Chapter XII: Home at Last

The lads slept peaceful sleep; after the fatigues of such a day it had been strange if they had not; but one at least, Duke Tregowan, had other reasons besides merely physical ones why sleep with him should be sweet and pleasant, for his was that greatest of all great blessings--a mind at ease. If you want to see the glory which is in all life, if you want to know the happiness which should be known to all, if you want to judge with unjaundiced judgment of the beauty, and the majesty, and the perfection of God's presence in the world, then your mind must be at ease. This is the merest truism, but none the less it is a truism which applies with fullest force to the case of every boy just as truly as to the case of every man. Away with doubt and trouble, difficulty and despair; get your mind at ease, and there is no simpler, no better, no such infallible receipt to bring about that highly desirable state of things whenever the mind is not at ease than to make a clean breast of the cause of uneasiness unto the Lord.

The lads lay side by side. There was a smile upon Tregowan's face, the face which not so long ago had seemed as though it would never know a smile again; he was dreaming perhaps of home, of the people there, of his mother and his sisters, of the love which surely waited for his coming. Pollyon too wore a curious look of quiet satisfaction upon his sleeping countenance. One standing by might unconsciously have wondered what it was which made him look so satisfied. Tregowan, had he been awake, might perhaps have told. Penharden, for some inscrutable reason, seemed more restless than his fellows. He had the major portion of the bed, that which is generally accounted the most comfortable part of it. He was not particular in considering how others might be affected by the position in which he chose to lie; his head was in the centre, yet his legs stretched right across until they almost reached the side. This could hardly be agreeable to Pollyon, who was specially interested in their presence; yet Lionel was quite at ease, while now and then Noel tossed restlessly, although he slept.

The fire, burning in the fireplace, burned till it burned itself away, and as by degrees it lower sank, and the shadows which it cast grew more and more uncertain and faint, grim light began to steal from behind the curtains and the blind and to flit across the room. It was the approach of dawn; and the dawn came nearer still and nearer, and the fire sank down lower, and the light shed by the two struggled in rivalry to see which one should win. And at last the fire, perceiving that to longer strive was vain, gave up the ghost and died; and it was as though it died of sheer old age, and because the life which once was its had fairly lived itself away; and when it in the end was gone, its ashes were as mourners for the dead, and in its place there came the strange, uncertain light of wintry morn. By no means a cheerful light, but rather one to fill the soul with gloom; for it is so cold and grim, it is as though an enemy had come, and not a friend.

And by degrees, as this same light held more and more command, the "Station Arms" woke up, and in their turn the boys; and they, with all the others, woke to no kindly waking, for in that first hour Nature seemed to hold to them no friendly hand. And indeed, because Nature seemed to be in such a bitter mood, they held to the stronghold of their beds, and from their fastnesses defied her sturdily. But this feeling, which is no uncommon one with men when first they wake in a warm bed and find that all without is cold and biting, gradually went, and, in the case of the boys, perforce was driven away; for there came so lusty a knocking at their bedroom door that, willy-nilly, they were compelled to give it their attention.

"Now then, gents, if you please, gents--half-past eight o'clock--half-past eight o'clock has gone!" And there came another banging at the door, whereat all three of them progressed another stage towards waking.

"Who's there?" cried Pollyon, perceiving that the other two did nothing but rub their knuckles in their eyes and yawn. "Is it burglars, or is the house on fire?"

"It's half-past eight and more," replied the voice, "and there's a special train at ten. And what will you please to have for breakfast, gents?"

"The remains of what we had for supper," said Pollyon; but, considering that the reply was scarcely satisfactory, went on, "Oh, anything you like, as long as it's good and there's plenty of it--eggs and bacon, kidneys, steaks, chops, pork-pies, fowls--anything that's good for eating."

And with that the knocker went away, persuaded perhaps that he would not find it difficult to satisfy so liberal a taste; and Lionel, himself but half awake, turned his attention to his still recumbent friends, determined that they should be at least as wakeful as was he.

"Here, Penharden, get up, you lazy beggar!" and he thrust his elbow dexterously into his comrade's side.

"Oh!" cried Noel, taken unawares, and precipitately roused from a last delicious doze; "what's that for?"

As it chanced, he lay upon his side, his back turned to Pollyon, his face Tregowan's way. Too stupefied with sleep to be clearly conscious of what went on around him, nothing doubting that the attack came from the front, he struck out smartly in front of him, and so struck Marmaduke, who, since he first was roused, had gone back into the land of dreams. But the blow was sufficiently strong to effectually recall him to a more matter-of-fact existence, and instantly he was sitting up in bed to discover his antagonist.

"Who was that hit me?" he asked, yawning and brushing the cobwebs from his eyes.

"Then don't you hit me first," replied Penharden, probably under the impression that the retort was logical.

"What do you mean?" demanded Marmaduke; "I never touched you."

"My dear friends," observed Lionel, who, deeming discretion the better part of valour, by this time had scrambled out of bed, "let birds in their little nests agree--how beautiful a thing it is to see! That is not intended to be poetry; it is actually prose. Let me remark that we've been called; that it's past half-past eight; that there's a special train at ten, though where it's going to is more than I can say--I merely impart to you the information I've received; that I've ordered breakfast, and that if anybody comes down after I've begun, it will be taken for granted that the matutinal meal is despicable to him--Ahem! Our knowledge of the English dictionary is considerably extending--and I shall eat his share instead."

