The Project Gutenberg eBook of That Little Beggar, by E. King Hall

"No carriage! Are you quite sure? Mrs. Wyndham told me that she would send to meet this train."

I looked anxiously at the station-master as I spoke. I was feeling tired, having had a very long journey; and now, to find that I had the prospect of a good walk before me was not pleasant.

"I'll go and have another look, mum," he said civilly as he turned away; "it may have driven up since the train came in. It weren't there before, I know that."

I looked round despairingly, first at the deserted-looking little [Pg 162]country station with its gay flower-beds, decorated with ornamental devices in dazzling white stones, then at the long, white country road, stretching away in the distance with the July sun beating down upon it, and sighed. The outlook was not cheering.

"Is there no inn near at which I could find some sort of conveyance?" I asked, though without much hope of receiving a satisfactory reply.

"None but the White Hart at Teddington, and that's a matter of four miles off," he replied. "It would take less time to send to the Hall."

"It's two miles and a bit. By the fields it's less, but as you are a stranger in these parts, I take it, mum, you'd do better to keep to the road if you think of walking," he answered.

"Well, it's a beautiful afternoon for a walk, if it is a bit hot," he said consolingly, and, retiring to his office, left me to my own devices.

I started very slowly, determined not to waste any energy, with that long and hot walk before me.

Strolling gently on I fell to thinking over my past life—the quiet, peaceful life in the country rectory, where I had lived for so many years, and which had only ended with the death of my dear old father two months ago. Now middle-aged—yes,[Pg 163] I called myself middle-aged, though I daresay you at the age of eight, ten, fourteen (what is it?) would have called me a Methuselah—now I had to earn my own living, and start a fresh life. I don't want to make you sad, for I am quite of the opinion that it is better to make people laugh than cry, but I will confess that as I walked along that sunny afternoon, with the recollection of my great sorrow still fresh in my mind, the tears came to my eyes. You see, my father and I loved each other so much, and he was all that I had in the world; I had no brothers and sisters to share my sorrow with me.

I had gone some distance on my way, when I heard the sound of loud and bitter sobbing. Hastening my steps, I turned a bend of the road, and saw a little boy lying full length on the roadside, his face buried in the dusty, long grass, as he gave vent to the loud and uncontrolled grief which had attracted my attention; whilst a few yards off stood a little wire-haired fox-terrier, regarding him with a perplexed and wondering eye.

"What is the matter, dear?" I asked the distressed little mortal, whose tears were flowing so fast.

"Get up from that dusty grass and tell me[Pg 164] what it is all about," I said encouragingly, as I stooped down and took hold of his hand.

He rose slowly from the ground and looked at me doubtfully, half sobbing the while; then I saw how pretty he was. Such a pretty little boy, but oh! such a dirty one. He had the sweetest violet eyes, the prettiest golden curls, the most rosy of rosy checks that you can imagine, and he was dressed in the dearest little white-duck sailor's suit that any little boy ever wore. But at that moment the violet eyes were all swollen with crying, the golden curls were all tumbled and tossed, the rosy cheeks all smudged where dirty fingers had been rubbing away the tears, whilst as for the white-duck suit—well, to be accurate, I ought not to call it white. But as the small person inside of it had apparently been recklessly rolling on the ground, it was not surprising that something of its original purity had departed.

"I took Jack out for a walk and he runned away and I runned after him, but he wouldn't stop!" he sobbed vehemently.

Then, leaving go of my hand, he made a sudden dash towards the truant, who as suddenly ran off. My small friend wept afresh.

"He thinks that you are playing with him," I said; "that's why he runs away. Wait a moment!"[Pg 165] seeing he made a movement as if he were again about to chase the dog.

"Look!" I went on, and going gently towards Jack, I picked him up and placed him beside his little master.

"Come along, you little beggar!" the indignant little fellow exclaimed, and, seizing hold of the cause of the commotion, he walked, or rather staggered, off with him.

Poor Jack! He did look so unhappy. I think you would have been as sorry for him if you had seen him, as I was. Hugged closely in his master's arms, his hind-legs hanging down in a helpless, dislocated fashion, he gazed after me piteously over his master's shoulder, as if to say, "Can you do nothing to help me?"

He looked so funny and so miserable I could not help laughing. "What!" you say with some surprise, "and you were crying a little while before?"

Yes, my dear child; yet I could laugh in spite of that, for, you know, there is no better way of drying our own tears than to wipe away the tears of another—though they be but the ready tears of a little child.

"Wait," I said. "I fancy Jack is as uncomfortable as you, and that looks to me very uncomfortable.[Pg 166] Supposing we see if both you and he cannot get home in an easier fashion. Why don't you put him on the ground? I think if you were to walk back quietly Jack would follow you now."

My new acquaintance wrinkled his dirty little tear-stained countenance doubtfully.

"P'r'aps he'll run away, 'cause he's runned away often and often whilst he's been out with me, and I sha'n't be able to catch him," he said woefully.

"Put him down and see," I suggested. And Jack was dropped on the ground, though as much I fancy from necessity as choice, since his weight was evidently becoming too much for his master.

"Are you the lady what's coming to live with my Granny?" he asked, slipping his hand confidingly in mine, as we turned our steps homewards.

"I'm called Chris, but my proper name is Christopher," he stated, pronouncing it slowly and with some difficulty.

"It's very pretty," I answered, smiling at the[Pg 167] diminutive little figure by my side, "but a very long name for such a little person."

"Why, I have two others," he answered with still greater pride. "Three names altogether. Christopher, that's only like myself; and Godfrey, that's like my Uncle Godfrey; and Wyndham, that's like my Uncle Godfrey and my Granny too. All our names is Wyndham. What's your name?"

"Beggarley! That's something like what Uncle Godfrey calls me. He says I'm a little beggar."

"But I would like to call you Beggarley, 'cause then you'd be called something the same as me. Mayn't I?"

A suspicious tremble in his voice warned me to give way, unless I was prepared for another outcry from that healthy little pair of lungs. The tears were evidently still near the surface. I therefore weakly yielded.

"Very well, dear," I replied in a resigned voice; and Chris, brightening at once, continued his conversation.[Pg 168]

"I'm seven years of age. How old are you?" he next remarked, regarding me with interest.

"I only wanted to know if you was too old to play with me," he said, looking at me reproachfully out of his great violet eyes.

"I will certainly play with you if you are a good boy," I replied, in a mollified voice.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" he exclaimed, dancing by my side with pleasure; "'cause I have no one to play with me. Granny is too old, and Briggs says when she runs it makes her legs ache as if they will break."

"I will run a little sometimes, but I can't promise to do much," I said cautiously.

"Oh, you needn't always run," he said, encouragingly. "There is one or two games where you needn't hardly move. Just a little tiny bit, you know. Will you play at trains?"

"Oh, such a nice game! and you needn't run unless you like. I'll be the train and the engine, and you can be the guard and the steam-engine whistle. Then you need only walk about at[Pg 169] the station and take the tickets, and just scream high up in your head like this" (and Chris gave vent to a loud and piercing scream—so unexpectedly loud and piercing that I almost started). "That's like the steam-engine goes, you know," he explained.

"I couldn't do that," I said with decision, when I had recovered from the shock.

"Then p'r'aps you'd like to play at lame horses," he suggested. "You needn't scream then, only jog up and down as if you'd got a stone in your foot. I'll be the coachman, but I won't make you run fast, 'cause it would be very cruel of me if you had a stone in your foot; wouldn't it?" he continued, virtuously.

"Very," I agreed, as we turned into the lodge-gates of Skeffington, and pursued our way up the drive.

"There's my Granny," he remarked presently, leaving go of my hand and running towards an old lady, who, with her work-table by her side and her knitting in her lap, was dozing comfortably in a big wicker chair on the shady side of the lawn.

"Granny! Granny!" shouted Chris excitedly, and at the top of his voice. "Here's the lady what's coming to live with you."

At the sound of his voice the old lady gave a nervous jump, opened her eyes, and, replacing her[Pg 170] spectacles which had fallen off her nose, arose, looking round as she did so with a bewildered air.

"Miss Baggerley, I presume," she said with an old-fashioned courtesy of manner, and advancing towards me with outstretched hand. "But how is it that you are walking? Was not the carriage at the station to meet you?"

"No, she walked all the way; and she didn't know the way, and I showed it to her," Chris put in eagerly. "I showed it to her all myself."

"The carriage was not at the station. But it was not of the slightest consequence, I assure you," I replied, as soon as Chris allowed me to speak.

"But two miles and a half in this hot sun, and after your long journey too!" Mrs. Wyndham said apologetically. "I am most distressed, I am indeed. I have a new coachman who is not very bright. He has doubtless made some stupid mistake. Dear me, how unfortunate!"

"It didn't matter, 'cause I found her and I showed her the way," Chris reiterated with pride.

"Hush, my dear child!" Granny said gently. Then, for the first time becoming fully aware of his very unkempt condition, "What have you been doing, my darling?" she exclaimed with surprise; "and what do you mean by saying you met Miss Baggerley? Where did you meet her?"

"I took Jack for a walk and he runned away,[Pg 171] and was such a naughty little dog. And I felled down and hurted myself, and I cried," Chris concluded with much pathos, as he saw Granny shake her head at the account of his doings.

"My darling, it was very wrong of you to leave the garden," she said. "You know when Briggs left you, she never thought for a moment that you would go outside the gates. And, oh, how dirty you are! Your nice white suit is all black! Miss Baggerley, I fear you met a disobedient, a very disobedient little boy indeed."

Granny relented. "Where did you hurt yourself, my dear child?" she asked, with some anxiety.

"Go at once, darling, to Briggs, and ask her to bathe all your bruises with warm water," she said. "Or, if they are very bad, tell her that she will find some lotion in my room."

"Wasn't Jack a naughty little dog?" he asked, recovering, as he held up a smudgy little face to be kissed.

"I'm afraid it was someone else who was naughty," she answered, with an attempt at severity; "yes, very naughty indeed. But we'll say no more about it, for I think you are sorry; are you not, my Chris?"[Pg 172]

"Very, very sorry, Granny," he replied, but more cheerfully than penitently, as he ran off, relieved at the matter ending in so easy and pleasant a fashion.

"I'm afraid I spoil him dreadfully," Granny said, looking fondly after the retreating little figure. 'You're ruining the little beggar'; that's what my son Godfrey tells me. But then my Chris has no father or mother, so I feel very tenderly towards him. He has such a lovable nature too, it is difficult not to spoil him. You have doubtless seen that for yourself already, have you not?

"And now, my dear," she added kindly, "I'm sure you must want your tea after your long journey, and that hot walk afterwards. It was a most unfortunate mistake about the carriage. I cannot tell you how distressed, how very distressed, I am about it."

CHAPTER II.

A SONG AND A STORY.

Yes, Granny was quite right. It was difficult not to spoil that little beggar. Everyone helped to do so; everyone, that is to say, but one person. That one person was Briggs, Chris's dignified[Pg 173] and severe nurse. The whole household concurred in petting and spoiling him in every possible way. Briggs alone maintained her course of justice, inflexible and unbending. Her yoke was not one under which the little beggar willingly bowed his head. He was not accustomed to any yoke, and Briggs' was not at all to his taste.

In consequence of this state of affairs, nursery rows were by no means infrequent; nor was it very long before I witnessed one. It was but a few days after I had arrived, and I was sitting one afternoon in the library reading the Morning Post to Granny, who was busy with some work she was doing for the poor.

It was a quiet and peaceful state of affairs which we were both enjoying. Suddenly, however, we were interrupted by a tap at the door, and the entrance of Briggs, flushed, heated, and slightly panting.

"If you please, mum," she began, a little breathlessly, and placing her hand on her side as if to still the beating of her heart, "I wish to know if Master Chris is to be allowed to speak to me as he likes?"

"Certainly not, certainly not," Granny replied, raising herself straight in her arm-chair, and trying to assume the severity of manner she felt was suitable to the occasion. "What has he been saying?"[Pg 174]

"It was just this, mum," Briggs started, with the air of resolving to give a full, true, and particular account; "it was just this. We were down in the village, and I stepped into the post-office to buy a few reels of black cotton, which it so happens I have run out of. Likewise, I wanted to buy some blue sewing-silk, which you may remember, mum, you asked me to keep in mind next time I happened to be that way."

"Yes, I remember, Briggs. And Master Chris was naughty?" Granny said, gently trying to bring her to the point.

"Well, mum, I was going to tell you," she continued, without hurrying, "when I had bought the cotton and the silk, it came to my mind to buy a packet of post-cards and two shillings' worth of stamps. But the rector's young ladies had come in, and being pressed for time, Mrs. Thompson, she says to me, 'I make no doubt but that you will let me serve the young ladies first'; to which I made answer, 'I wait your pleasure'. But Master Chris he gets cross, because he wants to go on home at once and roll his new hoop. 'Come along, old Briggs!' he says; 'come along, you old slow-coach!' Such behaviour, such language! Before the young ladies from the rectory, too! Where he learnt it I'm sure I can't tell. Not from me, I do assure you, mum," she concluded with indignation.[Pg 175]

"But that was not all, mum," the irate Briggs continued; "for all the way home he walks in front of me, tossing his head and singing as loud as possible, 'For I'm a jolly good fellow'; and Jack there barking and making such a row alongside of him; it was for all the world like a wild-beast show. Nothing I could say could stop the pair of them."

She paused to allow Granny to take in the full extent of Chris's enormity. As she did so, a scampering of little feet was heard outside, the handle of the door was impatiently turned—first the wrong way, and then rattled angrily. Finally the door itself was burst open, and that little beggar ran in, with excited countenance; the big holland pinafore, in which Briggs insisted upon enveloping him, and his especial detestation, half dropping off him, and trailing behind on the ground.

"Granny," he began immediately, "is 'For he's a jolly good fellow', that Uncle Godfrey sings, a wicked song?"

