Children of the Mist Part 80

"I'm forgetting all I've got to tell 'e, though I've news enough for a buke," he said.

"How's Jan Grimbal, fust plaace?"

"On his legs again an' out o' danger if the Lunnon doctor knaws anything. A hunderd guineas they say that chap have had! Your name was danced to a mad tune 'pon Grimbal's lips 'fore his senses corned back to un. Why for I caan't tell 'e. He've shook hands wi' Death for sartain while you was away."

"An' mother, an' wife, an' Miller?"

"Your mother be well--a steadfast woman her be. Joy doan't lift her up, an' sorrow doan't crush her. Theer's gert wisdom in her way of life. 'T is my awn, for that matter. Then Miller--well, he 'm grawin' auld an'

doan't rate me quite so high as formerly--not that I judge anybody but myself. An' your missis--theer, if I haven't kept it for the last! 'Tis news four-an-twenty hour old now an' they wrote to 'e essterday, but I lay you missed the letter awin' to me--"

"Get on!"

"Well, she've brought 'e a bwoy--so now you've got both sorts--bwoy an'

cheel. An' all doin' well as can be, though wisht work for her, thinkin'

'pon you the while."

Will stood still and uttered a triumphant but inarticulate sound--half-laugh, half-sob, half-thanksgiving. Then the man spoke, slow and deep,--

"He shall go for a soldier!"

"Theer! Now I knaw 't is Blanchard back an' no other! Hear me, will 'e; doan't plan no such uneven way of life for un."

"By G.o.d, he shall!"

The words came back over Will Blanchard's shoulder, for he was fast vanishing.

"Might have knawed he wouldn't walk along wi' me arter that," thought Billy. Then he lifted up his voice and bawled to the diminishing figure, already no more than a darker blot on the darkness of night.

"For the Lard's love go in quiet an' gradual, or you'll scare the life out of 'em all."

And the answer came back,--

"I knaw, I knaw; I ban't the man to do a rash deed!"

Mr. Blee chuckled and plodded on through the night while Will strode far ahead.

Presently he stood beside the wicket of Mrs. Blanchard's cottage and hesitated between two women. Despite circ.u.mstances, there came no uncertain answer from the deepest well-springs of him. He could not pa.s.s that gate just then. And so he stopped and turned and entered; and she, his mother, sitting in thought alone, heard a footfall upon the great nightly silence--a sudden, familiar footfall that echoed to her heart the music it loved best.

THE END.