Chatterbox, 1905 Part 2

'I have done the best I could for him,' she exclaimed.

'I am certain of that,' he continued; 'but, anyhow, I made inquiries, and, after some difficulty, succeeded in discovering your address.

Perhaps,' he added, glancing in my direction, 'you would not mind sparing me a few minutes alone.'

To my great disgust, she told me to run away, so that I returned to the damp pa.s.sage, which was now deserted by Jane. After waiting there what seemed a long time, I saw Captain Knowlton on the stairs. After bidding me good-bye, he let himself out of the house.

'Aunt Marion!' I cried, before there was time to reach the sitting-room, 'he says that Father saved his life!'

'Well, Jack, he said what was quite true.'

'But,' I continued, 'why did Captain Knowlton call father "poor Frank Everard?" Was he really poor?'

Aunt Marion sighed before she answered.

'Goodness knows, he ought not to have been,' she said. 'Your father had a lot of money when he came of age, but he was foolish enough to spend it all, and the consequence was that nothing remained for your mother, or for you when she died.'

'Hasn't Captain Knowlton any money either?' I asked.

'He has lately come into a large fortune,' she said; and then she told me that he had promised to come again at the same hour to-morrow morning, and take me out with him.

Captain Knowlton seemed so satisfactory in every way that the mere prospect of walking in the street by his side was enticing. I lay awake that night a long time, wondering where he would take me.

When I awoke the next morning, Aunt Marion said I was to put on my best clothes (which were nothing to boast of), and insisted on washing me herself, putting a quant.i.ty of soap into my eyes, oiling my hair, and, in short, doing her best in readiness for Captain Knowlton's arrival.

'Well, Jack, are you ready?' he asked, as he entered our room.

'Rather!' I answered.

'Have you got a handkerchief?' said Aunt Marion, and I drew it from my jacket as proof.

'Come along, then,' cried Captain Knowlton, and I rejoiced to see that he had kept his hansom at the door.

The first stoppage on that eventful morning was at the hair-dresser's, where I sat in a high chair, enveloped in a loose cotton wrapper, while Captain Knowlton smoked a cigarette and a man cut my hair, after which we went to a tailor's, where I was measured for two suits of clothes.

Having visited a hatter's and a hosier's in turn, we entered a large restaurant, sitting down one on each side of a small table, Captain Knowlton leaning across it and reading the bill of fare aloud for my benefit.

'I think I will have roast turkey,' I said, after prolonged consideration, and I accordingly had it, with the accompaniment of sausage and bread sauce, to say nothing of the sweets and the ice which followed. But even what Captain Knowlton described as luncheon, and what I regarded as a kind of king of dinners, was eclipsed by what came afterwards, for we were driven to a theatre, where a comic opera was being played; and at seven o'clock that evening a very tired and sleepy boy, with his right hand tightly clenched on a half-sovereign in his jacket pocket, was deposited on the steps of the house in Acacia Road.

During the next few weeks Captain Knowlton was a frequent visitor, while, for my own part, I wished that he would come every day. One afternoon he arrived in the rain and stayed to tea.

'Now, Jack,' he said, setting down his empty cup, 'I should like to hear you read.'

But as I was bringing one of our small collection of books from the sideboard, he called me away.

'No, none of that,' he cried, with a laugh; 'something you have never seen before. Try the newspaper.'

Although I appeared to win approval by my reading of the extremely uninteresting leading article, he shook his head at the sight of my handwriting, whilst he seemed to be astounded by my total ignorance of Latin and French.

'The fact is,' he said, 'it is high time you went to boarding-school!'

Before he left the house that afternoon he had another private conversation with Aunt Marion, and a week or two later he arrived with the announcement that 'everything had been arranged.'

'Windlesham has been very strongly recommended to me,' he explained.

'The Reverend Matthew Windlesham, to give him his full t.i.tle.'

'Has he a living?' inquired Aunt Marion.

'No, but he has a capital house, with a large garden and a meadow, at a place called Castlemore.'

'Where is that?'

'About a hundred miles from London. Windlesham has a wife and five daughters, and at present there are only six or seven pupils. As Jack is rather backward, it will suit him better than a larger school.'

So everything was decided, and I fancy that Aunt Marion looked forward to my departure with a satisfaction equal to my own--it could scarcely have been greater. Boys and girls were at that time an unknown quant.i.ty to us, as were most of their sports and pastimes.

It was true that there were scarcely enough of us at Ascot House for football or cricket; nevertheless we did our best in the meadow at the bottom of the garden, our scanty numbers being eked out by Mr. and Mrs.

Windlesham's five girls. They were nice, kind people, and, when the first shyness had worn off, I settled down happily at Castlemore. During the next three uneventful years I received occasional visits from Captain Knowlton, while I grew greatly in stature, and, it is to be hoped, in knowledge.

The holidays were, for the most part, spent with Aunt Marion, sometimes in boarding-houses at the seaside, sometimes in London, and I had no antic.i.p.ation of troubles ahead until shortly after I pa.s.sed my fourteenth birthday.

(_Continued on page 12._)

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Does Miss Everard live here?' he inquired."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "His grandfather lay gagged and bound on the floor."]

THE CASTLE LIGHT.

'I wish you would tell me, Grandfather, how it was you first thought of building a lighthouse tower.'

'Well, Conrad, if you _will_ know, you shall hear the story,' and Sir Matthew Cairns, as he said these words, looked kindly down into the bright young face uplifted to his own.

'It was twenty years ago that the thought first came to me that Cairns Castle might serve as a beacon to those far out at sea. The reason for this was that on a certain winter's night a vessel was wrecked on these sh.o.r.es, solely on account of there being no light to warn her of her peril. More than a hundred souls went to their doom, to the joy, it is said, of the wreckers, who made a fine harvest on the coast at daybreak.'

'Oh, Grandfather,' Conrad said with a shudder, 'how awful! Surely we have no such people about now?'

His grandfather sighed, and, to turn the subject, proceeded to explain to the little lad his method of lighting the lamp.

Cairns Castle was an ancient building which overlooked the sea, its isolated position rendering it a very lonely dwelling-place. Sir Matthew, its present possessor, though by no means a wealthy man, had spent a considerable sum of money in adding a lighthouse tower to the castle. From the window-panes shone forth a gleam so clear and brilliant, that many a gallant seaman was guided safely home thereby.

'Let me light the lamp to-night, Grandfather,' said Conrad, after listening intently to all Sir Matthew's instructions. 'Perhaps it will guide Father and Mother on their way home from India.'

'Aye, laddie, perhaps it will; the good ship _Benares_ should be nearing our coast by this time,' was the reply.

'Then may I, Grandfather?' said Conrad.