Looking round, Chris's eyes fell upon Briggs, whom at first he had not noticed; then, realizing that she had been first in the field, he burst into a loud, tearless wail.[Pg 176]

"Briggs, you're a nasty, nasty thing, and I hate you!" he cried vehemently, stamping his foot as he spoke.

"There, mum! Is that the way for a young gentleman to speak?" she asked, not without a certain triumph.

"I don't like you!" Chris cried, stamping his foot again. "You are always cross! Nasty, cross, old Briggs!"

"Chris, I am shocked, very, very shocked," Granny said gravely. "You must stand in the corner for a quarter of an hour."

"I don't—want to—go into—the corner," he said sobbing. "It's all—your fault, Briggs."

"Oh, Master Chris!" she exclaimed, "is that a way for a nice young gentleman to speak?" Then she left the room with dignity.

Chris, looking after her with impotent anger, moved towards the corner with laggard steps, crying bitterly as he did so.

"Must I go into the corner, my Granny?" he wailed. "Uncle Godfrey is never sent into the corner."

The little beggar looked entreatingly with large tearful eyes at her, as he crept towards the hated corner. But she would not allow herself to relent. Justice, in the form of the deeply offended Briggs, had to be propitiated, and Chris had to bear the punishment for his misdeeds.

At the same time, I believe Granny would joyfully have gone into the corner herself, if by so doing she could have spared her darling this wound to his pride, and yet have satisfied her own conscience. I think, indeed, in her sympathy for Chris in his disgrace, she really suffered more than he. It was therefore with relief, and as a welcome diversion that, when the footman came to announce the arrival of visitors, she rose to go to the drawing-room.

"I must go, Miss Baggerley," she said. "Will you be so kind as to see that Chris stays in the corner for a quarter of an hour? Only for a quarter of an hour, if he is good; but I know that he will be good, for he does not want to make his Granny unhappy any more. I am sure of that." With which gentle persuasion she went.

For a time Chris wept loudly and sorely, after which he was silent, save for an occasional sniff. This silence continued uninterrupted for so long that it at last aroused my suspicions. Turning my head the better to see him, I found that he was engaged in drawing strange and mystic signs[Pg 178] upon the wall, by the simple process of wetting his finger in his mouth.

Hence the explanation of this sudden calm; for so absorbing, apparently, was this occupation, that it had had the effect of drying up all those bitter tears which, but a few minutes earlier, had flowed so freely.

"I am writing my name," the little beggar said with much pathos. "Chris-to-pher God-frey Wyndham. Then when I'm dead and gone far away over the sea, Granny will see it, and she'll be sorry she was so cross."

"Jane will wash out those dirty marks," I replied, ruthlessly destroying his mournful hopes. "They will not remain there."

At this the little beggar desisted from disfiguring the wall, but reiterated, though more weakly, "Granny will be very sorry by and by; she was cross, and she'll wish she hadn't put me in the corner."

"No, she won't," I answered decisively; "she'll be sorry that you were naughty, but she won't wish that she had not punished you. You deserved to be punished."

Feeling that I did not regard him as the ill-used little being that he considered himself, and that there was a want of sympathy about my[Pg 179] remarks that was not altogether to his taste, Chris once more was silent.

Ten minutes elapsed, broken only by an occasional sigh from the occupant of the corner. Then I was asked wearily:

"Yes, dear, I am afraid you were," I answered. I should have liked to speak more severely, but that was a difficult matter with Chris.

"Briggs is a nasty thing," he said, nestling his head contentedly on my shoulder.

"Granny will send you back to the corner if she hears you speak like that," I said, with more confidence than I felt upon the subject.

Then without waiting for an answer he went on: "I love my Granny best, and Uncle Godfrey next, and you next, and Briggs last,—the most last."

"Yes," I answered; "and though you are a happy little boy now, you would be still happier then. There is nothing that makes us happier than to love people very much and try to be kind to them."

"You should not talk of her like that," I said, trying not to smile. "She is really very fond of you, and very kind to you. If she was angry, it was because you were rude."

Chris moved impatiently. He did not like that view of the case. There was a pause, then: "Shall I tell you a story?" I asked. "I shall just have time before you go to your tea."

"I don't know," he answered, with some indifference. "I've heard them all lots of times. Briggs has told them to me often and often—'Jack the Giant-Killer', and 'Jack and the Beanstalk', and 'Red Riding-Hood', and 'Cinderella' ("I don't much like those two," he put in, with a touch of masculine contempt, "'cause they're all about girls"), and 'Hop o' my Thumb.' And the story of the Good Boy who had a cake, and gave it all away to the Blind Beggar and his dog, except a tiny, weeny piece for himself; and the Bad Boy who had a cake, and told a wicked story, and said there never was one, 'cause he didn't want anyone else to have it; and the Greedy Boy who had a cake, and ate it all up so fast he was dreadfully[Pg 181] sick. Briggs has told them all to me, and she says there ain't no more stories to tell; leastways, if there are, she's never heard tell of them."

"If I were you I shouldn't say 'leastways', 'never heard tell', or 'ain't no more'," I remarked as he paused, out of breath.

"My dear child, never mind what Briggs does. We were not talking of her," I replied. "You know I have told you before you should not always ask so many questions. It is a troublesome habit."

"Decidedly," I replied, and once more struggling not to mar the effects of my words by smiling. "Well, about my story. It is not one of those you have spoken of. I don't think that you have heard it."

"Well, once upon a time," I began, in the most approved fashion, "there were two men who had a great hill to climb. It was a long and difficult climb, but, if they only reached the top of that hill, they would be fully rewarded for all their[Pg 182] pains. I will tell you why. There was there a beautiful country, where they would live and be happy for evermore. It was such a beautiful country! The trees were always green, the flowers never withered, and it was always sunny,—never a cloud to be seen. The Lord of that country was not only very great and powerful, but He was also very loving and good. He knew how wearying and difficult that uphill journey was to the dwellers in the valley beneath. So, in His love, He sent messengers to tell the travellers how they must journey if they hoped ever to reach the beautiful country over which He ruled.

"One of these messengers came to the two men of whom I have spoken just before they started on their journey, with these plain and simple directions:

"Follow the straight and narrow path that leads up-hill; you cannot mistake it, for it goes right on without any curves or twists. You will come across many rough and difficult places, but do not turn aside, though the path leads you over them. You may see other paths that lead round them, but don't turn off from the narrow one. Don't take the others; they don't lead up, they lead down. The straight path is the only right one. Go straight on, don't be afraid. These are my Lord's directions.[Pg 183]

"'The journey is very tiring,' went on the messenger, 'and the sun will beat down by and by with much fierceness, so that you will suffer at times from great thirst. But, see, my Lord has sent you these!' As he spoke, he held out two flasks. You cannot imagine anything so beautiful as they were. They were made of pure gold, bright and shining, and ornamented with diamonds that flashed and sparkled in the light like fire. To each of the men the messenger gave a flask.

"'Look,' he said, 'and you will find that they are filled with fresh, clear water. This water is magic; it will never come to an end, and you will never suffer from thirst, so long as you obey the order which my Lord sends you. This is the order. Drink none yourself, but give of it to all who need it. If you do so, your thirst will never overpower you. But if you are churlish, and wish to keep it for yourself, some day you will suffer—suffer terribly. By and by you will find, too, that there is no water left, for the magic will all have gone! The beauty also of your flasks will have all disappeared; the gold will have become dim, the diamonds will have lost their sparkle, and you yourself will have no power to go onwards and climb higher. Good-bye—remember that my Lord waits to welcome you with love.'

"Now, when he had given them these directions,[Pg 184] the messenger went, and after a while the two men started on their journey.

"At first the hill went up so gently that they hardly noticed the incline. The way did not appear very difficult in the beginning. They went through a wood where the trees were all young, and the leaves a tender green, as you see in the springtime, Chris, my dear. And the sunlight fell through the trees and made a pattern on the ground, which moved slowly and gracefully as the gentle breezes swayed the branches. There were no rough places then, or, if there were, they were so slight that the two travellers hardly remarked them. And as they walked along they sang in the joy of their hearts; the sunshine, the soft light breezes, the pretty wild flowers, the trees—all made them so glad and so happy. Nor did they forget to give to all who passed by some of the fresh, pure water out of their golden flasks.

"By and by they came out of the pretty little wood, and the hill became steeper, the rough places rougher and more frequent.

"Then one grew impatient. He wanted to go on more quickly than he had done hitherto. It seemed to him a waste of time to stop so often to give to the passers-by that pure, refreshing water. Besides, he began to doubt the truth of the message he had received. It did not seem possible to him that he could give away the water[Pg 185] in his flask and yet not suffer from thirst. He resolved to keep it all for himself. Nor could he believe that it was always necessary to follow the narrow path. It was a different thing when it led through the pretty wood, but now that it led so often over such difficult places, he determined to find an easier one. Therefore he separated from his companion, and went his own way, avoiding all the roughnesses of the road, and taking the paths that seemed less hard. Nor did he any longer stop to offer to others the magical water of his golden flask, he kept it all for himself, and let the wearied and sad ones pass him by without compassion.

"But he never remarked how dim the gold of the flask was growing, nor how fast the water was diminishing. Nor did he see that instead of going up he was really going down-hill, and that the paths he chose were misleading him. In his hurry he never noticed this, till one sad day it came upon him.

"He had been feeling very tired and out of heart, for the way seemed so long and tiring. Yet, he had been struggling on, hoping to find his rest at last. On this day, however, he found that his strength had gone; he could climb no further. He took out his flask, now so dim, hoping to quench the terrible thirst that was overpowering him; but alas! alas! there was hardly any water[Pg 186] left; not nearly enough to revive him. So there, by himself, sad and disappointed—for he knew that now he would never see the happy land he had started for with such glorious hopes,—he died—died all alone and uncared for!

"And the other traveller? Well, he went straight on as the good Lord had directed. Often the rough places were terribly rough, and the sharp stones in the pathway wounded his feet sadly. Nevertheless, he never turned aside; he went right on as he had been directed, whilst to all those who passed by, thirsting for some of the beautiful, clear water from his golden flask, he gave freely and willingly. Little children who met him with tearful eyes went on their way laughing and singing. Older people, also, who were too tired to cry, whose hearts were heavy with many sorrows, drank of that water and went on their way refreshed. And his golden flask remained bright, and the water within it undiminished, right to the very end.

"What was the end? Ah, it came sooner than he thought it would! The journey was not so very long after all! And when he arrived at that beautiful country, and his eyes saw 'The King in His beauty', he forgot all about the rough places, and all about his past weariness. It was the land of sunlight, you see, and the land of shadows passed from his recollection for ever."[Pg 187]

"It's a very nice story," he said, patronizingly. "I like it almost as much as 'Jack the Giant Killer' and 'Jack and the Beanstalk', and better than 'Cinderella'."

"Are you going to scold me?" he asked, moving restlessly on my knee; "'cause I'm going to be a good boy now."

"No, my dear, I'm not going to scold you," I said reassuringly. "I only want to tell you what I mean by my story."

"No, it won't take long," I answered persuasively. "I will tell it to you quickly. This is what it means. You know, Chris, God wants us all to go to heaven and live with Him by and by. In His great love He has shown us all the way; it is the way that the blesséd Jesus went; a way that sometimes takes us over hard and difficult places, but that always goes up—never down. It is a way that leads us higher and higher, right away to the happy land you were singing of last Sunday. But there is one thing God has told us to do if we ever hope to reach that happy land—we must love everyone. Just[Pg 188] as the man who in my story reached the beautiful land at last, just as he gave freely of the water in his flask, so must we give freely of the love God has put into our hearts. He has put it there, not that we should spend it on ourselves, but that we should spend it on others. So long as we do that, so long will our hearts remain pure and good as God wants them to be. And the more we love everyone, the more we shall know of God, and the nearer we shall be to heaven; for you see, dear, to know God is Heaven, and God is Love."

"I'm going to be like the good man, who gave away the water out of his flask," he said, with the air of one taking a great resolution. "I'm going to love everyone, and Briggs too."

"I like to hear you say that," I said, stroking his head, with the tumbled, golden curls. "Now, I think you had better go to your tea. Briggs will be waiting for you."

"Miss Beggarley," he said, putting his arms round my neck, "I want to give you a great, good hug like I give my Granny. I love you very, very much."

CHAPTER III.

CONCERNING EIGHT FLIES.

"If you please, mum, what am I to do about Master Chris's lessons? You said you wished me to look over his clothes this morning, and I haven't time for that and lessons too." Briggs looked inquiringly at Granny as she spoke.

"Of course not, of course not," said Granny. "Bring me his books, Briggs; I will give them to him to-day."

"Yes, Granny, you give me my lessons," exclaimed Chris, dancing with glee and clapping his hands, evidently looking forward to a frivolous hour in her company.

"I hope, mum, you'll see he does no tricks," Briggs said, when she returned with Chris's books. "He's very fond of them. He'll read over what he's read before, with a face as innocent as a lamb's, and if I don't remember he'll never say a word to remind me."

"Go away, Briggs; I don't want you," the little beggar remarked with more truth than politeness.

"Master Chris, I shall always stay where my duty calls me," she answered with loftiness, "as my mistress knows."

"Certainly," Granny replied soothingly. "Chris,[Pg 190] I cannot permit you to speak to Briggs in such a way. Where are your lesson-books?"

"Here, mum," Briggs said, producing two or three diminutive red books and a tiny slate.

"Thank you. Then you had better go and get on with your work," said Granny, and Briggs left, with a last admonitory look at the little beggar, which he received with one of defiance.

"May Jack do lessons too? He's just outside," he asked as Granny opened his reading-book.

"Very well," she agreed, and he ran off to fetch him. He returned presently, followed by his four-legged friend, who, selecting a sunny spot near the window, lay basking there, blinking at us lazily with sleepy eyes, as from time to time he roused himself to snap at the flies within reach.

"I want to get on your knee, my Granny," Chris said, suiting the action to the word.

