It Is Never Too Late to Mend Part 7

"What, do you come here to insult over me? I must be a long way lower than I am, before I shall be as low as you were when my mother took you up and made a man of you."

"George, George!" cried Susan in dismay; "stop, for pity's sake, before you say words that will separate us forever. Father," cried the peace-making angel, "how can you push poor George so hard and him in trouble! and we have all been too unkind to him to-day."

Ere either could answer, there was happily another interruption. A smart servant in livery walked up to them with a letter. With the instinctive feeling of cla.s.s they all endeavored to conceal their agitation from the gentleman's servant. He handed George the note, and saying, "I was to wait for an answer, Farmer Fielding," sauntered toward the farm-stables.

"From Mr. Winchester," said George, after a long and careful inspection of the outside.

In the country it is a point of honor to find out the writer of a letter by the direction, not the signature.

"The Honorable Francis Winchester! What does he write to you?" cried Merton, in a tone of great surprise. This, too, was not lost on George.

Human nature is human nature. He was not sorry to be able to read a gentleman's letter in the face of one who had bitterly reproached him, and of others who had seen him mortified and struck down.

"Seems so," said George, dryly, and with a glance of defiance; and he read out the letter.

"George Fielding, my fine fellow, think of it again. I have two berths in the ship that sails from Southampton to-morrow. You will have every comfort on the voyage--a great point. I will do what I said for you"

("he promised me five hundred sheep and a run"). "I must have an honest man, and where can I find as honest a man as George Fielding?" ("Thank you, Mr. Winchester; George Fielding thanks you, sir.") And there was something n.o.ble and simple in the way the young farmer drew himself up, and looked fearlessly in all his companions' eyes.

"You saved my life--I can do nothing for you here--and you are doing no good at 'The Grove'--everybody says so ("everybody says so!"--and George Fielding winced at the words).

"And it really pains me, my brave fellow, to go without you where I know I could put you on the way of fortune. My heart is pretty stout; but home is home; and be a.s.sured that I wait with some anxiety to know whether my eyes are to look on nothing but water for the next four months, or are to be cheered by the sight of something from home, the face of a thoroughbred English yeoman, and--a friend--and--and--"

Poor George could read no more, the kind words, coming after his affronts and troubles, brought his heart to his mouth.

Susan took the letter from him, and read out--

"And an upright, downright honest man"--"AND SO YOU ARE, GEORGE!" cried she, warmly, drawing to George's side, and darting glances of defiance vaguely around. Then she continued to read--

"If the answer is favorable, a word is enough. Meet me at 'The Crown,'

in Newborough, to-night, and we will go up to Town by the mail train."

"The answer is, Yes," said George to the servant, who was at some distance.

Susan, bending over the letter, heard, but could not realize the word, but the servant now came nearer. George said to him, "Tell your master, Yes."

"Yes? George!" cried Susan, "what do you mean by yes? It is about going to Australia."

"The answer is yes," said George.

The servant went away with the answer.

The others remained motionless.

"This n.o.bleman's son respects me if worse folk don't. But it is not the great bloodhounds and greyhounds that bark at misfortune's heels, it is only the village curs, when all is done. This is my path. I'll pack up my things and go." And he did not look at Susan or any of them, but went into the house like a man walking in his sleep.

There was a stupefied pause.

Then Susan gave a cry like a wounded deer.

"Father! what have you done?"

Merton himself had been staggered, but he replied stoutly:

"No more than my duty, girl, and I hope you will do no less than yours."

At this moment Robinson threw up the window and jumped out into the yard.

Meadows, under stronger interests, had forgotten Robinson; but now at sight of him he looked round, and catching the eye of a man who was peering over the farmyard wall, made him a signal.

"What is the matter?" cried Robinson.

"George is going to Australia," replied Merton, coldly.

"Australia!" roared Robinson--"Australia! He's mad. Who ever goes there unless they are forced? He shan't go there! I wouldn't go there if my pa.s.sage was paid, and a new suit of clothes given me, and the governor's gig to take me ash.o.r.e to a mansion provided for my reception, fires lighted, beds aired and pipes laid across upon the table."

As Robinson concluded this tirade the policeman and constable, who had crept round the angle of the farm-house, came one on each side, put each a hand on one of his elbows and--took him!

He looked first down at their hands in turn, then up at their faces in turn, and when he saw the metropolitan's face a look of simple disgust diffused itself over his whole countenance.

"Ugh!!!" interjected Robinson.

"Ay!" replied the policeman, while putting handcuffs on him. "To Australia you'll go, for all that, Tom Lyon, alias Scott, alias Robinson, and you'll have a new suit of clothes, mostly one color, and voyage paid, and a large house ash.o.r.e waiting for you; and the governor's gig will come alongside for you, provided they can't find the convicts' barge," and the official was pleased with himself and his wit and allowed it to appear.

But by this time Robinson was on his balance again. "Gentlemen,"

answered he with cold dignity, "what am I to understand by this violence from persons to whom I am an utter stranger?" and he might have set for the picture of injured innocence. "I am not acquainted with you, sir,"

added he; "and by the t.i.tles you give me it seems you are not acquainted with me."

The police laughed, and took out of this injured man's pocket the stolen notes which Meadows instantly identified.

Then Mr. Robinson started off into another key equally artistical in its way.

"Miss Merton," snuffled he, "appearances are against me, but mark my words, my innocence will emerge all the brighter for this temporary cloud."

Susan Merton ran indoors, saying, "Oh! I must tell George." She was not sorry of an excuse to be by George's side, and remind him by her presence that if home had its thorns it had its rose tree, too.

News soon spreads; rustic heads were seen peeping over the wall to see the finale of the fine gentleman from "Lunnun." Meantime the constable went to put his horse in a four-wheeled chaise destined to convey Robinson to the county jail.

If the rural population expected to see this worthy discomposed by so sudden a change of fortune, they were soon undeceived.

"Well, Jacobs," said he, with sudden familiarity, "you seem uncommon pleased, and I am content. I would rather have gone to California; but any place is better than England. Laugh those who win. I shall breathe a delicious climate; you will make yourself as happy as a prince, that is to say, miserable, upon fifteen shillings and two colds a week; my sobriety and industry will realize a fortune under a smiling sun. Let chaps that never saw the world, and the beautiful countries there are in it, snivel at leaving this island of fogs and rocks and taxes and n.o.bs, the rich man's paradise, the poor man's--I never swear, it's vulgar."

While he was crushing his captors with his eloquence, George and Susan came together from the house; George's face betrayed wonder and something akin to horror.

"A thief!" cried he. "Have I taken the hand of a thief?"

"It is a business like any other," said Robinson deprecatingly.

"If you have no shame I have; I long to be gone now."