Bertie and the Gardeners Part 4

"No, ma'am, but it's very nice."

No more was said on the subject, and she never noticed that he examined it again; but the third day after he was released from the chamber he followed her one day into the pantry, and presented her a new one made by his own hands.

"You won't have to borrow again," he said, his face all in a glow of pleasure. "I'm going to try it now. I saved one skein on purpose."

Mrs. Taylor carried it out and exhibited it in triumph to the family.

"Did you do it all yourself?" asked Mr. Curtis, smiling his approbation.

"Yes, sir; but I had seen the one up stairs. I made more holes though, 'cause that was too large for some skeins and not large enough for others."

"You are a genius, Pat. I have no doubt you'll succeed, now that you've resolved to try your best."

The day before he left for the school, Pat asked Mrs. Taylor's permission to go and bid his father good-by. It was some weeks since the old man had been there, though he promised to come in a day or two. The good woman consented, though she told him the air was rather chilly for a boy who had been so sick.

On his way he pa.s.sed the spot where Bertie had first talked with him.

He stopped and sat on the top of the stone wall, where he had listened to the first kind words he ever remembered to have heard addressed to him. I trust no little boy or girl who reads this will think the worse of him, when I tell them that his breast began to heave, and the tears gushed to his eyes.

"I wouldn't be 'thieving Pat' again," he said, doubling his fist, "no, not for--not for--" At this moment his eye rested on the handsome new edifice at Woodlawn; and he added with an impressive gesture, "no, not for the Squire's new house. I'd rather starve again and have mammy push me down stairs or anything rather than go sneaking round hiding behind the walls, and feeling so ashamed to look any body in the face.

No, no, I'll stick to the new Patrick, as Mrs. Taylor tells about, let what will come, I'll never lie to Bertie, and go back to my old ways."

He felt stronger and better after this resolve, and walked on rapidly until he reached the tree into which he had climbed to watch for Bertie. The sight of his old home just beyond, had excited him a good deal; and he laughed at the recollections of his fear that the Squire had sent Joe Allen to take him to jail.

Then he stepped up to the door and looked within. All seemed deserted. A few half-burnt brands had broken and fallen apart on the wide, old-fashioned hearth, the low wooden chair usually occupied by his father was vacant; a piece of crust, mouldy with age, lay on the table, and a broken pipe beside it.

Pat stood a moment gazing around, his face growing every moment more sad, then suddenly ran up the old creaking stairs to his own chamber.

"She's done it. I knew she would," he exclaimed, angrily. "She always did everything she could to spite me!"

He picked from the dirty floor two or three tail feathers of a tiny yellow bird which he had saved from the jaws of a cat, though not until it had received it's death wound; and which after a fashion of his own he had stuffed.

This, almost his only treasure, his drunken step-mother had deliberately pulled to pieces, scattering the feathers on the floor.

One tiny feather he put into his pocket as a memorial of the life which had forever pa.s.sed, and then hurried away from scenes which recalled such bitter memories.

"Dad is gone," he exclaimed aloud, walking a short distance from the house, then turning back for another last gaze; "and perhaps I shall never see him again."

CHAPTER VIII.

LETTER FROM PAT.

Before this he had been glad to meet no one; but now he felt a keen desire to ascertain where his father had gone; and resolved to return by the way of Tom Grant's, though a flurry of snow filled the air, and inquire whether Mr. Riley had been seen of late. Mrs. Grant, Tom's mother, was getting dinner, while Jerry was at work cutting wood in the back yard. The old lady knew how hard Pat had tried to reform, and greeted him in a most cordial manner.

"Why, Patrick!" she exclaimed, catching hold of his arm, "Come right in out of the snow. So yer going off to school, I hear my son say, well it's a lucky chance for ye, and I wish ye well. Sit right down now. Thomas will be at home soon, and he'll be glad to see ye."

"I must be going in a minute," Pat answered, "twirling his hat, I only wanted to know when you've seen Daddy. I've been to the old place, and there's no sign of anybody living in it."