"Yes, if you would like that. But as I am helping you, you must be very good, and read your very best."

"Why, it's you to begin," Chris replied, with a touch of reproach at having been unjustly censured. "Don't you see? You are Sue!"

"Quite true, to be sure, so I am," the old lady said apologetically, then began gently and precisely:

"'She. Sir! sir! I am Sue. See me! see me! The cow has hit my leg! She has hit her leg out up to my leg, and she has hit it and I cry! Boo! boo!'"

To this announcement of woe, Chris replied, or rather chanted in a sing-song tone, and as loudly and rapidly as he could:

"'He. Why, Sue, how is it? Why do you cry so? You are not to cry, Sue. It is bad to cry. Put the cry out and let me see you gay.'"

"I want to finish it," he explained. "I want to get my lessons done very quickly."

"Ah! but they must be done properly. You[Pg 192] see that, my darling, don't you?" she said. Then continued:

"'She. I am to cry, and to cry all the day. I am so bad and so ill, and my leg is hit, and it is too bad of the cow to hit my leg.'"

"'She. No. She hit me by the hip, and it is a bad hip now, and she is a bad, old, big cow, and she is not to eat rye or hay; no, not a bit of it all the day.'"

"You are reading very well now, very well indeed. You have made great progress since I last heard you."

The little beggar wagged his head solemnly. "I want to read well," he stated gravely. "I want to read very well; then I shall read big books like my Uncle Godfrey."

"You are a good little boy," she said. "I am very pleased with the pains my little Chris is taking."

A suspicion crossed my mind. Was he indulging in one of the tricks of which Briggs had forewarned Granny?

"Oh, my darling, why did you ask me to let you read it now?" Granny said, looking grieved.

"Ah! but you might have known Granny didn't want an old lesson," she said gravely. "It wasn't quite right; was it, Miss Baggerley?"

Chris hung his head. "I didn't mean not to be fair," he said, with touching contrition.

Granny's heart softened. "I don't believe you did, my Chris," she remarked gently.

Chris put his arms round her neck and hid his face on her shoulder. "I'm very sorry," he mumbled. Then raising his head:

"I am going to be a very fair boy," he said magnanimously, touched by Granny's forgiveness; "I'm going to be a very fair boy, and I am going to tell you that I don't know the lady's part as well as I know the gentleman's part. Shall I be Sue, my Granny?"

"Yes. Now that's an excellent idea," she said, with much satisfaction, and glancing at me with a look of pride in her darling's noble repentance. "I consider that an excellent idea, indeed; and I am very pleased that you should have proposed it."[Pg 194]

Chris's face fell. "Don't you think that it is silly for a big boy like me to be Sue?" he asked, with evident disappointment that his offer had been accepted.

"I thought, though, that you wanted to show Granny you were sorry for not having told her you were reading an old lesson," I remarked.

He sighed, without answering me; then after a pause, continued with an effort and a hesitation that offered a striking contrast to the glib manner of his previous reading:

"'She. Yes; for why did she hit me? She is a big and bad old cow. See her! See how fat she is! She is as fat as a sow. She has a fat hip, and a fat rib, and a fat ear, and a fat leg, and a fat all.'"

As he came to the end of the sentence he sighed once more, very heavily and sadly, then waited.

"Yes, yes, go on," Granny said, as he looked at her expectantly; "read to the end, like my good little boy."

He obeyed, but with a look of protest on his face, which changed to one of injury, when, at the close of the one lesson, he found that Granny intended him to read another.[Pg 195]

This was not what he had expected, and he was disappointed with her accordingly.

"That is just as much as I read with Briggs," he said, looking at her with a world of reproach.

"But you must read as much with me as you do with Briggs," she said, looking slightly fatigued with the arduous duty of giving the little beggar his lessons.

"Now, now, don't ask so many questions," she said slightly flustered. "Begin here, my dear child."

"'Ben! Ben! I can see a fly!'" he started impatiently, and stumbling over the words in his haste; "'and the fly can fly, and the fly can die, and the fly is shy, and can get to the pie, and can get on the rye! and the fly can run, and can get on the bun, all for its fun! and the fly is gay all the day, and oh, Ben! Ben! the fly is in my ear, so do put it out of my ear.'"... Chris came to a stop, and leant his head back on Granny's shoulder.

"What a funny thing it must be to have a fly in your ear," he remarked thoughtfully. "Have you ever had a fly in your ear, Granny?"

Chris obeyed; now, however, reading in a listless fashion, as if he had no further energy left.[Pg 196]

He continued without a breath, until he reached the following: "Ah, but now it has got in the oil. Oh, fly, fly, why do you go to the oil?"

"My darling, how can I possibly tell you?" she exclaimed. "See, you are slipping right off my knee. You can't read properly so."

Chris scrambled back to his former position, and then continued reading in a desultory fashion.

"'Oil is bad for a fly. So, now I put you out of the oil, and now I say you are to get dry. Ah! but now the fly is on the pot of jam, and it is on the jar and in the jam. The red jam, the new jam, the big jar of jam.'"

"How nice!" he exclaimed, with more enthusiasm. "May I have some red jam for my tea to-day?"

"If you are a good boy, and read right on to the end of the lesson without stopping," she replied. Thus encouraged, Chris with an effort toiled to the conclusion without any further pauses.

"'By, by! Wee fly!' Now must I do my sums?" he asked all in a breath as he came to the end.

"Yes; I think you had better," Granny replied,[Pg 197] holding the slate-pencil between her fingers and looking meditatively at the slate. "I will write you out one."

"Sometimes Briggs doesn't write horrid sums on the slate; sometimes she asks me sums she makes up out of her head," he said, insinuatingly. "I like that better, it is much, much nicer."

"Sometimes Briggs asks you sums out of her head, does she?" Granny repeated, putting down the slate-pencil. "Well, now, what shall I ask you?"

"Something about Jack," he said, getting off her knee and sitting on the ground beside the dog. "He's such a naughty, lazy, little doggie; he's done no lessons at all. Now, listen, Jackie, and do a sum with me. If Granny asks me something about you, you must think just as much as me. Mustn't he, Granny?"

"Of course, of course," she replied absently. "I'm to ask you something about Jack, my darling. Let me see, what shall it be?"

She looked at Jack for a moment as she spoke, who blinked back at her inquiringly, as if to ask, "What are you all talking so much about me for?"

"I know," she said. "There were six—no, there were eight flies. Jack swallowed one—yes, he swallowed one, he ate another—let me see, how[Pg 198] many flies did I say? Eight flies? Yes, eight. Well, he swallowed one, and he ate one, and"—she took off her spectacles and thought a moment—"he bit another in halves.

"Yes, that will do," she said with satisfaction. "He swallowed one, he ate another, and he bit another in halves. How many flies were left to fly away?"

"Come, come, think," Granny said reprovingly. "He swallowed one—that left how many?"

"That's right. And he bit another in halves. Then, how many were left to fly away?" she asked with mild triumph.

"Five and a half," answered Chris. Then thoughtfully: "How did the half-fly fly away, my Granny? P'r'aps Jack only ate the body and left the wings. Was that how it happened?"

"My pet shouldn't ask such silly questions," Granny said, speaking more testily than she generally did. "I only said, supposing there were eight flies."

"Well, supposing," Chris persisted; "how would the half-fly fly away then?"[Pg 199]

"It wouldn't, it couldn't. You see, my darling, it would be dead," the old lady said, becoming flurried.

"There, there, that will do," she said. "You are a silly little boy to think such a thing. We must get on with your other lessons, for the time is passing."

"No, no; that would never do," she said. "You had better do some more sums; but on the slate. Miss Baggerley, will you be so kind as to give them to him. That, with a little spelling and a copy, will, I think, be sufficient for to-day;" and the old lady, leaning back in her arm-chair, closed her eyes with an exhausted expression.

"Miss Beggarley," said Chris in a coaxing voice—he never failed thus to distort my name—"may I get on your knee and do my lessons, like I did on Granny's?"

"No, you had better not," I said, hardening my heart. "How do you expect to write well if you sit on my knee?"

"No, no," I said firmly; "we won't try. Come here; you sit on this chair and write this copy. Now show me how well you can write and spell.[Pg 200] I know a boy no older than you, and he writes and spells beautifully for his age."

"Well, write and spell your very best, and then I shall be able to tell," I replied with caution. The mention of my small friend of advanced powers as scribe and speller proved a happy thought on my part. The effect was excellent. Chris's mood changed; his lazy fit passed away in a burning desire to emulate—not to say outdistance—his unknown rival. With frowning brow and tongue between his teeth, he laboured assiduously at his copy, without uttering a word, whilst Granny, lulled by the quiet which prevailed, slept the sleep of the just.

I felt, indeed I had cause to be, fully satisfied with the result of my remark, for its effects lasted not only whilst the copy was being written but even through the spelling-lesson; an effect that could hardly have been anticipated when the varying moods of that little beggar were taken into consideration.

As I closed the spelling-book, "Miss Beggarley," he said, gazing at me with anxious eyes, "have I written my writing and spelt my spelling as well as that other boy?"

"Why does she want to go to sleep? She often goes to sleep when she does my lessons. Do boys' lessons always make old people sleepy?"

"That depends on the little boy who does them," I replied gravely. "If he tires his granny very much, it is not surprising that she should go to sleep."

"You were inattentive at the beginning, dear," I replied, "but you were good afterwards."

"Then I shall tell Briggs I have been a good boy," he remarked with satisfaction. And with a certain expression of anticipated triumph upon his face, he walked off, followed by Jack, his constant and faithful companion.

CHAPTER IV.

TEACHING JACKY TO SWIM.

"Tell you a story? What shall it be about? I thought you were tired of stories." Granny spoke a trifle drowsily. It was very warm that[Pg 202] September afternoon—an afternoon that made you feel more inclined to sleep than to tell stories.

"Perhaps Miss Baggerley would tell you one," suggested Granny. "I am sure it would be a more interesting one than any I could think of."

"I don't want anyone to tell me a story but you," answered the little tyrant wilfully; "only you, my Granny."

"Then I will, my darling," she replied, plainly gratified at this preference so strongly expressed. "But you must wait a moment," she went on, "I shall have to think."

She closed her eyes as she spoke, and there was silence, broken only by the sounds of the world without carried through the open windows—the lazy hum of the bees amongst the flowers, the gentle, monotonous cooing of the wood-pigeons in the trees, the far-off voices of children at play.

"Why don't you begin, Granny?" he asked, pulling her sleeve as he leant against her knee.

"Let me see," she said with a start; "I had[Pg 203] just thought of a very nice story, but I was trying to recollect the end. I think I remember it now."

"There was once a very beautiful Newfoundland dog," she began hurriedly. "Yes, he was a very beautiful dog indeed."

"How beautiful?" interrupted Chris, with his usual aptitude for asking questions. "As beautiful as Jacky?"

"Then he was a nasty dog," he said, with vehemence. "I don't like a dog what is more beautiful than my Jacky."

"He was such a different kind of dog," she said deprecatingly. "A Newfoundland dog cannot very well be compared with a fox-terrier, my pet."

"What was his name?" asked the little beggar, accepting Granny's explanation and letting the matter pass.

"Rover; that was what he was called," she replied. "His little mistress loved him dearly," she continued.

"Did he belong to a girl?" Chris inquired, with some contempt on the substantive.

"Yes; and they always used to go out for pleasant walks together," she went on. "But never near the river, for she had said many a[Pg 204] time, 'Don't go near the river, my darling, for it is not safe; not for a little girl like you'."

"Who said that?" he asked, speaking with some impatience. "The little girl—or what?"

"You're going to sleep again!" Chris exclaimed reproachfully. "Oh, Granny, how can you tell me a story when you're asleep?"

"Asleep! Oh no, my darling," she said opening her eyes. "Well, one day, I am sorry, very sorry to say, Eliza—"

"Yes," she answered. "Didn't I tell you her name was Eliza? Dear, dear, how forgetful of me! As I was saying, Eliza thought, in spite of her father's and mother's command, she would go to the river, for she wished to pick some of the water-lilies which grew there in such profusion."

"Yes, very naughty; very naughty indeed," agreed Granny, her voice again becoming sleepy. "It was sadly disobedient."

There was another pause, during which Chris listened expectantly, and the old lady once more closed her eyes.[Pg 205]

"She picked several which grew near the river's brink," the old lady continued with an effort, "and at first all went well. But at last she saw a beautiful—a remarkably beautiful one that grew just out of her reach. It was a most dangerous thing to attempt to pick it, but she did not think of that, for she was very, very thoughtless as well as disobedient. Bending forward, heedless of her father's warning call, and her poor dear mother's sorrowful cry, she lost her balance, and—fell—right—into—the—river."

The last few words were uttered in a whisper, Granny's sleepiness having once more overtaken her, bravely as she struggled against it.

"How drefful!" said Chris, with wide-open eyes. "Was poor Eliza drownded? Oh, I hope she wasn't! Did she get out? Oh, say yes, Granny! And where did her father and mother call to her from? Right from the house? 'Cause I thought you said she was alone."

But the only answer to his torrent of questions was a gentle snore. The time he had occupied in pouring forth these queries had sufficed to send Eliza's historian asleep.

"My Granny has gone quite asleep," he remarked with much disappointment. "Now I[Pg 206] shall never know if Eliza was drownded or not. P'r'aps she's only pretending. I'll see if her eyes are fast-shut," he added, preparing to put Granny to the test by lifting one of her eyelids.

"Don't do that, Chris," I said hastily. "Come here, I'll tell you the rest of the story."

"Then what happened to poor Eliza?" he inquired anxiously; "and did Rover help her? Oh! I do hope he did."

"Well," I started, taking up the story at the point at which Granny had dozed off, "when her father and mother—who were near enough to see what had occurred—realized the danger their little daughter was in, they were filled with horror. It seemed as if they were going to see her die before their eyes; for they were so far off that it looked as if it were not possible to get to her before she sunk. And this is just what would have taken place had not help been at hand. Eliza, her water-lilies, and her disobedient, little heart would have sunk to the bottom of the river for ever, had it not been for—what do you think Chris?"

