The Boy Artist Part 12

"Out of the churchyard, from off father's grave," said Janet, dropping her voice.

Mr. Smith took up the flowers and looked at them as if he was trying to discover how they were made, so intently were his eyes bent upon them.

"Mother says we are like daisies, sometimes," said Janet merrily.

"How?" asked the old man.

The child coloured, and did not answer; but Mrs. Shipton replied for her,--"Because whenever I am gloomy and unhappy, these children brighten me and cheer me by looking up to the sun; they always find out a sunny side to my troubles."

Mr. Smith laid his hand lightly on Janet's head, and said, "I have learnt many things since I came to London, but I did not know that I should find country flowers in this large, wicked place."

"We value them more because they are not plenty, and because we have not many other things," said Mrs. Shipton.

"Ay, ay--well, can town daisies be transplanted, think you?"

Ellen looked wonderingly at the old man, for she saw that his eyes were fixed on Janet with a meaning smile, but the little girl herself seemed quite unconscious of it, and answered quickly, "If you have plenty of flowers in the country, you don't want them."

The strange lodger laughed, but it was a rather sad laugh. "I do want them," he answered; and then, after pausing for a minute or two, he went on abruptly, "Mrs. Shipton, I've been a month with you, haven't I?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I must go home to-morrow; now, I've got something to say to you.

You're not rich, and there's no nonsense about you to pretend you are."

The widow's colour was heightened, but she had grown accustomed to her lodger's abrupt manner of speaking, so she took no notice of his remark, and he went on,--

"I'm a lonely old man, and have neither chick nor child to care for me.

I didn't believe anything pure and innocent could be found in this place; but I've discovered some daisies, and I want to dig up one and take it back to my home."

"I'll dig up one for you to-morrow," said Janet eagerly; but Mrs.

Shipton saw his meaning, and she became very pale, and looked anxiously at her child.

"Thank you, my dear," said the old man, putting his arm round her. "Now, I want you to come and be my own little girl, and live with me in the country."

"And go away from mother?" said Janet, lifting her eyes to his face.

"Yes; come and be mine, and perhaps I'd bring you to see your mother sometimes."

Janet looked away to her mother, and saw that her eyes were full of tears; then she sprang into her mother's arms and hid her face on her shoulder.

"I will promise to take all care of her," said the old man; "and the country would do her all the good in the world."

"I can't leave mother! no, no, no!" sobbed little Janet.

"I would adopt her for my own, and provide for her liberally," said Mr.

Smith. "Come, Mrs. Shipton, you're a sensible woman, you know how much better it would be for your child."

"I cannot give her up, sir," said the mother anxiously; "she is too young to leave me."

"Well, then, may I have Ellen?"

Ellen shrank to her mother's side. "No, no!" she whispered. A disappointed look crossed the old man's face. "Come, Mrs. Shipton, you are slaving your life away for these children, will you lose so good a chance of providing for one of them?"

"I'll go if I ought, mother, if it would be better for you and the others," said Ellen bravely; but she put her hands over her face, that her mother might not see how much those words cost her.

"No, sir," said the widow firmly, as she drew her children closely to her; "G.o.d has given me these children, and he will give me the means of keeping them."

Mr. Smith cleared his throat violently.

"Well, then," he muttered, "I suppose I must live and die--lonely--lonely."

Mrs. Shipton's eye wandered wistfully to Maurice, who was looking on with eyes full of wonder.

"Sir, you are very, very kind," she said, and then paused.

"Don't talk of it--I can't get what I want," said the old man.

"I cannot bear giving up one of them," said the widow; "but there's Maurice,--the child is ill, I believe he will die here in the town, but he might live in the country; will you take him, sir?" and then, having said thus much, Mrs. Shipton quite broke down, and hid her face among Janet's curls.

At this moment the conversation was interrupted by a scream from Maurice, as the door was opened, and a boy in a sailor's dress stood amongst them.

"Alan!"

"My boy, my boy!" and Mrs. Shipton held out her arms to him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ALAN'S RETURN.]

Mr. Smith looked at him for a minute, and then putting his hand to his head, he hastily left the room. It seemed as if he saw his own Alan again, in all the strength and beauty of his boyhood. Before the lodger returned to the sitting-room, Alan had been told who he was, and what he wanted to do; and though he thought for Maurice's sake it was best, the way in which his arm was twisted round his little brother's neck, told how sore a trial it would be to part with him. Maurice alone was unmoved; the thought of the country seemed to have great attractions for him, and Mr. Smith's stories and general kindness had quite won his heart. Mr. Smith lifted him on to his knee, but did not speak a word, for he was looking intently at Alan all the time.

"Do you like being at sea, Alan?" asked Janet.

Alan shook his head, but said quickly, "Janet, it doesn't matter what one likes; it's what's best;" and a brave courageous smile came upon the boy's handsome face.

"Isn't he like his father?" whispered Mrs. Shipton to Ellen.

"Yes; he smiles just like him," said Ellen.

"Just like him," said Mr. Smith, in a low, deep voice, that startled them all. Maurice was frightened, and slipped down off his knee, and Ellen looked in her mother's face in silent astonishment. "Alan, Alan, my son!" and the old man rose up and came over to the sailor-boy's side.

Alan stood up, and his grandfather put one hand on his shoulder, pa.s.sed his hand over his dark curly hair, and then drawing him closely into his arms, said, while the tears ran down his cheeks, "Alan, be my son, instead of him that's gone."

"Who is it, mother?" asked Maurice fearfully.

But Mr. Smith, or, as we may now call him again by his rightful name, old Farmer Shipton, answered, "I am the grandfather whom you have been taught to pray for! Ellen, my daughter, my own Alan's wife, forgive me; I am your father now!"

Then Mrs. Shipton came to him, knelt down beside him, and laying her hand in his, said, "Alan always said you would come! Father, have you forgiven him?"

"Ay," said the old man; "may G.o.d forgive me as freely. And now, daughter Ellen, you must never leave me; and your children must be mine, and I must have you all. Alan will leave the sea and become my eldest son, and there's room in the old house for you all. Will you come, little daisy?" and Janet smiled gladly as she answered, "Yes, grandfather."

"G.o.d be thanked for all he has taught me in this room," said Farmer Shipton. "Ellen, my little one, will you love me too?"