[Ill.u.s.tration: "He grasped my left wrist."]

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 163._)

I descended to terrible depths during those homeless days, and, at the lowest, when half-starving, dirty, hopeless, it happened that I almost ran against Mr. Parsons. It was about a quarter to three, in Brook Street. He stopped abruptly, and stood gazing at me with an evident effort to maintain his usual expression of benevolence.

'Now,' he said, smoothly, 'you will just make up your mind to come along with me, my lad.'

'I know I won't,' I answered.

He stood with his hands on the crook of his umbrella, while his lower jaw moved as if he were trying to swallow something; but whether it was one of his favourite aniseed lozenges, or his indignation against myself, was more than I could tell. One thing, however, seemed certain: if he strove to hide his wrath, it could only be with the object of getting me once more into his power.

'Ah, Jacky, my lad,' he exclaimed, shaking his head, 'you have not done much good for yourself since you turned your back on your best friend. A great mistake, Jacky--a great mistake!'

Indeed, I must have looked very disreputable. A pair of grey trousers, supported by one brace--the other having given way some days ago--a dirty shirt, neither jacket nor waistcoat, unwashed hands and face, boots coated in mud, hair which had not lately known a comb and brush--it would have been difficult to find a grubbier street-arab within a few miles.

'Anything is better than living with you,' I cried.

He had drawn closer, but at the same time I took the precaution to edge away, determined on no account to allow him to put a hand on me again.

'Don't be afraid, my lad,' he said.

'I'm not,' I answered, though it was only half-true.

'I don't want to hurt you, Jacky,' he continued, in a wheedling voice.

'I want to be your friend. You look hungry, my lad; now come along with me--not home, but to a nice little eating-house I know. The hot joints will be just ready. Nice hot joints, Jacky--roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and apple pie to follow. It is waiting for you round the corner, Jacky, as much as you like to eat, and then we can have a nice quiet chat together.'

It appeared inconsistent, but the naming of these luxuries caused a feeling of something like temptation for the moment, which only those who have been in need of food can understand. While I knew that nothing in the world could induce me to accompany Mr. Parsons, still the mention of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding tickled my palate, and a great longing for something to eat came over me. I had tasted no food that day, and yesterday only a few sc.r.a.ps.

Instead of answering, I turned my back, whereupon Mr. Parsons thrust out his umbrella, catching my right arm with its crook, while at the same time he grasped my left wrist with his disengaged hand. Now I had been conscious of a strange giddiness and weakness, with a tendency to let my thoughts wander, during the whole of yesterday and to-day, and at this moment the fear suddenly seized upon me that I might be unable to resist the man and consequently fall into his hands again. So raising my voice I shouted with all my might, 'Police! police!' and although no policeman appeared, two or three pa.s.sers-by soon collected around us, while Mr.

Parsons still gripped my wrist.

'Would some gentleman kindly call me a cab?' said Parsons, in a voice which might have deceived anybody. 'You will break your father's heart, Jacky,' he continued. 'Now come home to your mother without making any more trouble.'

'You are not my father,' I answered, still speaking as loudly as I could. 'You are a thief, you make false coin, and you live at----'

'Ah!' cried an old lady, who formed one of the small crowd which by this time had collected, 'here is a policeman at last,' and at the same moment I felt Mr. Parsons' grasp relax. Pushing his way through the throng, he stepped into the middle of the road, stopped a pa.s.sing hansom, entered it and was driven off. While the old lady intercepted the policeman, I seized the opportunity to get away, turning my steps towards Hyde Park, where I sat down on a seat.

Now I began to find a difficulty in keeping my eyes open; my chin constantly dropped on to my chest, and then I would wake again with a start.

I seemed to be living again through all that had occurred since I left Castlemore: again I was selling the silver watch and chain at Broughton, while the tramp gazed at me through the window; again I was being pursued along the main road, sleeping under the tree in the wood, robbed of all I was possessed in the chestnut plantation. Once more I was awakened after a short sleep by Mr. Baker's dog, Tiger, and taken to the cosy farmhouse with the red blinds, where Eliza gave me food and a comfortable bed, in which I dared not lie down to rest, because I knew that Mr. Baker would be certain to carry me back to Ascot House the following morning. Then again I was racing across fields, floundering into damp ditches in the darkness, sleeping in the shed, and afterwards helping a bicyclist to blow up his tyre in the country lane. Once more I seemed to be lying p.r.o.ne in the cornfield, while Mr. Turton inquired whether Mr. Westlake had seen me, and Jacintha was looking down from the other side of the hedge at the same moment. I was sleeping in the empty house on the forest, and shivering at the weird, ghostly sounds in the night; I was again delighted to make friends with Patch, and regretful to have him taken away from me by the fat ginger-beer man.