"I know, I know!" he cried, clapping his hands. "It was Rover; the good dog. He swam after her."

"You are right," I said. "There was a plunge,[Pg 207] and there was Rover swimming to the help of his little mistress. For a minute it appeared as if the current was carrying her away, and as if he would not reach her in time. How, then, shall I describe her father and her mother's joy when they saw him succeed in doing so, and, seizing her by the dress, bring her safely to the river's bank! No," as Chris looked at me with inquiring eyes, "she was not hurt; only very wet, and very frightened."

"I 'spect she was very, very frightened," Chris said, loudly and eagerly; "and I 'spect she never, never went near the river again,—never again. Did she?"

"No, my darling," Granny said, awakened by his loud and eager tones in time to hear his last question, and sitting up and rubbing her eyes; "she was never such a naughty little girl again. She expressed great sorrow for what had occurred, and she learnt to be more obedient for the future. Indeed, she became so remarkable for her obedience, my pet, that they always called her by the name of 'the obedient little Eliza'."

"Now nice!" Chris remarked with unction. "You've been fast asleep, my Granny," he informed her, with a laugh—pitying and amused.

"You told it just as it should have been, I am fully convinced," she answered with gentle politeness; "much better than I should have myself."

"He lived to a great age," answered Granny, adjusting her spectacles and resuming her knitting, "and was loved and honoured by all. And when he died he was beautifully stuffed and put into a glass case."

"I wish he hadn't died, my Granny," said the little beggar mournfully, unconsoled by the honour paid to Rover's remains. Then, with a sudden change of thought: "Can Jack swim like he did, I wonder."

"I think I had better teach him," the little beggar said, looking very wise; "'cause if you, or Miss Beggarley, or me, or Briggs felled into the water like Eliza, Jacky could bring us out, and save us from being drownded."

"Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine," murmured Granny, busy counting the stitches on her sock, and too much occupied to pay attention[Pg 209] to what Chris said. "Twenty-nine! Now, how have I gone wrong? Miss Baggerley, my dear, would you be so kind as to see if you can find out my mistake?"

"I know!" exclaimed Chris, as Granny handed me her work; "I know very well what I will do. I'll—," and he stopped short.

"What will you do, my pet?" asked Granny, a little absently, watching me as I put her knitting right.

I felt that it would be safer for the interests of all to probe the matter further, and was about to do so, when there was a tap at the door, and Briggs entered.

Now, generally the little beggar murmured much and loudly when he was interrupted by Briggs. On this occasion, however, he showed no disinclination to go with her, but on the contrary went with alacrity.

"I think he is really becoming fond of her," Granny remarked with some satisfaction when they had gone. "Perhaps, after all, I shall not have to send her away at Christmas, as I feared I should have to if she and Chris did not understand each other better. I shall be very glad if[Pg 210] I can let her stay, for although she has an unsympathetic manner—yes, I must say that she strikes me as being extremely unsympathetic to the darling at times; don't you think so, my dear?—yet I know that she is thoroughly reliable and trustworthy."

"I wonder if Chris's readiness to go with her had anything to do with his 'surprise'," I answered. "It looks to me a little suspicious, I must own. I hope he has not any mischievous idea in his little head."

"Oh, no, my dear!" she replied, almost reproachfully; "the darling is as good as gold. There never was a better child when he likes. No, no, he is not at all inclined to be troublesome to-day; I think you are mistaken."

I kept silence, for I saw that dear old Granny was not altogether pleased at my suggestion. Nevertheless, in spite of her reassuring words, I did not feel convinced that the little beggar was not going to give us some fresh proof of his remarkable powers for getting into mischief. And further events justified my fears.

About half an hour later I was taking a stroll in the garden, when, turning my steps in the direction of the pond, I suddenly came upon Chris, accompanied by Briggs. That something was amiss was at once evident. Briggs was[Pg 211] walking along, with her air of greatest dignity—and that, I assure you, was very great indeed,—whilst Chris, by her side, was also making his little attempt at being dignified.

Dripping from head to foot, water running in little rivulets from his large straw hat upon his face, water dripping from his clothes soaked through and through, and making little pools on the garden-path as he pursued his way—a more forlorn, miserable-looking little object it was impossible to conceive.

In spite of this, however, he would not let go of that attempt at dignity. With his hands in his pockets, and his head thrown back, he whistled as he walked along, with the most defiant expression he could assume upon that naughty little face of his.

And the procession was brought up by Jack, with his tail between his legs, also dripping and shivering violently.

Directly Chris saw me the defiant expression instantly vanished, and running to me, he buried his face in my dress and wept at the top of his voice.

"What is the matter, Chris?" I asked. "What has happened? What have you been doing?"

"What hasn't happened, and what hasn't he[Pg 212] been doing?" said Briggs, coming up and speaking very angrily. "And what will happen next? That's what I ask."

"One of Master Chris's tricks again, that's all," she said, still angrily, as we all walked on to the house.

"I was—teach-teach—teaching J-J-Jack to—to swim—like Ro-Ro—Rover," the little beggar said between violent sobs, and bringing out the last word with a great gasp.

"Yes," exclaimed Briggs, with much sarcasm; "and it was a mighty clever thing for Master Chris to do, seeing as how he can't swim himself.

"It was just like this, mum," she explained, as she hastened her steps, "(I think we had better hurry a bit if Master Chris isn't to take his death of cold. He'll be in bed to-morrow unless I'm much mistaken!) I was just speaking to one of the gardeners about a pot of musk we wanted in the nursery. I hadn't turned my back two minutes before I hear a splash and Master Chris crying out at the top of his voice, and when I look around there he is struggling nearly up to his neck in water, and Jacky struggling along by his side. Well, here we are back; we'll see[Pg 213] what my mistress thinks of it all. I'll be bound she won't be over and above pleased. As for me, I can only say I am more than thankful it was at the shallow part of the pond; if it had been at the deep end, there's no saying if he wouldn't have been lying there now stiff and stark."

At this woeful picture of himself, Chris's grief, which had become slightly subdued, burst forth afresh, and as we entered the hall he sobbed more loudly and more violently than before. So loudly and so violently that the sound of his grief penetrated to the library where Granny was sitting, and brought her out into the hall, frightened and anxious to know what was wrong.

"He nearly drowned himself, that's what is the matter, mum," answered Briggs, with a certain gloomy satisfaction, in reply to the old lady's anxious questions. "It's nothing but a chance he isn't at the bottom of the deepest end of the pond at this very same minute that I speak to you!"

At this startling, not to say overwhelming statement, Granny became quite white, and, holding on to a chair near at hand, did not speak.

"There is nothing for you to alarm yourself about, Mrs. Wyndham," I said quietly.—"Chris, stop crying; you are frightening Granny.—He managed to fall into the pond, trying to teach Jack to swim, but it was at the shallow end, so there was no danger."[Pg 214]

"Thank God!" she said earnestly, as she kissed the little beggar thankfully, all wet and tear-stained as he was.

Then, with an attempt to control her emotion, but speaking in a voice that trembled in spite of herself:

"Come, come," she said to Briggs, "we must not waste time in talking. We must put Master Chris to bed at once, and get him warm. See how he shivers. Yes, come upstairs at once, my darling, and I will hear all about it by and by."

And, together with Briggs and the cause of all the confusion, she went upstairs to take precautions for the prevention of the ill consequences likely to follow upon his rash deed. It was some time before she came downstairs again, and when she did so she looked worried.

"I am afraid, very much afraid, he has caught a chill," she remarked. "He so easily does that."

"I wish I could think so," she replied, shaking her head; "but I much fear that it cannot be altogether prevented. He is not strong, you see, my dear."

"And to think," she went on admiringly; "to think the darling ran that risk all because of his[Pg 215] loving little heart; because he feared that some day we might be in danger of being drowned, and that if Jack could swim we should be rescued. Isn't it just like the pet to think of it?"

"It is," I agreed with conviction; adding cautiously, "It would have been better, I think, if he had told you of his idea before trying to put it into effect. It would have given everyone less trouble."

"He wished to surprise us all by showing us he had by himself taught Jack to swim," Granny returned, quick to defend her darling. "No, no, I see how it happened; he was thoughtless but not naughty. Indeed, I take what blame there is to myself. I should have considered, before I told him the story of Eliza and her dog Rover, the effect it was likely to have upon an active, quick little brain like his."

I smiled. It was quite plain that dear old Granny in her loving way wished to take all the blame upon her own willing shoulders, and to spare that incorrigible little beggar....

It was some three days after this, and I was sitting in the nursery by Chris's crib, trying to amuse him and wile away the time until Briggs came back with the lamp, when it would be the hour for him to say good-night and go to sleep. The bright September afternoon was drawing to a close, and twilight was beginning to fall.[Pg 216]

In spite of all Granny's precautions he had not escaped from the consequences of his tumble into the pond, but had caught a severe chill, and so had had to stay in bed for these last three days. He was very sweet and gentle in his weakness, that poor little beggar; partly, I think, because he felt too tired to be mischievous, and also, I am glad to say, because he loved his Granny very dearly and was truly sorry for the fright he had given her. I had been telling him stories for the last half-hour, but having now come to the end of my resources, for the moment we were quiet.

With his hand in mine, Chris lay looking out through the window at the stars as they came out slowly, slowly in the gathering darkness.

"Yes, they are," I replied. "They are like the great and loving deeds of God, falling in a bright shower from heaven upon the earth beneath."

"When I go to heaven, will God give me some stars if I ask Him very much?" Chris inquired, most seriously. "P'r'aps if I ask Him every day in my prayers till I'm dead He will then."[Pg 217]

"No, darling," I said, smoothing his hair gently; "the stars are not the little things they seem to you. You see, they are worlds like our world. It is only because they are such thousands and thousands of miles away that they look to you so small."

"Miss Beggarley, I want to ask you, when the good man got to the top of the hill, did he see that the stars were big worlds and not little, tiny things?"

"Yes," I replied, half to him, half to myself; "he saw then that those things which, at the foot of the hill, had seemed to him so small and so far away he had given them but little consideration, were in reality great, and beautiful, and worlds in their importance. And he saw, too, that the things which in the valley beneath had appeared to him of such infinite value were by comparison poor and valueless, not worthy the thought he had given them or the pain they had so often caused him...."

"I must go now," I said to Chris, kissing him. "It is time for you to sleep. Good-night, dear!"

"Good-night!" he said, then turned his head[Pg 218] towards the window and lay still, gazing solemnly with big, sleepy eyes at the stars that shone without.

CHAPTER V.

THE DOCTOR'S HEAD!

As Chris regained his strength he also regained his love of mischief—a state of affairs that proved somewhat trying. To keep him in bed and to keep him good was not a very easy task.

"The trouble it is, mum, words can't tell," Briggs said to me with fervour one evening when I had come upstairs to see that Chris was comfortably settled for the night. "If I turn my back for a moment he is half out of bed," she said, as she detained me for a moment as I went through the day-nursery. "He is that full of mischief I hardly know what to do with him."

"I've had bad enough nights lately to make me so," she replied. "Master Chris—he is always waking up and coughing and coughing till I'm nearly driven wild. It's my belief it's the barley-sugar has got something to do with it. Ever since the doctor said some had better be given to him when he got coughing it seems to me his cough has got a deal worse."

"Why don't you put a little by his crib?" I suggested; "then he needn't wake you up when he wants it."

"I did try that last night," she answered, "but by the time I went to bed myself he had eaten it all up, and there wasn't a scrap of it left."

"I think so too," she replied. "It was only yesterday I said so to Dr. Saunders, but he didn't seem to think the same.

"I don't altogether hold with him," she continued, with a return of her usual dignified manner; "and so I told my mistress this morning. He is over-careful, and I've no belief in these medical gentlemen who are given that way. When he comes to-morrow—There, if I didn't forget!" she interrupted herself to exclaim.

"My mistress asked me in particular to remind[Pg 220] the doctor that he said Master Chris would be the better of a tonic, but he had forgotten to leave the prescription," she answered. "I never thought of it this morning when he was here."

"Which is the very thing I'll do," she assented. "I'll write it down now on Master Chris's slate whilst it is in my mind. It's the only way to remember things, I do believe.

"Though it is my opinion, mum," she added, as she carried out her intention; "though it's my opinion a physician should not need reminding of such things. But there! he is always forgetting something. He has no head! I should like to know where it is sometimes, for it isn't always on his shoulders, I'll be bound!"

"How can the doctor's head not be on his shoulders?" asked a puzzled little voice. "'Cause he'd be quite dead if he had no head."

At this unexpected interruption Briggs and I looked in the direction whence the voice proceeded, and saw a little figure standing on the threshold of the door that led into the night-nursery. A little figure, in a long white nightgown, with tumbled, golden hair falling about the flushed little face, and two great violet eyes shining like stars, and dancing with mischief and glee.

I confess I felt a weak desire to take that[Pg 221] naughty but bewitching little beggar in my arms, and kiss him in spite of all his sins. But Briggs experienced no such weakness.

"Master Chris!" she exclaimed in horrified amazement; "what next, I should like to know? This is past everything."

Then snatching him up in her arms, she carried him back to bed, struggling and vehemently protesting at being treated in so summary and undignified a fashion.

As for me, I presently went downstairs laughing, with the sound of Chris's voice still ringing in my ears:

"Put me down, Briggs. I will be a good boy. I don't want to be carried like a baby." Then with his usual persistency: "But I want to know—why do you say that the doctor sometimes has no head on his shoulders, 'cause how could he live without a head?" Then again, in the most insinuating of voices: "Shall I tell the doctor about the medicine he forgot, and shall I write down all the things you want to know, and all the things I want to know, and everything. Would I be a good boy if I did? I want some barley-sugar, 'cause my cough's drefful bad."

