First in the Field Part 4

And he told Sir John that it was his little boy."

Nic stared, for this was spoken loudly, in a pleasant rich voice, with an intonation that decidedly fitted with the name.

"Yes, yes," said the doctor, who was smiling and very courtly; "but Dr Braydon forgot that his son has been with me over five years, madam, and he has grown bodily, and mentally, I hope."

"To be sure. Shake hands, Dominic. Why, you ought to be Irish, with a name like that."

"Lady O'Hara!" cried Nic excitedly, as he grasped the hand extended to him. "Do you know my father?"

"Oh, don't make jam of my fingers, boy, and I'll tell you," cried the lady, with a pleasant grimace. "Ah, that's better. Yes, of course I know him. He lives next door to us, about a hundred miles away."

The doctor chuckled, and Nic stared.

"Sit down, Braydon, sit down," said the doctor. "Ah! that's better,"

said the lady, in a fresh, cheery way. "Well, now, look at that, doctor. Here am I, come at his father's wish to take care of him, and he's big enough to take care of me."

"But--I beg your pardon," cried Nic--"you know my mother, madam?"

"To be sure I do, and the two girls; and here's a batch of letters I've brought."

"Oh, tell me, please," cried Nic excitedly, taking the letters with trembling hand,--"my mother and Janet and Hilda, what are they like?"

"Gently, gently," cried the lady; "where will I find breath to answer your questions? Why, the poor boy's like an orphan, Dr Dunham, living all these years away from home."

"Mrs Dunham and I try to make this my pupils' home," said the doctor, with dignity.

"Yes, I know," said the lady, smiling a broad, pleasant smile, and showing her fine white teeth; "but sure, doctor, there's no place like home. It's very pleasant out yonder with Sir John, but I long for wild old Galway, where I was born. Well, Dominic, and do you know what I've come for?"

"You said something about taking care of me, madam," stammered Nic.

"Ah, and don't stammer and blush like a great gyurl, and don't call me madam. I am a very old friend now of your dear mother, and I've come to take you back with me over the salt say--I mean sea, doctor, but I always called it say when I was a gyurl. I was in England a great deal after I was married, but the fine old p.r.o.nunciation clings to me still, and I'm not ashamed."

"Why should you be, Lady O'Hara?" said the doctor in his most courtly manner, as he rose. "There, you would like to have a quiet chat with Dominic Braydon. I will leave you till lunch is ready."

"Oh, I don't know about lunch," said the lady, hesitating. "Yes, I do.

Dominic here will lunch with us, of course?"

"Of course," said the doctor, smiling; and there was a curious look in his eye as Nic glanced at him sharply.

"Sure, then, I'll stay," said the lady. "But wait a minute: I shall be obliged to answer the question when we get back over the say. Did I say say or sea then, Dominic?"

Nic coloured a little.

"Oh, there's no doubt about it," cried the lady. "It was say, doctor.

Now then, tell me: has he been a good boy?"

The doctor wrinkled his brow and pursed up his lips.

"Ah! ye needn't tell me. I can see--about half-and-half."

"Well, yes--about that," said the doctor.

"To be sure," said the lady; "and I'm glad of it. What's wrong with him?"

"Oh, I don't like to tell tales out of school," said the doctor jovially. "Not quite so much of a student as I could have wished. His cla.s.sics are decidedly shaky, and his mathematics--"

"Look here, doctor: can he write a good plain English letter, properly spelt, and so as you can read it without puzzling because he hasn't dotted his i's and crossed his t's?"

"Oh! yes, yes, yes," said the doctor; "we can do that, eh, Braydon? But there's rather a long list of black marks against his name," he continued severely. "For instance, there has been a tendency toward fighting."

"There, that'll do, doctor.--Come and give me a kiss, my dear.--Sure, doctor," she continued, after Nic had obeyed, "he's coming out to a new country, where that part of his education will be of the greatest value to him."

"My dear madam!" cried the doctor, staring.

"Oh, I mean it, sir. It's a new country, full of savages, black and white, and the white are the worst of them, and more shame for us we sent them there, though I don't know what else we could have done.

Dominic, my lad, do you know we're going to make a convict of you?"

Nic gave a violent start, and darted a reproachful glance at the visitor.

"There, leave us together a bit, doctor," she said quickly, "and I'll be bound to say when lunch is ready we shall both of us be as hungry as sailors with talking, for I've got to question him and answer all his."

"To be sure, to be sure," said the doctor. "Then, if you will excuse me, Lady O'Hara, I will adjourn to the schoolroom."

"There, Dominic," cried the lady as soon as they were alone, "now we can talk like old friends. But tell me what made you start and colour like a great gyurl when I talked of making a convict of you?"

Nic was silent.

"Won't you tell me?" cried the lady, smiling at him in a winning, frank way, which unlocked the boy's lips at once and made him feel eager to confide in one who took so much interest in him.

"Yes, I'll tell you," he cried: "it's one of the boys--the biggest. He has set it about that my father is--is--is--"

"A convict?"

Nic nodded, and his brow contracted.

"The impudence!"

"And he nicknamed me Convict. And it isn't true, Lady O'Hara? Pray, pray tell me."

"About your father, Dr Braydon? Be ashamed of ye'self, boy, for ever thinking it. Your father's the finest gentleman in New South Wales, and the best friend that Sir John and I ever had in our hard life yonder."

Nic drew a long, deep breath. Something seemed to be swelling up in his throat, and he reached forward to catch hold of and retain the plump white hand, which returned his pressure.

"And so the big fellow called you Convict, did he, because your father's over the water!"

"Yes."

"And I see now: that accounts for the fighting?"