I could almost taste the pear and the preserved apricot which I had eaten in the arbour at Colebrooke Park with Jacintha and d.i.c.k; once more I made the acquaintance of Mr. Parsons in the train.

Which, if any, of these were waking memories, which were feverish dreams, it is quite impossible to tell, but every day's experience seemed to be lived through again, and, at all events, at last I must have fallen pretty soundly asleep; and after I actually woke again, reality appeared like a dream. It seemed perfectly natural, after my recent adventure with Parsons, to meet Jacintha and a lady, who, from the likeness, in a confused kind of way I imagined must be her mother.

I fancy that I must have opened my eyes for an instant, and then, unwillingly, have closed them again. At any rate, as I sat on the seat, there stood Jacintha, much more gaily dressed than I had seen her before, with gloves and a sunshade, and high b.u.t.toned boots, but apparently taking no notice of me as she continued to talk very quickly and excitedly to her companion. They were still in the same position, Mrs. Westlake listening with a kindly, grave face, Jacintha looking almost as if she had been crying, when I once more opened my eyes.

CHAPTER XX.

'Jacintha!' I murmured, and still she seemed to be almost a part of my dream.

'Mother, he is awake!' cried Jacintha, and Mrs. Westlake leaned forward towards me.

'I want you to come home with me,' she said, but when I tried to stand, it seemed as if I should have fallen if she had not put a hand beneath my arm. With Mrs. Westlake supporting me on one side and Jacintha on the other, I managed to cross the road to the nearest gate, where a hansom was hailed, and I found myself seated by Mrs. Westlake's side, while Jacintha was perched on her knees. Probably I dozed off again the next minute, for the next thing I knew was that the hansom had stopped before the door of a large house, where a middle-aged butler carried me through the hall and laid me down on the dining-room sofa.

Mrs. Westlake seemed to be holding a whispered conversation with a short, stout, rather elderly nurse, whose name was Harper, and presently she left the room, to return a few minutes later with a breakfast cup full of beef-tea, after drinking which I felt very much better. A little later, the butler half-led, half-carried me upstairs, and I seemed to be getting into a deliciously comfortable bed, where I quickly fell asleep in earnest. I have an idea that Harper came to look at me once or twice during that night, and the next morning she took my temperature with a thermometer, but although she declared there was not anything the matter with me, I felt very tired, and not in the least sorry when she brought me my breakfast in bed.

It was about twelve o'clock when Mrs. Westlake herself came to tell me to get up, and then Harper brought a dressing-gown, which together with everything else in the room must have belonged to d.i.c.k, who was away from home on a week's visit.

'First of all, you are to have a nice warm bath,' she said, and she led the way to a bath-room, where she had already made everything ready. The water was quite a foot deep and delightfully hot.

When I had had a bath, and put on a summer vest, a white shirt, a suit (almost new) of drab tweed with knickerbockers, a collar and a decent blue and white spotted tie, I confess that I regarded my figure in the gla.s.s with considerable approval.

'If you're quite ready,' said Harper, outside the door, 'you're to come to lunch,' but first she led the way to what was evidently Mr.

Westlake's smoking-room. I fancied from his manner that he only half-approved of all that Mrs Westlake had done for me. He reminded me of Captain Knowlton, not because the faces were alike so much as because they both seemed to dress and speak in the same way. Captain Knowlton had been dark-haired, and wore a moustache, while Mr. Westlake was fair, and his upper lip was shaven, but he also wore an eyegla.s.s, and stood nearly six feet in height, appearing a little stiff before I knew him properly. As Mrs. Westlake led me towards him, she said a few words in French, and I knew that they referred to her own boy, and the possibility that he might want friends some day, but still Mr. Westlake did not offer his hand, but only nodded and said, 'How d'ye do?'

'Let us go to luncheon,' he exclaimed the next moment, and I stepped forward to open the door for Mrs. Westlake. In the dining-room I saw Jacintha, who at once met me with her hand outstretched.

'You gave me quite a shock in d.i.c.k's clothes,' she cried.

'I am most awfully obliged to you,' I said, turning to Mrs. Westlake.

'I--I don't know what to say.'

The butler stood with his back slightly bowed, ready to remove a dish-cover; Jacintha shook back her hair, and looked tearful; Mrs.

Westlake stared at the plates at her end of the table, and her husband put a pair of hands on my shoulders and pushed me towards my chair, facing Jacintha.

'That's all right,' he cried. 'Sit down and have a good luncheon. We will talk by-and-by.'

(_Continued on page 181._)

THE FEAST OF CHERRIES.

Readers of _Chatterbox_ will remember a story which told how a child saved a German town; here is another tale of a siege in which children played an important part.