"Chris is certainly recovering," I said to Granny when I joined her in the drawing-room, and told her what had occurred. "He is quite in his usual spirits again."[Pg 222]

"His is a happy disposition, is it not?" she said, with satisfaction. "The child is like a sunbeam in the house; so merry, so bright!"

The next morning, however, the sunbeam was comparatively still; not dancing, gay, and restless, as sunbeams often are.

The little beggar was in one of his quiet moods—moods of rare occurrence with him, as you will have gathered.

"The darling is like a lamb," Granny remarked when she came downstairs; "very gentle and so good. He wants you to go and sit with him a little, if you are not busy, my dear."

"Certainly," I said, and went up to the nursery to see Chris in this edifying rôle.

I found him busy, drawing strange hieroglyphics on a large sheet of foolscap paper with a red-lead pencil. As I entered he looked up at me for a moment with a preoccupied expression, then said mysteriously:

"No, no, no!" he cried, bending over the paper, "you mustn't see. I don't want you to know."

"I've done now," he remarked a few minutes later, sitting up and putting the sheet of foolscap and the red-lead pencil under his pillow. "When I get better will you play horses with me? You said you would, and you never have."

"That is very wrong of me," I answered. "Yes, I will play with you when you are better."

Yes, it was the doctor. I could hear him and Granny talking as they walked along the passage; Granny on her favourite topic—the virtues of her darling.

"Yes," she was saying, in answer to some observation of her companion's, "he really shows a great deal of character for one so young. But[Pg 224] he has done that from the earliest, from the very earliest age. When he was a baby of but a few weeks old, he would clutch hold of his bottle with such resolution, such tenacity, that it was, I assure you, a difficult matter to take it from him."

"Quite so, quite so," the doctor answered blandly as they entered; "as you say, great tenacity of purpose.

"Well," I heard him continue, after having passed through the day-nursery to the one beyond; "well, and how are we to-day?"

"Quite well? We couldn't be better, could we?" he said jocularly. "Yes, I think we are looking so much better we may get up to-day, and go for a walk in the sun to-morrow. What do you say, Master Chris?"

"Very well," replied the doctor good-naturedly, "let us hear it;" at which point curiosity prompted me to go to the door of the night-nursery and look in.

Chris was in the act of drawing, with no little pomp, the large sheet of foolscap from beneath his pillow.

"Read it," he said, handing it to the doctor with pride. "I've printed it all myself."[Pg 225]

"All right!" answered Chris. "It's all questions I want to ask you. I've written them down in case I forget them."

I here saw Briggs glance up uneasily, and was myself conscious of some feeling of disquietude. Could Chris's questions have anything to do with Briggs' remarks of the previous evening? A recollection came back to me which, till that moment, had slipped from my mind. Had not I heard a suggestion made by a naughty, struggling little mortal being carried back to bed against his will? "Shall I write down all the things you want to know, and all the things I want to know, and everything?"

A presentiment of coming confusion came upon me, and I half stepped forward to try and stop Chris going further in his proposed catechism. But I was too late; he started without delay.

"May I have sugar-candy for my cough instead of barley-sugar, 'cause I've eaten so much barley-sugar?" he began pompously.

"Certainly," replied the doctor laughing; "we won't make any difficulty about that."

I gave an involuntary sigh of relief at hearing so harmless a question, whilst Briggs looked less anxious, and Granny smiled.[Pg 226]

"Shall I be well enough to run my hoop to-morrow?" he went on, loudly and slowly, pretending to read from the sheet of foolscap he held. "I have a new one, and I'm tired of not running it," he added.

"Very well, we'll see," the doctor answered. "If the sun is out I daresay we shall be able to run our hoop a little bit to-morrow. But we must be careful not to over-tire ourselves. Anything more, my little man?"

"Yes. Why did you forget to leave the 'scription for my tonic yesterday?" continued Chris. "And will you remember it to-day?"

The doctor laughed, but with some constraint. Briggs looked up anxiously, and the smile vanished from Granny's face.

"What! Are we so fond of medicine?" the doctor asked, trying to speak as before, but unable to prevent a touch of annoyance being heard in his voice. "Little boys don't generally care for it so much. Yes, I will leave the prescription to-day."

"There, there, that will do," interposed Granny nervously, moving towards the door.

"But there is one other question I want to ask very much," Chris said, again feigning to refer to his paper.

"Yes?" said the doctor inquiringly, pausing in his progress towards the door.[Pg 227]

"What do you do with your head when it isn't on your shoulders?" he asked, with the innocent expression always to be seen upon his face when he was creating the greatest awkwardness.

At this question Briggs became scarlet, looked as if she were about to speak, then appeared to alter her mind, and, turning her back, busied herself arranging the medicine-bottles on a little table near the crib. The doctor himself appeared more bewildered than anything else.

"Well, that was what I thought," Chris said, triumphantly. "I said you'd be dead if your head was off your shoulders."

"I should have concluded that everyone must have been of the same opinion," he said, still mystified, whilst Granny shook her head gently, and frowned at the little beggar, hoping to prevent any further discussion of the subject. A futile hope. Chris was resolved to go to the bottom of the matter.

The doctor's expression of mystification changed to one of annoyance, as he remarked with no little displeasure:

"I think you had better ask Briggs herself for[Pg 228] an explanation of her remark," then left, accompanied by Granny—poor Granny, awkward and mortified beyond measure at the embarrassing situation.

As for Briggs—who had certainly been the principal sufferer—her indignation burst out as soon as we saw the last of the doctor.

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed indignantly. Then with increased wrath, "Well, I never did!" After which two exclamations she paused to find suitable words in which to condemn the enormities of which Chris had been guilty.

For his part, he was not in the least disturbed by the general embarrassment—the only one who was not.

"Have you been naughty, Master Chris?" she asked, with wrathful sarcasm. "Oh, no! there never was such a well-behaved young gentleman."

"Surely, Chris," I said, coming into the night-nursery, "you knew that you had no business to repeat to Dr. Saunders what Briggs said to me?"

"I wanted him to 'member about the tonic," he replied; "and I did want to know what Briggs[Pg 229] meant about his head coming off his shoulders. Wasn't I a good boy?"

He received his answer, however, from Granny, who returned at this moment, a bright spot glowing in each of her faded, pink cheeks.

"My Chris!" she said, "my darling! What foolish thought made you ask such questions?"

Chris wrinkled his brows. "I want to be a very good boy and please you," he said querulously, and with a tremble in his voice; "and now Briggs scolds me, and now you scold me, and now I'm very unhappy."

"But don't you see, my pet," Granny said, more calmly; "don't you see what rude questions you asked Dr. Saunders? Oh, I felt ashamed of my little Chris!"

"I shall stay down here," said a muffled voice. "I shall stay here always and never come back again, as my Granny is so unkind."

"But you must see," she reiterated, addressing a shapeless mass of bed-clothes, "that you asked the kind doctor very naughty questions, and very silly ones too. Did you not understand when Briggs said that he had no head, she meant that he had a bad memory, my child? Did you not understand that? And did you not think how insulting, how very insulting it was to ask him[Pg 230] such a question? And about the tonic too. Surely, my darling, if you had thought you must have seen that. And, especially, how wrong it was to repeat what you overheard. Does not my pet see what his Granny means?"

"As for me," put in Briggs with dignity, "I felt as if I was going to sink through the floor, I was that ashamed!"

"Yes, yes, and so were we all," agreed Granny. "Indeed, had not my Chris been ill, I should have felt obliged to punish him for his thoughtlessness. But he is sorry now; that Granny feels sure of. Is he not?"

There was an expectant pause, but no answer from the little beggar buried beneath the bed-clothes.

"Well, Chris, we have no time to waste with naughty little boys," I said, "so we are going downstairs. But I am surprised that you should treat your Granny so; I thought you loved her."

But ere we reached the door the shamefaced but slightly defiant little beggar cried out:

At the sound she turned back with a radiant smile, and saw with delight two little arms stretched out to her appealingly, and two large tears trickling down a penitent little face.

"There, there! we will say no more," she exclaimed, forgivingly; "for you are sorry, my pet, are you not?"

"Very, very sorry," said the little beggar with contrition; "and very hot, dreffully hot; and I won't ask the nasty doctor nothing ever again."

"Not the 'nasty' doctor; the nice, kind doctor who has made little Chris well again," she corrected gently. "And you are going to be a good little boy now, darling?"

"A very good boy; as good as Uncle Godfrey," Chris said brightening up, as he saw that he was to be blamed no more.

"I'm so glad," she continued to me as we went downstairs, "that he came round, and was good in the end. But I knew he would. Sulkiness is not one of his faults; no, no, nobody could say that.

"I suppose," she went on a little uneasily, "Godfrey would tell me that I ought to have been[Pg 232] more severe with the child. 'You've let the little beggar off too easily, mother,'—that's what he would say. But between ourselves, my dear, I sometimes think that officers in the army are accustomed to such obedience, such implicit obedience, that they are at times inclined to carry their love of discipline too far. Don't you agree with me? Not that Godfrey is a martinet! Oh, no! he is far from that; such a favourite, so beloved by the men under his command. But you understand what I mean, do you not?

"However," she concluded, with a certain relief, and as a salve to her conscience in the shape of her son Godfrey's opinion, "now I think of it, I did tell the poor darling that if he had not been ill I should have felt obliged to punish him. Of course, so I did. That will serve as a warning to him in the future; won't it, my dear?"

CHAPTER VI.

A PASTE-MAN AND A PAINT-BOX.

"I can't, my pet; I can't tell you a story to-day," said, or rather whispered, Granny huskily. "I have such a bad cold I can hardly speak."[Pg 233]

"Are you very ill, my Granny?" he inquired very seriously, and sinking his voice to the sympathizing whisper which seemed to him to befit the occasion.

"Not very ill, darling," she whispered again with an effort; "only a very bad cold.

"I am quite losing my voice," she added to me, shaking her head. "Most trying, my dear."

"How drefful!" exclaimed Chris with sympathy, and still speaking in a whisper. "What a drefful thing!"

"I have a good piece of news for you, my Chris," she whispered, with another effort. "Someone is coming home—to-day—this very afternoon—that you and I shall be—very, very—glad to see. Who do you think it is?"

"I know, I know!" he cried, jumping about and clapping his hands, in the excess of his joy forgetting to whisper, and putting to their full use his well-developed little lungs. "I know!" he repeated. "It's my Uncle Godfrey. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"

Granny nodded, and held up a telegram. "I've just had this," she said, with an attempt to regain[Pg 234] her natural tone, which ended in an almost inaudible whisper, and her voice going away completely. "Few nights ... way to London.... Isn't ... treat ... pet?" she whispered brokenly. "Must be ... quiet ... tired."

"Yes," I put in, taking upon myself to act as interpreter; "Granny is very tired, Chris; so if you stay here, you must be quiet."

"Did I make a noise and tire my Granny, and was I a naughty boy?" he asked penitently, becoming very subdued in voice and manner.

Thus reassured, the little beggar looked relieved; then, with a glance of deepest sympathy at his Granny, he ran out of the room as if struck by a sudden thought.

In a few moments he returned, carrying something carefully wrapped up in his pinafore. Then, going up to her, he drew out a piece of paste bearing some rude resemblance to a man, and laid it with triumph on her lap.

"My Granny," he whispered proudly, "see what I have brought you. Cook gave it to me for my tea, and I'm going to give it to you, and you may eat it all up; every bit. P'r'aps it will make you feel happy, as you have a cold."[Pg 235]

Granny opened her eyes slowly and languidly, but seeing the paste figure, she sat straight up in her chair, with an expression of the strongest disapprobation.

She opened her mouth and endeavoured to speak, but this time without success; she could not make herself heard. She rose, therefore, and going to the writing-desk, took a sheet of note-paper, and, in a neat, old-fashioned, Italian hand, wrote the following reply, which she placed in my hand, signing to me to read aloud:

"My darling, this is a most unwholesome and indigestible thing. It would not make either my Chris or his Granny happy to eat it, but would probably make them both ill. I am much surprised that Mrs. James should have given it to you; she should have known better. You may, instead, have some of the sponge-cake we had at lunch, but I cannot permit my pet to eat this paste, nor can I eat it myself. But he will understand how much Granny appreciates his kind thought."

Chris listened to this long message attentively and without interruption, for there was a solemnity about the proceeding that much impressed him. When I had finished reading it, he regarded the object of Granny's displeasure with suspicion, mingled with awe; then remarked in a solemn and stage whisper, and in the manner of[Pg 236] one bringing a grave charge against his poor, misguided friend:

"Cook called it 'Master Chris's little friend'. That's what she called it, my Granny."

By her expression, it was plain to see that she would have liked to say more had she been in full possession of her voice. Failing that, however, she was obliged to content herself with "Tut, tut!" and a gentle frown.

"Come, Chris," I said laughing, "we'll leave Granny in peace now and go and play in the library, or I will tell you a story. Take your 'friend', the man of paste, with you, and see if Jack would like to eat him."

"What shall we do?" asked Chris, slipping his hand into mine as we left the drawing-room.

"No, thank you; I don't want a story now, I think," he answered, with some caprice. He thought a moment or two, then exclaimed: "I know! we'll paint. I'll get the new paint-box Granny has given me, and a picture-paper, and we'll make lovely pictures."

"Very well," I said, not dissatisfied with this arrangement, which I hoped would only require on my part advice from time to time, or admiration, as required.[Pg 237]

Taking a book, therefore, I sat down in an easy-chair near the writing-table, where Chris, having fetched his paint-box, settled himself, labouring for a time silently and earnestly at his paintings.

"Then, you see, I could call him 'Black Prince'," he went on. "I couldn't call him 'Black Prince' if I made him brown, could I? I'd have to call him 'Brown Prince'. Have you ever heard of a horse called 'Brown Prince'?"

"It is a funny name, isn't it?" he said laughing, as he continued his work. "Brown Prince!"

