Chapter IV: Ten Shillings Reward

"MOTHER, how fast the days go by!" remarked little Dick one evening after the other children had gone to bed. "The year is nearly out—only a few days left of it now. O mother, don't you hope the next will be a better one for us all than this has been?"

"Indeed I do!" sighed Mrs. Wilkins, and a hot tear fell upon her work; she was knitting to-night by the uncertain light of the fire. "Life's a struggle at the best of-times for poor people," she went on; "and when the father of a family is taken, it's bound to go hard with those he leaves behind."

"Ain't you straining your eyes?" asked the boy anxiously. "Do let me light the lamp for you! We've been more sparing than ever over oil of late, and I can't bear to think you may be hurting your sight."

"I don't need the use of my eyes to knit, dear," was the widow's return. "If I was sewing, 'twould be different."

"But the room looks so dark and gloomy," persisted Dick. "And for some reason or other, it seems more silent than usual. I wonder," turning his head to look about him, "what it is I miss. Oh! oh!" To Mrs. Wilkins's dire dismay, he started to his feet and pointed at an empty corner near the door—"I know now!" he gasped forth. "It's the clock that's gone! O mother! Mother! Where is it? What has become of it? 'Twas the one thing that father prized above all else we had, 'cos grandfather gave it to him on his wedding-day."

"Ah, my child," sobbed the poor woman, "I have been forced to sell it to Squire Filmer in order to pay the rent. The landlord was here yesterday, and he threatened to sell us up if the money wasn't paid by to-morrow. It's a great blow to me, but we must live."

There was a long pause; then Dick said: "O mother, however can we get the money for poor Stranger's tax? O mother! Mother! Whatever happens, we can't part with our dog."

Laying aside her knitting, Dick's mother placed a tender hand upon his heaving shoulder. "My dear," she said, "the thought of it has worried me nearly as much as the trouble about the rent; but I can't see any chance of our being able to get the money to pay his tax."

"Then you really think we shall have to part with him?" cried Dick. "Oh! God must be very cruel if He lets it come to that. I know our Stranger wouldn't ever love other folks as he loves you and me and the children. And if we sold him or gave him away, his new owner might kick him about as—as some people do their dogs."

"Well, there's all next month for us to look around and try to serape the money together, dear," the widow summoned heart enough to remind her little boy. "As long as it's paid by the last day of January it will be in time; and if 'tis right for us to keep our dog, why then we shall find ways and means for doing so. Don't fret, child, more than you can help. Whatever happens will be sure to be for the best. Now, dry your eyes, and we'll have our supper cosy like in front of the fire. If you lose heart, Dick, what'll become of us all?"

But though the old year died and the new one took its place, no sign of better fortune could Mrs. Wilkins or Dick see. Stranger must be disposed of—that seemed certain beyond a doubt; and if no one could be induced to offer him a home, why then he would have to be killed. It would be terrible indeed to part with so faithful a friend.

One evening at the end of January, little Dick was walking homeward through the village by his mother's side, when a large, square piece of paper, placed in a conspicuous position in the post-office window, attracted his attention, and he paused abruptly, saying,—

"Wait half a minute, mother; I want to read this notice."

Mrs. Wilkins stopped at once, and together they approached the window, whereupon Dick read aloud:—

"LOST, in this neighbourhood (probably a month
or six weeks ago), a small carved ivory match-box.
Finder will receive TEN SHILLINGS REWARD
by returning same to Colonel Flamank, Leigh Grange."

"Dick, Dick, my little boy, what's the matter with you? Are you ill?" demanded Mrs. Wilkins; for the small face at her side had grown suddenly as pale as death, and the child had clutched convulsively at her arm.

"Ill?—No! No! No!" was the emphatic reply. "I'm well enough; only I can scarce believe 'tis true!"

"What's true, Dick? I don't know what 'tis you're talking of."

"Why, the box, to be sure—the little carved ivory match-box that the colonel's offering ten shillings reward for. See!" drawing it from his pocket, where he had thrust it in disgust weeks and weeks ago. "Here it is! Now we can claim the reward, pay dear old Stranger's tax, and keep him; besides having a whole half-crown to spend as we're minded to afterwards."

"O Dick, how wonderful! How like a miracle!" ejaculated the woman, with a sob of thankfulness. "But are you sure there's no mistake? Are you sure that that's the right box?"

"As good as sure," declared Dick. "Anyhow, I'll very soon make certain. I shall go to Leigh Grange at once and ask to see the colonel. Then if it's the right one, we'll pay Stranger's tax the first thing to-morrow morning, and after that's done, we shall feel he's safe."

"Very well, my dear; I daresay, we shall all sleep the better to-night for having the anxiety about the poor dog taken off our minds. But why didn't you tell me you had found that match-box, Dick? You're not generally so close about things."

"I didn't tell you because I didn't find it, and I could not bring myself to worry you by saying how it got into my hands," was the child's admission. Then, as they walked on side by side in the direction of Leigh Grange, Dick narrated the story of his meeting in the woods with Stephen Filmer, adding, "And I thought God was so cruel to let that great bully rob me of the shilling when I wanted it so badly. I little dreamed that things would turn out as they have."

And now that the silver lining had appeared to his cloud, Dick laughed merrily at the thought of how vexed the squire's son would be when he discovered what he had lost by not being able to restore the box.

"How shall you account to Colonel Flamank for having the match-box in your possession?" Mrs. Wilkins presently interrogated. "If he asks questions, you'll be bound to tell him the whole story that you've just told me."

Dick hesitated a minute, after which he said,—

"I hadn't thought of that; and I shouldn't like to tell tales on Master Stephen, though he did serve me shamefully bad that afternoon in the woods. But there! Like as not, the colonel won't want particulars; and if he doesn't, why then, I needn't give him any."

Arrived at the entrance of Leigh Grange, Dick bade his mother not to wait for him, lest she should take cold by standing. Some seconds later, he was walking up the colonel's trim carriage-drive, his heart beating, his legs shaking beneath him, with nervousness and excitement.