might have guessed you had them. Well, Master
Theodore, if you want my forgiveness you have it, though I do think
you treated me badly."
When Jack and his stepfather returned they found Theodore cheerful
and happy, with Mrs. Barton seated at his side, looking bright and
animated.
"Back already!" Theodore exclaimed in surprise.
"Why, Theo, we've been away two hours nearly," Jack cried. "What have
you been doing all the time? I suppose you've been talking?" he said,
dubiously.
Theodore nodded.
"Secrets?" asked Jack.
Again Theodore nodded, but this time he spoke as well. "Nothing to do
with anyone besides ourselves," he explained; then added, a little
shyly, "secrets between mother and me."