"Very," I said shortly, interested in my story, and not inclined to encourage conversation.

I laughed. It was, after all, a futile hope to continue reading under the circumstances. Still, it was Chris's time with Granny and me, when he exacted as his right an unlimited amount of attention, so I resigned myself.[Pg 238]

"You're laughing at me," he said, in an aggrieved voice, "and I don't like you to laugh."

"I won't any more, dear," I said, composing my countenance to a becoming expression of gravity. "If I were you, I should paint the moon pale blue. How would that do?"

"Loverly," answered the little beggar in a mollified voice, and for a moment or two there was again silence.

Then, however, I heard something like a whimper, and looking up I saw Chris's great eyes fixed on me tearfully.

"Will my Granny never, never be able to speak again?" he asked, digging his knuckles into his eyes. "Will she always be never able to talk?"

"Why, no, dear," I answered cheerfully. "In a day or two she will be able to talk again as well as ever."

"Said what?" I asked, puzzled. "Oh," I added, enlightened, "you mean when she said she was[Pg 239] losing her voice! But she only meant for a little while. She did not intend to say she was losing it for ever. It is only because she has caught a bad cold. When her cold is better she will be able to speak again."

"Are you quite, quite sure?" he asked, anxiously, but relieved at my explanation.

His mind thus at ease, he returned once more to his painting and worked contentedly for another five minutes, at the end of which time his restless spirit reasserted itself.

"Now, what shall we do?" he asked, throwing down his brush and yawning. "Will you play at horses? You said you would."

"Oh, Briggs, what do you want?" Chris asked discontentedly, as at this point that worthy woman made her appearance.

"You are to come and put on your velvet suit against Mr. Wyndham comes," she announced staidly.

"I don't want to put on my velvet clothes," he replied rebelliously, annoyed at being thus disturbed. "They're nasty, horrid things."

"It isn't like a big man to wear a velvet suit,[Pg 240] it's like a baby," he went on, grumblingly. "Uncle Godfrey doesn't wear velvet clothes, and why should I?"

"Don't you grumble at your velvet suit, Master Chris," Briggs said in a warning tone. "You may come to want it some day. There's many a little boy in the gutter as would be glad and proud to own it."

"Then I wish you would give it to the little boys in the gutters," the little beggar answered wilfully. "I shall ask my Granny to give it to them, 'cause I hate it. And I'm going to play at horses; aren't I, Miss Beggarley?"

He glanced at me inquiringly to see if there was no chance of my relenting, but I preserved a severe and resolute expression—in spite of a distinct inclination to smile,—seeing which he left with laggard step to don the despised suit.

When, later, he returned in that same suit—in the dark-blue knickerbockers and coat, the large Vandyke collar of cream lace, and the little white satin vest,—I really thought that he looked the sweetest little picture in the world!

He had, indeed, such an extremely clean, well-brushed,[Pg 241] and altogether spotless appearance, that I hesitated about the promised game of horses, fearing to spoil the result of Briggs' work, before that all-important event—the arrival of Uncle Godfrey.

"Shall we play something else?" I suggested. "I'm afraid if we play horses you will get untidy."

"I know," he added, with a look of intelligence. "I won't be a horse; I'll be the driver, and you shall be a lame horse. Then the game will be such a quiet game."

"Very well," I replied, weakly yielding to his wishes, as most people had a habit of doing. And a minute later I was running round the library in a fashion most undignified for a lady of middle-age, becoming at the same time hotter and more breathless than was altogether comfortable. Consequently I slackened my pace, and found it more to my mind. For, when a good many years have passed since you indulged in the habit of playing horses, you find it more expedient to take for your model the slow and conscientious cab-horse rather than the swift and brilliant racer.

"Gee-up, Charlie!" he cried, excitedly. "That's[Pg 242] your name, you know. Gee-up! why are you going so slowly?"

"What shall we do?" he said, perplexed. "I don't like a horse what won't go fast.

"Oh," he said, his face clearing. "Why, it's time for you to go lame. Poor Charlie! poor thing! what's the matter?

"You've got a stone in your foot," he explained in an aside, "and you must jog up and down as if you're lame."

"Must I?" I said, and obediently followed the directions with a patience truly praiseworthy, jogging laboriously up and down, whilst the little beggar followed in my wake, highly delighted, and giving vent as he did so to many loud and excited ejaculations.

"The road is very, very slippery," he said; "'cause it's been snowing. You must slip right down and break your leg."

"I'll slip into an arm-chair," I said, glancing at the comfortable one I had just quitted.

"No, horses don't slip into arm-chairs; there aren't no arm-chairs for them in the road," he objected.

"I can't help that," I answered, taking a stand. "My bones are too old to risk breaking them.[Pg 243] I don't mind my leg being broken in fancy, but I do mind its being broken in reality."

"How shall everyone know, then, that it is broken?" he asked, discontentedly. "It won't look a bit as if it is broken if you fall into an arm-chair."

"This horse does, very loud indeed," I said. "Come, we'll go once more round the room, and then I'll break my leg and show you how beautifully I can groan."

"All right!" said the little beggar, conceding the point, and away we started once more.

"Gee-up, Charlie!" he cried; "gee-up, good horse! Now then!" as we approached the arm-chair; "now then, now then, it's time for you to break your leg. Quick, quick!"

"All right!" I said, and with the most heartrending groan I could produce, I sank—carefully—into the chair. At the same moment the door opened, and a stranger to me entered the room—a tall and soldier-like-looking young man. Even in the dimness of the twilight I could see a strong enough resemblance to the little beggar to tell me who he was without his delighted scream of "Uncle Godfrey! Uncle Godfrey!" as he ran and clasped him round the knees.[Pg 244]

"I fear you are ill. Shall I send for my mother's maid?" he asked with polite sympathy.

"Why, no; she isn't; she isn't a bit ill!" cried the little beggar delightedly, with peals of derisive laughter, as he jumped about and clapped his hands. "She's only a poor, old, lame horse, what has just fallen down and broken his leg...."

CHAPTER VII.

CHRIS AND HIS UNCLE.

If ever there was a case of hero-worship it was the worship by Chris of his uncle. To the little beggar, Uncle Godfrey was the ideal of all that was most manly, most noble, most heroic. To emulate him in every way was his most ardent desire, and with this end in view he imitated him whenever possible, to the smallest details.

When Uncle Godfrey was at home in the autumn, Chris's diminutive toy-gun was, without fail, brought down to the gun-case in the hall, where it lay in company with the more imposing weapons of his uncle. And when these were[Pg 245] cleaned, it was an understood thing that the toy-gun must be cleaned likewise. To have omitted to do this would have drawn down upon the offender the little beggar's deepest indignation.

I believe, too, that it was a real grief of heart to him that he was not allowed to go out with his uncle in the autumn, and try the effect of that same toy-gun upon the pheasants. He had often pleaded hard to be permitted do so, having, I imagine, glorious visions of the bags they would make between them; and the refusal of his request had been the cause of many tears in the nursery. Not before his uncle! No, if there was one thing more than another that troubled him, it was the fear of looking like a baby in his uncle's presence. Uncle Godfrey might tease him as much as he pleased,—and he was undeniably talented in this respect,—but, close as were the tears to his eyes at other times, before his hero Chris would never let them fall if he could help it.

Sometimes, when in the swing of a game, his uncle Godfrey was unintentionally a little rough in word or deed, the little beggar, it is true, would flush—crimsoning up to the roots of his fair hair. His voice would falter, too, as if the tears were not far off, but he would struggle manfully with them, and, as soon as he had recovered, return again to the attack with fresh vigour. Indeed, so[Pg 246] great was his devotion to him, that he was never so happy as when by his side, and with Chris in his vicinity, Uncle Godfrey found it a matter of no little difficulty to give his attention elsewhere. This was observable one morning when he was endeavouring to write his letters and enjoy a smoke in peace—a state of affairs by no means to the little beggar's mind.

Drawing near, Chris took up his position straight in front of him, and stared steadily at him without speaking. Presently Uncle Godfrey looked up, and, meeting Chris's stedfast gaze, stared back in silence.

"I'm a policeman," at last remarked Chris, with a strenuous effort to assume the manly tones of his uncle; his usual habit when talking to him.

"Are you?" replied Uncle Godfrey, leaning back in his chair and giving him a little kick. "Then be off, it's time you were on your beat."

"But you're a bad, wicked robber, and I've come to take you to prison," persisted Chris.

"Get along," said the writer laconically, blowing the smoke of his cigarette into the face of the policeman, and returning to his letters.

"I'm going to be a soldier like you, and smoke pipes and cigarettes, and everything like you, Uncle Godfrey," he remarked. "When may I be a soldier?"[Pg 247]

"Not yet," was the reply. "We take them young, but they have to be out of the nursery, my boy."

"But a man, a real soldier, said if I came to him, he would make me a soldier," announced the little beggar.

"A man what is staying in Marston, with his father and his mother and his brothers and his sisters," explained Chris. "A very tall, big man—as tall as you; and he finds soldiers for the Queen, he told me."

"Oh, a recruiting-sergeant!" Uncle Godfrey said. "How did you come to speak to him?"

"I saw him when I was standing outside the shop when Briggs was buying some buns for tea, and when I asked him if he knowed you," said Chris, all in a breath. "He had on such loverly clothes! Do you think if I go to him he will make me a soldier for the Queen?" he asked.

"Of course," his uncle replied. "But I'll tell you what, you had better learn to hold your gun properly, and not as you did the other day. If you don't, you'll end by shooting the sergeant, and being put in 'chokee'."[Pg 248]

"Oh, prison! You'll be put into a cell, and have nothing to eat but bread and cold water."

"Then go and get that little gun I bought you, and I'll show you how to hold it as you should."

"Now, look here," said Uncle Godfrey, when Chris returned with the gun, "didn't I tell you that it was very dangerous to hold a gun like that? It's not sportsmanlike either. Do you hear?"

He spoke with some severity, for he was a young man who was very thorough in all he did, whether work or play, and would tolerate no carelessness.

"Not sports-man-like!" echoed Chris slowly, trying hard with his child's voice to imitate Uncle Godfrey's manly tone.

"Then, as you hear, remember," his uncle said, authoritatively. "Now, rest the gun against your right shoulder—you young duffer, that's your left shoulder; I said your right. Shut your left eye, and aim at my hand."

"Now, fire!... Not bad, only you should keep your arm steadier. It wobbled about too much."

"Only in the legs," added Chris, "'cause it would be unkind to kill them really, wouldn't it? But I may shoot their legs, so that they can be caught, and can't run away; mayn't I?"

"As much as you like, I say, with that gun," his uncle replied, as he resumed his neglected correspondence.

"Granny," he went on eagerly as he entered the hall, "I'm going to shoot some wicked men. Uncle Godfrey says I may."

"My darling!" Granny exclaimed, somewhat dismayed at this bloodthirsty ambition. "But you should not wish to hurt anyone; no, no one at all."

"Only wicked men, and only in the legs, so they couldn't run away from the people who catched them," he said comfortingly. "And I'm going to do it with this gun Uncle Godfrey gave[Pg 250] me. Isn't it a beufferfull gun?" he went on proudly.

"Yes, yes, I saw it," she answered, taking it out of his hands. "A very nice little gun indeed, my pet."

"Why what is the matter?" asked the old lady starting, and in her alarm almost dropping the gun as she spoke. "What is it?" she repeated in a flurried manner, turning round vaguely as she spoke.

"You mustn't hold the gun like that, my Granny," Chris said more calmly, but still gravely; "it's very dan-ger-rus, and it's not sport-man-like."

"Well, I want somebody to play with me," he said inconsequently, as he returned to his Uncle's side. "I want someone to play with me very badly."

"I can't," said Uncle Godfrey, in his usual decided manner. "I have to finish my letters."

"Then, Miss Beggarley," he asked, with the air of one making the best of an unpromising state of affairs, "will you tell me a story?"[Pg 251]

"Not now, dear," I answered. "I am just turning the heel of this sock, and I can't think of that and a story too."

"Not even Miss Beggarley can tell me a story!" said Chris, sitting down, with a disconsolate expression, beside Jacky on the hearth-rug.

Chris, looking disappointed and injured, gave Jacky an irritable push, which resulted in an angry growl.

There was a deep sigh from the little beggar. "No one plays with me now," he said mournfully, "and Jacky growls. Naughty Jacky; I don't love you."

"Naughty Chris; it's time for you to go back to the nursery," remarked Uncle Godfrey half-smiling.

"Yes, my Chris; a few lessons, or a nice walk," Granny said, persuasively. "Now, go, like my little pet."

In spite, however, of her gentle persuasions, Chris looked as if he would like to protest, had he not lacked the courage to do so in the presence of Uncle Godfrey. It was, therefore, slowly and unwillingly that he went up the first flight of stairs, then sat on the landing and looked at the back of Uncle Godfrey's head as he bent over his writing.[Pg 252]

"Yes, I'm gone," answered the little beggar half-defiantly, half-nervously, as he rose hastily from the landing and continued his upward progress.

"I want to know," she said, the sound of her voice coming nearer; "I want to know if you can tell me where your hats are? It's time for you to go out, and I've hunted for them everywhere, but not one can I find."

"Why, they're down there," Chris was heard to say in an aggrieved voice, and as if she were asking a most unnecessary question. "They're all down there."

"Why, on the table near the door, with Uncle Godfrey's hats," he answered. "I'm always going to keep my hats there now," he added. "It's only babies what has their hats in the nursery."

"Well, if this doesn't pass everything!" she was heard to exclaim angrily. "And to think of me hunting for those very same hats for the[Pg 253] last quarter of an hour till I'm that tired. Your tricks, Master Chris, are beyond bearing. You'll please come down with me this minute and fetch those very same hats."

"I shall put them all back when we come home," Chris remarked rebelliously, as he began to walk downstairs in company with the irate Briggs.

