The Young Step-Mother Part 87

'Promise to take real care of it.'

He only tore it from her, and was gone.

'I'm a fool to expect anything from such a child,' she thought.

At two o'clock the Vicar hurried into the bank. 'Good morning, Mr.

Goldsmith, I beg your pardon; I wanted to ask if Mr. O'More has seen little Maurice Kendal.'

'Not since yesterday--what's the matter?'

'The child is not come in to dinner. He is nowhere at home or at Willow Lawn.'

'Ha!' cried Ulick. 'Can he be gone to see his pony at Hobbs's!'

'No, it has been sent to Fairmead. Then you have no notion where the child can be? Sophy is nearly distracted. She saw him last about ten o'clock, bent on harnessing some kittens, but he's not in the hay-loft!'

'He may be gone to the toy-shop after the harness. Or has anyone looked in the church-tower--he was longing to go up it, and if the door were open--'

'The very thing!' cried the Vicar. 'I'll go this moment.'

'Or there's old Peter, the sailor,' called Ulick; 'if he wanted any tackle fitted, he might go to him.'

'You had better go yourself, More,' said Mr. Goldsmith. 'One would not wish to keep poor Miss Kendal in suspense, though I dare say the boy is safe enough.'

Mr. Goldsmith was thanked, and Ulick hurried out, Hyder Ali leaping up in amazement at his master being loose at that time of day.

Everybody had thought the child was with somebody else till dinner-time, and the state of the vicarage was one of dire alarm and self-reproach.

Sophy was seeking and calling in every possible place, and had just brought herself to own the message of remembrance in Gilbert's letter, thinking it possible Maurice might have gone to deliver it at Robbles Leigh; and Mr. Hope had undertaken to go thither in quest of him. Ulick and Mr. Dusautoy, equally disappointed by the tower and the sailor, went again to Willow Lawn to interrogate the servants. The gardener's boy had heard Maurice scolding and the cat squalling, and the cook had heard his step in the house. They hurried into his little room--he was not there, but the drawers had been disturbed.

'He may be gone to Fairmead!' cried the Vicar.

'How?' said Ulick. 'Ha! Hyder, sir!' holding up a little shoe. 'Seek!

That's my fine doggie--they only call you a mongrel because you have all the canine virtues united. See what you can do as sleuth hound. Ha!

We'll nose him out for you in no time, Mr. Dusautoy!'

After sniffing round the drawers, the yellow tripod made an ungainly descent of the stairs, his nose down all the way, then across the hall and out at the gate; but when, after poking about, the animal set off on the turnpike-road, the Vicar demurred.

'Stay; the poor dog only wants to get you out for a walk. He is making for the Hadminster road.'

'And why wouldn't he, if the child is nowhere in Bayford?

'I can't answer it to his mother wasting time in this way. You may do as you like. I shall go to the training-stables, where he has once been, if not on to Fairmead. I can't see Sophy till he is found!'

'I shall abide by my little Orangeman,' said Ulick; and they parted.

Hyder Ali pursued his way in the March dust, while Ulick eagerly scanned for the traces of a child's foot. Four miles did the dog go on, evidently following a scent, but Ulick's mind misgave him as Hadminster church-tower rose before him, and the dog took the ascent to the station.

Ulick made his way in as a train stood panting before the platform.

He had a glimpse of a square face and curly hair at the window of a second-cla.s.s carriage.

'Maurice, come back!' he cried. 'Here, guard! this little boy must come back!'

'Go on!' shouted Maurice. 'I've got my ticket. 'No one can stop me.

I'm going to Malta!' and he tried to get to the other side of a stout traveller, who defended his legs from him, and said, 'Ha! Running away from school, young master! Here's your usher.'

'No, I'm not running away! I'm not at school! I'm Maurice Kendal! I'm going to my brother at Malta!'

'He is the son of Mr. Kendal of Bayford,' said Ulick to the station-master,' his parents are from home, and there will be dreadful distress if he goes in this way. Maurice, your sister has troubles enough already.'

'I've my ticket, and can't be stopped.'

But even as he spoke, the stout traveller picked him up by the collar, and dropped him like a puppy dog into Ulick's arms, just as the train was getting into motion; and a head protruded from every window to see the truant, who was pommelling Ulick in a violent fury, and roaring, 'Let me go; I will go to Gilbert!'

'Behave like a man,' said Ulick; 'don't disgrace yourself in that way.'

The boy coloured, and choking with pa.s.sion and disappointment, and straining against Ulick's hold of his shoulder.

'Indeed, sir,' said the station-master, 'if we had recognised the young gentleman, we would have made more inquiries, but he asked so readily for his ticket, not seeming at a loss, and we have so many young travellers, that we thought of nothing amiss. Will you have a fly, sir?'

'I'm not going home,' said the boy, undaunted.

'You must submit, Maurice. You do not wish to make poor Sophy miserable.'

'I must go to Malta,' the boy persisted. 'Gilbert says it would make him well to see me. I know my way; I saw it in the map, and I've a roll, and the end of a cold tongue, and a clean s.h.i.+rt, and my own sovereign, and four s.h.i.+llings, and a half-crown, and a half-penny in my pocket; and I'm going!'

'But, Maurice, this gentleman will tell you that your whole sovereign would not carry you a quarter of the way to Malta.'

The station-master gave so formidable a description of the impossibilities of the route, that the hardy little fellow's look of decision relaxed into dejection, his muscles lost their tension, and he struggled hard with his tears.

He followed Ulick to the carriage, and hid his face in a corner, while orders were given to stop at the post-office in case there were fresh letters. There was one for Miss Kendal, in Mr. Ferrars' writing, and with black borders. Ulick felt too surely what it must be, and hardly could bear to address Maurice, who had shrunk from him with some remains of pa.s.sion, but hearing suppressed sobs, he put his hand on him and said, 'My poor little man.'

'Get away,' said Maurice, shaking him off. 'Why did you come and bother?'

'I came because it would have almost killed your sister and mother for you to be lost. If you had seen Sophy's face, Maurice!'

'I don't care. Now I shall never see Gilbert again, and he did want me so!' Maurice hid his face, and his frame shook with sobs.

'Yes,' said Ulick, 'every one knew he wanted you; but if it had been possible for you to go, your mamma would have taken you. If your uncle had to take care of her how could you go alone?'

'I'd have got there somehow,' cried Maurice. 'I'd have seen and heard Gilbert. He's written me a letter to say he wants to see me, and I can't even make that out!'

'Has not your sister read it to you!'

'I hate Sophy's reading!' cried Maurice. 'It makes it all grumpy, like her. Take it, Ulick--you read it.'

That rich, sensitive, modulated voice brought out the meaning of the letter, though there were places where Ulick had nearly broken down; and Maurice pressed against him with the large tears in his eyes, and was some minutes without speaking.

'He does not think of your coming; he does not expect you, dear boy,'