"Haven't ye heard? Well, I s'pose ye haven't. Yer daddy's cleared out, bag and baggage. I don't s'pose he had to hire much of a team, either, to carry off what was left at the old place; but he took his pipe and a change of clothes; and I don't believe there is enough left in the shanty, to make it dangerous to leave the door open o' nights. Folks as heard him talk, do say he was clear discouraged with yer mammy's drinking and quarrelling; and he's gin her up entirely. But I can't tell nothing how that is."

"Do you know where he's gone?" asked Pat.

"La, no; I don't s'pose he knew hisself. He had a stick over his shoulder, and his bundle hung on the end on't, and that's all I can tell ye."

The boy turned without a word, and walked away. He knew now why his father came to the farm again so soon after his first visit; and why he consented so easily that the Squire should send him to school. He had resolved to quit his old home forever.

All this he told Mrs. Taylor that night, and ended with a sigh.

"I don't suppose he and I shall ever see each other again. He wasn't so bad till mammy came."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

About a week after he reached the school, his teacher wrote Mr.

Curtis,

"Patrick Riley arrived here a few days after the term commenced, and has conducted himself in such a manner as to win the approbation of all his teachers. I agree with you, that he will make a smart man; and from present appearances, I hope also, a useful one. I mentioned to him that I intended to write you, and was gratified to notice that he is not dest.i.tute of grat.i.tude for all you have done to improve his condition. He requested me to express his thanks, also to your son, who he says first awoke in him a desire to become an honest boy, and likewise to Mrs. Taylor.

Patrick is taking hold of his lessons with a will, and hopes to write you soon.

"Respectfully yours,

"JOHNATHAN HAVEN."

This letter was read with great interest by all the family; but there was no one who rejoiced so much at Pat's good conduct as Bertie.

Mrs. Curtis was greatly affected the night following to hear the little boy thank G.o.d for helping Pat to be good and obey the commandments.

About a fortnight later, Whitefoot stopped at the village post office, and Bertie jumped from his carriage and ran in with a package of letters for the mail.

"Look here!" exclaimed the girl, who delivered letters. "Is this for you?"

The child glanced at it, laughing and blushing. It was a curious shaped epistle, almost square, without an envelope, the name being a rough imitation of printing, and spelled Birty Kertis, Oxford; care Squier Kertis.

"I think it must be intended for you," said the girl, with an arch glance. "It is post-marked Lexington."

"Oh, yes, it's mine!" exclaimed the boy. "It's from Pat Riley, I guess he wrote it himself."

It was indeed from Patrick. I do not think my readers could decipher it, if I copied the curious spelling, I shall, therefore, give it as Mrs. Curtis, after considerable study, read it to Bertie.

"DEAR FRIEND:--There's a big boy here as knows how to write tip-top. I and Tip (that's his name) are the most popular boys in school. He's agreed to write this letter for me, 'cause I want ye to know how I'm getting on; and there's something I want to tell ye awful bad, 'cause I know ye'll like it. You was the first one that ever spoke encouraging to me, and I'll never forget it of ye as long as I know myself, nor then either. I'm going to try and be a Squire like your pa; and then I'll take all the little thieving fellows I can find, and help 'em to be good. Rich folks don't know how hard 'tis for poor ones to keep from stealin' when their stomach is as flimpsy as a rag. I know how to pity 'em, for when mammy locked me up till I'd agree to steal again, there was such a gnawing and gnawing, that I should have give in, if it hadn't been for you.

"Every time, I'd say to myself, I can't stand it no longer; then I'd see you a-sitting in your donkey carriage, looking at me with such sorry eyes.

"But that isn't what I was going to tell yer; and Tip is getting tired writing such a lot of stuff. I've begun to be a soldier, I don't wear any uniform except a little blue star on my coat; but everybody knows by this, that I'm trying to fight against all my old habits. It's hard work I tell you. 'Tisn't as if I was at Mrs. Taylor's, with everybody helping me, and nothing to make me cross. There's lots of bad boys here, who won't join the company of soldiers, and they do everything they can to hinder and bother us. I'm most afraid to tell yer one thing, for fear ye'll think Tip and I are better than we are. We've begun to pray G.o.d to help us, and it does come a sight easier to do as we oughter.

"If ever ye see anything of my poor old father, I'd like him to know that I pray for him whenever I do for myself. I shouldn't wonder if I should get so I could forgive mammy sometime. Perhaps she didn't know any better.