"We'll see what we'll see,—and you'll see. That's all I say," she answered with some loftiness. "I have no mind to have things put out of their proper place, and me have all this trouble given me."

After which oracular speech, and because she was approaching the last flight of stairs leading into the hall, she reserved all further expressions of indignation till she and Chris were once more on the familiar ground of the nursery.

As for the little beggar, it was with many a furtive glance at Uncle Godfrey, who was still writing, that he crossed the hall. He hoped to escape without notice, and, looking mysteriously at Granny and myself, walked by Briggs' side on tiptoe. But his pains were wasted.

"Yes, I know you're there," Uncle Godfrey said, without turning his head, and relaxing into a smile. "What mischief have you been up to this time?"

"I put my hats with your hats, 'cause I liked[Pg 254] them to be with yours, and I didn't want to be a baby and have my hats in the nursery," explained Chris, encouraged by something in his uncle's voice to run to his side and lay his cheek affectionately on his coat-sleeve.

"Then, in future, just you keep your hats where you are told to," Uncle Godfrey said, laughing. "Don't you be such an independent little beggar."

"And come and kiss your Granny," Granny said gently and caressingly, as he passed her. "Do you love her very much?"

"Oh, yes, my Granny!" he answered somewhat thoughtlessly, as he obeyed her directions. Then continued without pause: "I wanted to ask you—why does Cook always make rice-puddings, and tapioca-puddings, and sago-puddings for my dinner?"

"Because, my pet, I tell her to," she replied. "They are so wholesome, so good for little boys; they make them grow big."

"But I don't mind about growing big," he answered. "I would rather have roly-poly puddings for my dinner; roly-poly puddings what have lots of jam inside."

"Now, how do you think I am to get on with my writing whilst you chatter like this?" interrupted[Pg 255] Uncle Godfrey. "Go upstairs, and don't keep Briggs waiting like this."

By the little beggar's expression, it was evident that he did not consider the merits of roly-poly pudding, as compared with those of its less enticing rivals, had been by any means sufficiently discussed, and that much yet remained to be said upon the subject. Nevertheless, his uncle's order had the effect of restoring, for a time at least, peace and quiet to the hall; for, as I have before intimated, the one person whose word Chris never thought of disputing was Uncle Godfrey's.

I said that peace and quiet was restored for a time only, and I said it advisedly. With the little beggar in the neighbourhood it was useless to count on such a state of affairs continuing for more than a short period. So it proved upon the present occasion.

Before a quarter of an hour had passed, his voice—unmistakably defiant, not to say impertinent—fell upon our ears, as he and Briggs walked along the gallery, that ran above, round the hall. It was Briggs whom we heard first.

Then the little beggar repeated in an irritating and rebellious-sounding treble:

"I have a little nursie,
She is a little dear,
She runs about all day
Without a thought of fear.
I love my little nursie,
An' she loves me.
So my little nursie an' me
Both a-gree."

A pause followed, evidently intended by Briggs to convey her sense of deep displeasure, and to overawe the offender. Without effect. In a moment Chris's voice began again, from time to time choked with laughter, and giving a little variety to his poetical effort by varying the accent on different words:

"I have a little nursie,
She is a little dear,
She runs about all day
Without a thought of fear.
I love my little nursie,
An' she loves me.
So my little nursie an' me
Both a-gree."

"If I'm to be ridiculed like this," she exclaimed angrily, yet without altogether losing her habitual impressiveness of manner; "If I'm to be ridiculed like this, I shall give warning and go. I cannot, and I will not stand it."

A second pause, by which time they had reached the top of the stairs leading into the hall, when[Pg 257] Chris, forgetful that Uncle Godfrey was within hearing, and unaware of the judgment about to descend on him, started once more:

"Wait a moment, young man," called out his uncle from the writing-table. "What do you mean by being so disobedient? Come here."

"He has been going on like that for the last ten minutes," said Briggs complainingly, when she and Chris reached the hall. "He's been that aggravating."

"What nonsense are you talking?" Uncle Godfrey asked him severely, beckoning Chris to come to him.

The little beggar looked at his uncle half-frightened, and did not at once answer.

"It was a piece of poetry I made up all by myself, all about Briggs," he faltered out.

"Well, as you are so fond of poetry, as you call it, I'll make up a piece about you," he said, whilst Granny glanced at the judge pleadingly, as if to ask mercy for the offender.

"Wait a moment ... yes, I have it," Uncle Godfrey said presently. And holding Chris at[Pg 258] arm's-length, he repeated, imitating as he did so, his childish voice and accents:

"I know a little beggar,
He is a little goose,
He runs about all day
Rampaging on the loose.
I think that little beggar,
Would be better for a slap;
If he isn't pretty sharp,
He'll get a nasty rap.

He was smiling all the while in spite of his severe tone,—very often the way with Uncle Godfrey. But Chris did not see that, and with his little face scarlet, he stood still, struggling with his tears, unable to reply.

"There, go along with you," he said, laughing and rumpling the boy's golden curls; "and don't you make yourself such a little nuisance."

The little beggar brightened up as he noted the altered tone, and Granny appeared perceptibly relieved.

"Uncle Godfrey, do you know what?" he asked with a loud sniff and half a sob. "What do you think?"

"Well, you'll have to learn to be a little more obedient," his uncle remarked with a laugh. "I'd soon find myself in a pretty position if I disobeyed orders as you do. Be off, you young rascal, and look smart. There is Briggs waiting for you by the door.

"What made him think of that jingle?" he continued, still laughing, to Granny when Chris had gone. "It was a funny thing for a little chap of his age."

"The darling has quite a turn for poetry; he has indeed," explained Granny with pride. "He takes the greatest delight in repeating his little poems, such as: 'I love little Pussy, her coat is so warm,' and 'Mary had a little lamb'. And the child says them so sweetly, so prettily too!"

CHAPTER VIII.

"I'M A SOLDIER NOW."

Some two hours later Briggs faced Granny and myself with a countenance expressive of the deepest despair.

"He's gone, mum!" she exclaimed, tragically, throwing up her hands as she spoke.[Pg 260]

"Gone! Gone! Who is gone?" Granny asked with bewilderment and surprise at Briggs' sudden announcement. Then, as Chris's absence struck her, she inquired fearfully:

"Has anything happened to Master Chris? Where is the child? Why is he not with you?"

"He's lost, mum!" she said, breathlessly. "Everywhere have I looked for him, high and low, up and down, but nowhere is he to be found!"

At this startling piece of intelligence Granny half rose in her chair as if to go without delay and search for the wanderer; but, recollecting the necessity for further information, she sunk back again, and asked with agitation:

"Where, then, did you leave him? When did you last see him? How long ago is it, Briggs? I must beg of you to be as accurate as possible, most accurate."

"I left him in the garden about an hour ago," she answered, on the point of tears. "I had just taken him out for a short walk, having some work to do; and thinking he'd be better for a little more air I left him in the garden when we came back. When I went for him half an hour after, not a trace of him was there to be seen!"

"But how careless, how very careless of you, Briggs!" Granny said in a reprimanding yet trembling voice. "You should not have left him[Pg 261] out of your sight for so long. At his age! Most inconsiderate!"

"Have you looked along the road?" I suggested. "He may have wandered out there. He did so the day I arrived."

"But the garden, Briggs!" Granny exclaimed, in her anxiety hardly knowing what to say. "How could you be so thoughtless, so forgetful as not to search the garden before you went into the road?"

"But I did, mum; it was the very first thing I did do," she replied tearfully, and with something of an injured expression at this unnecessary censure.

"Everywhere in the house and out of it," she answered with gloomy conviction. "Not a stone have I left unturned."

We glanced from one to the other with perplexity. What could have become of the little beggar? Where could he have hidden himself, thus to escape this vigilant search?

"Wouldn't it be as well to let Mr. Wyndham know?" I said. "I think I hear him practising billiards."

"Of course, of course!" Granny answered with relief. "Why didn't I think of that at once?[Pg 262] Briggs, go at once and ask Mr. Wyndham to speak to me."

"Well, what is it?" he said cheerfully, when he arrived upon the scene. "The youngster disappeared? There is no need for worry. Depend upon it he is hiding somewhere not very far off, and we'll soon unearth him."

"All the same, we had better do it again," he said. "It is just possible that he may have escaped you the first time. No, mother, you stay here," he said decidedly, as Granny rose with the evident intention of accompanying him. "You will only tire yourself for no purpose. If he is to be found in the garden, you may rest assured that I shall find him and bring him to you as soon as possible. Just stay here quietly with Miss Baggerley, and don't worry yourself."

Undoubtedly a very good piece of advice, this last, but one that poor Granny in her nervous state of mind found very difficult to follow.

"It is so strange, so very strange!" she said, unhappily. "I cannot understand it at all; I only pray that no accident may have happened to the child. I should have thought Briggs would have taken greater precautions if she intended to leave him alone for that time. I had a higher opinion of her, I had indeed.[Pg 263]

"She is much to blame," she added, smoothing with a nervous little movement the curls she wore in the old fashion on each side of her face.

After this she continued her knitting, but she was plainly too restless and ill at ease to fix her attention on her work.

"My dear," she said in a minute, "it has just struck me that it would be a good thing if we were together to look upstairs; Briggs may not have searched there thoroughly. Do you not think that it would be a good plan if we were to go?"

I should have liked to answer in the negative, for she was not strong, and a little exertion soon fatigued her. But I saw that it would be a real relief to her in her anxiety to be doing something. So I did not follow my inclination, and together we went slowly upstairs, Granny leaning on my arm, in a sweet, clinging way,—a way that was all her own.

Arrived upstairs, we went conscientiously from room to room, but in vain. No success attended our efforts.

We would go into a room, when Granny, opening the door of a cupboard and peering in in a short-sighted way, would call out in a gentle, slightly quavering voice:

No answer coming, her face would become still[Pg 264] more anxious-looking, and she would request me to see if he were under the bed.

"Will you look under the bed, my dear, and see if he is there?" she would whisper, as if fearful that he might overhear and escape us. Then as I did so, she would cry coaxingly:

"Are you hiding there, my pet, trying to frighten poor Granny? Come out, my darling, come out."

And so on from room to room till we had exhausted all those not only on the first floor but on the next also, after which she proposed exploring the attics. By this time, however, she was so tired that I persuaded her to send one of the servants instead, whilst she returned with me to the library.

Here we found Briggs waiting for us, with a face the expression of which told its tidings without words. Ill-success was so plainly written upon it, that our anxious question, "Have you found him?" seemed almost superfluous.

"Did you look everywhere, Briggs,—everywhere?" poor Granny asked anxiously, and with grievous disappointment.

"In every single nook and corner, mum," Briggs replied, with a heavy sigh. "He ain't in the garden—that's sure and certain."

"Where is Mr. Wyndham?" Granny inquired, as she sat down wearily in her arm-chair.

"He's gone round to the stables," she said.[Pg 265] "He's going to drive into Marston. He says that Master Chris this morning was talking about the recruiting-sergeant staying there, and he thinks it may be possible he has taken it into his head to go to him, fancying he can enlist."

"Dear me! dear me! What if anything should happen to the child on the way?" exclaimed Granny, with fresh care.

"I should not think of that; nothing will happen. Someone will find him and bring him back," I replied, speaking more cheerfully than I altogether felt.

As I spoke I turned to the window, more from a restless feeling of not knowing what to do with myself than for any other reason.

Certainly the last thing in the world I expected to see at that particular moment was the little beggar.

There he was, after causing all the confusion and alarm of which I have told you, walking down the drive as calmly as possible; as if to disappear mysteriously from home for about two hours, without leaving any idea as to his whereabouts, was the most ordinary and everyday habit a little boy could indulge in.

He was not alone, but was in company with a[Pg 266] tall and gorgeous individual, whom I concluded was the sergeant, and the innocent cause of the little beggar's last and most startling escapade.

He walked hand in hand with him in the most confiding fashion, chattering to him apparently in his usual fashion—without the least reserve, whilst Jacky frisked along by their side.

As my eyes fell upon this little group I uttered a loud exclamation of surprise, which induced Granny to look up inquiringly.

"Why, there he is! Chris!" I exclaimed, "coming down the drive!" and accompanied by Briggs I hurried to meet him, Granny following more leisurely.

"Here I am! Here I am!" cried the little vagabond, gaily bounding forward to meet me. "I've 'listed, and I'm a soldier now like Uncle Godfrey."

"A soldier!" burst out Briggs contemptuously. "As naughty a child as can be found in Christendom. That's what I should say!"

"Yes, Chris," I said, in the gravest voice I could assume, "you have been a very naughty little boy indeed."

At these strictures on his conduct Chris pouted and kicked the gravel with some violence, whilst his companion relaxed into a broad smile, which he put up his hand to hide.

"I found this here young gentleman, marm, on his way to Marston," he said, touching his cap. "I came across him quite by a chance, as[Pg 267] you may say, it happening that I was taking a walk in this direction. 'I've come to find you,' he says, ''cause I want to 'list and be a soldier like my Uncle Godfrey,' says he. 'But I won't shoot you,' says he, ''cause I know how to hold my gun, and I don't want to be put in chokee,' he says. Guessing as how there was something amiss I finds out where he lives, and so here he is."

"Is he quite well and safe, quite well and safe?" Granny asked nervously at this point, arriving just in time to hear the conclusion of the sergeant's explanation. "Oh, Chris, my darling, what have you been doing?"

"I'm a soldier now, my Granny," he stated proudly, with a defiant look at Briggs and myself. "He said I was, didn't you?" he asked, turning to the sergeant, who smiled again. "He's going to lend me his soldier clothes till you buy me some. He said he would."

"He'd have been here before if I could have got a lift, marm," explained the sergeant, "but it chanced nothing passed by us. It's been a long walk for the young gentleman, I'm afraid."

But Granny did not at once reply; she was looking at the little beggar with all the love of her heart overflowing her eyes, and as if she never again could bear to let him out of her sight. Indeed, for the moment she was so absorbed that I think she hardly realized what the sergeant said.[Pg 268]

There was a slight pause, and then she said with much fervent gratitude and an old-fashioned courtesy of manner:

"I am more indebted to you than I can express for your kind care of my little grandson. It is, indeed, a great relief to my mind to see him back safely."

"Why, my Granny!" cried Chris, with a little skip and a laugh, "I always was safe. There was nothing the matter with me!"

"Hush! my child," Granny then continued, though with an effort, as if the reaction from the anxiety she had been suffering was becoming too much for her control: "Will you not go round to the kitchen and rest? And will you kindly tell Parker, my butler, that I have sent you, and to see that you have some refreshment after your long walk."

"Thank you, marm," said the sergeant, touching his cap once more as he left, followed by a regretful glance from Chris.

"My darling," began Granny reproachfully—then stopped short and tried to smile at me.

"I'm very silly," she said, as the tears filled her eyes; "but, my dear, I have been feeling so anxious, so anxious, you understand...."

She could say no more, but going to a wicker-chair near, she sat down, and covered her eyes with her hand.[Pg 269]

I said nothing, for I knew that her tears were a relief to her overwrought feelings. So for a time there was silence, which was at length broken by the little beggar, who, looking at her with pity mingled with curiosity, remarked in a hushed voice:

"And who do you think has made her cry?" suddenly asked a severe voice, and turning round somewhat apprehensively, the little beggar saw Uncle Godfrey—who, unperceived and unheard, had crossed the lawn—confronting him in righteous indignation.

"I say, who do you think has made her cry?" he reiterated, as Granny threw him an imploring glance as if to beg mercy for the offender. "I have just heard something of your last piece of disobedience from your friend the sergeant," he continued sternly. "Fortunately for me I met him not two minutes ago, and so was saved a useless drive into Marston on your account. Now I should like to hear some explanation of your conduct."

He looked so very tall and inflexible as he towered above the little beggar, and the little beggar looked so very small and abject as he stood before him, that my heart was stirred with pity for the diminutive transgressor in spite of his misdeeds.

"Well, answer," Uncle Godfrey said peremptorily.[Pg 270] "What is the meaning of your behaviour, sir?"

"I w—w—went to be a s—s—soldier," stammered Chris, winking his eyes to keep back his tears, and grasping hold of Granny's hand as if for protection.

"Quite old enough to know better," he replied unrelentingly; and, as Chris did not at once answer, "Didn't I tell you," he went on, "that you were not old enough to be a soldier? Do you remember now?"

"But I suppose you thought that you knew better than I, and didn't tell me of your plan because you knew that you would not be allowed to carry it out. Was it not so?" he asked. Then as Chris nodded he went on: "I hope now that you see the consequences of your behaviour," he continued; "everyone's time wasted, an endless amount of unnecessary anxiety and trouble, and your Grandmother nearly ill. If ever anyone deserved a good punishment it is you."[Pg 271]

At this point the little beggar, unable to keep back his tears any longer, buried his head in his Granny's lap and sobbed bitterly, and as if his heart would break; whilst for my part I went away. He had been very naughty, but I did not like to see him crying so bitterly. It made me sad.

It was about an hour later,—just lunch-time,—and I was walking up and down the gravelled terrace at the back of the house, when a little hand was slipped into mine, while a little voice remarked in an awe-struck tone:

"What do you think? Uncle Godfrey put me in the corner for half an hour—a whole half-hour!"

Chris spoke with much solemnity. Granny's punishments were of such a mild description, that this of Uncle Godfrey's, by comparison, appeared very heavy, and impressed upon him the grievousness of his offence.

"And he says I'm not to have no pudding for dinner," he continued with some pathos; "no pudding at all. Do you know what kind of pudding it is?"

"'Cause Granny said I might have a roly-poly pudding soon," he said, "and I do hope it's not to-day. If it is bread-and-butter pudding I don't mind, as I don't like bread-and-butter pudding."[Pg 272]

"I didn't want to frighten you, or my Granny, or anyone," he said humbly, with the effects of his uncle's scolding and punishment still fresh in his memory. "But I did want to be a soldier and fight; and Uncle Godfrey says I'm not one, and I never was one, and that the soldier was only laughing at me when he said I was. And I can't be a soldier for a long while—a very, very, very long while."

"Not that kind of soldier," I said, "but I know another kind of soldier that you can be."

"No, but the King's soldier," I replied. "You can be one of Christ's soldiers. Whenever you try hard to be good and obedient when you feel inclined to be naughty and wilful; whenever you try not to say the angry word, to think the unkind thought you would like to say, you would like to think; whenever you turn your back on what is mean and unmanly and follow what is true and noble; whenever you do this for His sake, then, Chris, you are fighting for Christ, you are Christ's soldier.

"But," I went on as I saw that I had gained[Pg 273] his attention, "there is a great difference between these battles and the others that you were speaking of. In fighting for the Queen you have to be very brave and no coward, it is true. But you have the cheers of your countrymen to inspirit you. You know that your country is watching you, and that helps you to meet your enemies with courage. In these other battles, fought for Christ, there are no cheers to excite you, no one watching but God, and God only. For these fights must be fought silently, quite by yourself,—God your only Help,—or they are not worth the name of battles. But, by and by, on that silent battle-field, where so many struggles have been gone through, and so many hard victories won through the grace of God, the silence will at last be broken. It will be broken by a sound full of triumphant joy, too heavenly in its beauty for earthly ears to catch, but a sound that will make the angels in heaven rejoice, a sound of—"

I paused as I tried to find appropriate words for the thought that, half-formed, was in my mind, gazing as I did so, as if to seek inspiration, at the boughs of the elms near, swaying and bowing slowly to and fro in the wind.

"'The voice of a soul that goeth home'," I said, as the great poet's words came to me in all their beauty.

CHAPTER IX.

THE GOLDEN FARTHING.

"It's the best thing; I should not propose it unless I were fully convinced that it is so."

Uncle Godfrey, standing on the hearth-rug in the drawing-room, his hands in his pockets, was speaking with his usual decision.

I, who had just entered, feeling that I was interrupting his conversation with Granny, turned to leave.

"Please, don't go, Miss Baggerley. We should like to have the benefit of your opinion," remarked Uncle Godfrey.

"All right!" he answered. "Well, the subject under discussion is the advisability of sending Chris to be educated with my sister's little boy. She and her husband have just come home from India, and have taken a house for a time in Norfolk. In a letter my mother had from her this morning, she suggests the plan I have mentioned; in fact, she is most anxious that it should be arranged. I think myself that it is a capital idea,[Pg 275] for it seems to me that it would do Chris all the good in the world to have the companionship of another child. He is a capital little chap, but I don't see how it can be good for him to have every whim and fancy attended to as he has at present, by my mother, by you, by everyone as far as I can see, except perhaps that excellent and depressing young woman, Briggs. Oh, I know what you would like to say; much that my mother has already said—that Chris is not easily spoilt, that he has such a good disposition, and so on. All of which I grant; but, nevertheless, I think it would be better for him in the end to have a little less attention given to him than he has at present. Besides, he would have the advantage of an excellent governess, who has been with my sister some time, and, according to her, is a paragon of a teacher. And that is not to be despised, it seems to me. Chris, of course, would always come to my mother for the holidays, so that she still would see a great deal of him. Now, frankly, don't you agree with my view of the case?"

"I suppose so," I answered, though I was conscious of speaking unwillingly, for I knew what it would cost Granny to give up the charge of her darling.

"Of course you do," he replied, "only you don't like to say so for the sake of my mother."

"The darling is very dear to me," said Granny,[Pg 276] a little pathetically. "I only desire what is best for him."

"I know that, my dear mother," Uncle Godfrey said gently—he could speak very gently when he liked, in spite of all his decided ways,—"no one could doubt it."

No one spoke for a moment or two, and it was plain to see that a struggle was going on in Granny's mind.

"I don't want to persuade you against your judgment, mother," at last Uncle Godfrey said, still speaking very gently, even tenderly, and then we were silent again.

"You are right, my son; yes, you are right. I am getting too old to have the entire responsibility of the child, and, doubtless, it would be good, it would be more cheerful for him, to be with a little companion of his own age. Yes, it is better that he should go to Louisa."

And then she got up and left the room, as if, for the time, she could say no more. It was a hard trial for her, because love for Chris was as part of her life, and to part with him would be a wrench that neither Uncle Godfrey nor myself could fully comprehend, with all our desire to enter into her feelings. Yet I think that she had never loved him so truly as at that moment when she gave him up. For is not our love the[Pg 277] greatest when it is the most unselfish, when it is purified by self-sacrifice, as "gold that is tried in the fire"?

It was such a bright morning when the little beggar left us; a cold, crisp day in the beginning of October, the slight frost sprinkling the ground with a white powder that sparkled and glistened like diamonds in the autumn sun.

Uncle Godfrey had come up from Aldershot for the express purpose of taking him to his new home, which fact filled Chris with no little pride.

"Me and my Uncle Godfrey are going a long way together," he kept informing everyone. "He has left all his soldiers to come and take me. Isn't it kind of my Uncle Godfrey?" in a tone of devotion.

I imagine that had it been anyone else but his Uncle Godfrey it would have been a difficult matter to reconcile him to leave his Granny. As it was, he became inclined to be very tearful as the hour of departure drew near, and clung to her in a way that, whilst it touched and pleased her, made the thought of the parting more difficult to bear.

And now the little beggar, who for the last few minutes had been playing in a somewhat restless fashion with Uncle Godfrey, returning between whiles to Granny's side, was sent upstairs to have his hat put on.[Pg 278]

Five minutes passed and he had not returned. Granny became impatient. Poor Granny! who grudged losing even a minute of her darling's presence when she knew that she was about to lose it for so long.

"My dear," she said to me, "will you kindly go and see if he is ready? The dog-cart will so soon be round."

Hastening upstairs, I went to the nursery to bring down the little beggar to rejoice her sight for the short period that remained before he left.

As I approached the open door I heard Briggs taking leave of him, and with more sentiment than was generally to be observed in the utterances of that dignified person.

"And you won't forget your Briggs?" she said, kissing him; "and you'll send her a letter sometimes?"

"A long, long letter; ever so long," promised Chris rashly. "And you've wroten down the place what you live at?"

"Yes, here it is," said Briggs, holding out an envelope and reading aloud as I entered:

"Nicer than ever you can think," he replied, as she kissed him again with something like emotion, and bade him good-bye.

"I'm sorry to leave Briggs," he said, as we went downstairs hand in hand; "but I am dreffully, dreffully sorry to leave my Granny."

"You'll be a good boy, though," I said, "and not cry, or you will make her unhappy."

"Yes, I'll be the goodest boy," he promised me fervently, "and I won't make my Granny unhappy; not a little, tiny bit."

But when he saw her looking so sad his resolution somewhat failed, and, standing by her side, he gazed up into her face with his great eyes full of tears—eyes like violets with the dew upon them.

"Hulloa! where are you off to?" cried Uncle Godfrey. "The dog-cart will be round in a minute, and you'll be nowhere to be found."

"I want to get something for my Granny; I want to get something very badly for her," he said eagerly as he paused; "and it's in my[Pg 280] coat, and it's outside, where I put it, with your greatcoat in the hall."

"What can the darling be bringing me?" Granny said, roused a little from the abstraction into which she had fallen.

She was not long left in doubt, for almost as she asked the question Chris returned, holding aloft a little, bright, red leather purse, the pride and joy of his heart. Opening it, he went back to Granny's side and showered its contents upon her lap—two halfpennies and four pennies, a sixpenny and a threepenny bit, and a bright farthing.

"It's all for you, my Granny, 'cause I'm going away," he said impulsively; "all for you! The golden farthing and everything?"

"No, no, my pet; I won't take it from you," answered Granny, much moved by this great gift.

"Yes, but you must, my Granny; it's all for you," he repeated, with a fleeting glance of regret at the red purse in its splendour.

"My darling, I won't take it all," she said, replacing the money in the purse, and putting it into his pocket—all save the "golden farthing", which she kept. "But, see, I will keep this as a keepsake from my own dear child."

"Yes, Granny; and you'll never spend it," Chris said seriously. "You'll keep it for always."[Pg 281]

"For always, my Chris," she said tenderly, with a pathetic little tremble in her voice as she kissed him.

Then, with a hug from me, and many a loving kiss from Granny as she clasped him in her arms, Chris was lifted up by the side of Uncle Godfrey and driven away.

"Good-bye! good-bye! good-bye!" he called out shrilly, looking back and waving his hand, till his little voice grew faint in the distance.

As for Granny, she stood still on the door-step, heedless of the keen morning air, with one hand shading her eyes from the sunlight, while the other grasped tightly Chris's parting gift—the "golden farthing".

She stood there gazing after the dog-cart till it was out of sight. Then she turned in silence and went back into the house.

It seemed as if all the sunshine and brightness had gone out of it with the departure of that little beggar!

Many years have passed since that summer's day when I found a little truant sobbing so bitterly by the roadside. Granny is a very old lady now, and my hair is becoming quite white. As for the little beggar himself, the ambition of his childhood is fulfilled, and he is one of the Queen's[Pg 282] soldiers, having just passed into Sandhurst, a fact in which Granny takes an overwhelming pride. So overwhelming, that I really fancy if you were to ask her to name the greatest general of the future, she would have but one answer for you. Cannot you guess what that answer would be?

Transcriber's Notes

This title was published as the second half of the book Unlucky by Caroline Austin (eBook #35653). Page numbers begin with 161.

The publisher's name comes from the first half of the book, as does the illustration.

Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent.

A table of contents has been added for the reader's convenience.

Page 202, "Baggerly" changed to "Baggerley" ("Perhaps Miss Baggerley would tell you").

Page 251, "Beggarly" changed to "Beggarley" ("Not even Miss Beggarley").

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THAT LITTLE BEGGAR ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.