With some grumbling Noel followed his example and got out upon the floor. More willingly Duke renounced the delights of bed and faced the cheerless morning. Before he did anything else he knelt down and communed with the Lord who had preserved him, and given him so much comfort through the silent watches of the night. Noel stared for a moment, and then, perhaps, from very shame, perhaps from mere force of example, than which no force could possibly be greater--would that we always bore the memory of that truth in mind!--did as Tregowan did, and knelt in prayer; and so the day was begun, as days should be, by seeking the presence of the Lord. For Pollyon, prayer was life to him, but he always prayed when he had finished dressing, before he went out to meet his fellows, so that the memory of the prayer might be fresh upon him as he went.

Duke was actually surprised to find how happy was his mood. He was in the best of tempers and the highest of high spirits; he was at his best; his pride and reserve were swept aside, and he was the Duke who witched all hearts. Pollyon noticed this, and for a time said nothing; but as Tregowan broke into some happy song in the midst of his ablutions, was constrained to remark upon the fact in his own peculiar way.

"Cheerful sort of custom, very!" He himself was scrubbing his face with a towel as he spoke. "Sort of Mark Tapley, junior. Cheerful sort of weather, cheerful sort of room, cheerful sort of fire." What can be more cheerless than to wake up and find what was a blazing fire nothing but ashes in the grate? "Cheerful sort of situation; but of all the cheerful things, that water is the cheerfullest. Hoo-o-oo!" This was a prolonged shiver. "It's not quite below zero, but it ain't far off. It's froze me to the marrow, and I would as soon think of singing while I was paddling in that as I would of singing at my own execution. Well, anyhow, it's good to find that tastes are different."

But Tregowan only laughed at him; he did not care for the misanthropic tone which any chose to take. There was nothing of that sort for him; he was nothing of a pessimist to-day. All the world was cakes and ale to him. Penharden might be sulkily inclined, as he very quickly let them see he was, Pollyon might be in his most sarcastic mood, but neither in any way affected him. He was friends with all the world, and he wished all the world to be friends with him; but if all the world would not, why so much the worse for all the world,--the refusal wrought no hurt to him.

The dilemma which they threatened to be in when it came to donning the garments of everyday life, and they began to wonder what garments they were to don, was quickly at an end. For just about that time there came another knocking at the door, and news was brought that the luggage had been recovered almost uninjured from the ruined train, and would they say what boxes they wanted brought up to their room. And soon each was in possession of his own portmanteau, and had a plentiful supply of linen and of everything at his command. The work of dressing progressed quickly then, and ere long they all were ready to descend in search of the breakfast to which they felt themselves qualified to do full justice.

Nor were their expectations of a first-rate meal doomed to disappointment. Apparently during the night the establishment had either been reinforced by the arrival of assistance from without, or had become better accustomed to the condition of things, so as to be able to meet the unwonted demands made on its resources. There was a smoking hot meal awaiting them in the coffee-room, which, though full when they entered, was by no means inconveniently crowded. What had become of the remainder of the passengers, whether they were still in their rooms, or had already breakfasted, they neither asked nor cared to know; all that they at present thought of was the satisfaction of their appetites. Eggs and bacon, kidneys, sausages, it was to their mind the perfection of a breakfast; and eaten in a snug coffee-room, in the neighbourhood of a blazing fire, what could the heart of boy want better? No wonder that they did it justice, no wonder that they were persuaded, before they had made an end of the good things, that it was the best and jolliest breakfast it had ever been their lot to meet.

"I feel better," declared Pollyon, as he put the last piece of kidney in his mouth and surveyed the other occupants of the room with friendly interest, "I feel considerably better, my dear boys. I am inclined to the opinion that the 'Station Arms' is not so bad a crib as I at first imagined. There is a something about that breakfast which raises our friend J. Robbins considerably in my estimation."

"Why, certainly," said Marmaduke, "certainly. Here's to the 'Station Arms' and Mr. Robbins." And he drank to the dregs another cup of coffee. "By the way, I wonder what sort of conscience he'll have about that larder business. Present us with a little bill something in this way, I suppose--'One ham, £1, 1s.; one pair of fowls, £1; one round of beef, a sovereign,'--with a nice little addition of etceteras. Good sort of appetites you fellows had--fine, healthy appetites!"

Even Penharden, having breakfasted, was in a better mood. That he was more himself was proved by the magnificent fashion of his speech. With portentous dignity he retorted on Tregowan--

"A healthy appetite presumes a healthy man; it is only the weakling, who, incompetent to sustain the demand made upon his dormant energies, is unable to obey that first of Nature's laws--namely, that man should eat!"

"Hear! hear! bravo! Mr. Penharden's in the chair," cried Pollyon, rattling his cup against his saucer. "Noel, my boy, when that proud day comes on which you are able to sign yourself M.P., I hope you will be so kind as not to send me a back-seat for the strangers' gallery. The effect of your eloquence upon the assembled throng will be to smash their intellect and fill all the lunatic asylums of the land."

"The intellect of some people is smashed already," was all Penharden condescended in reply, but the glance he fixed upon Pollyon was of a kind intended to freeze his soul within him.

"Hide me! hide me from that awful eye!" cried Lionel, and he struggled with his coat in an attempt to conceal his face with it.

But here a waiter came to inquire if they intended to travel by the special train which it was arranged to start at ten. Finding that it was westward bound, they decided there and then to go. The "Station Arms" might not be without comforts of its own, but, in their estimation at any rate, such comforts were not to be compared to the delights of home. The bill was brought--which, after all, despite the ravages they had made upon the contents of the larder, was not by any means immoderate--was paid, the luggage was brought in, they put themselves into their overcoats, and, to the best of their abilities, made these garments cover as much as possible of them, and having fee'd the waiter and the boots, and everybody else who felt disposed that way, as is the manner of the average boy when he has money, they started to walk to the station through the snow.

And what snow that was! Even now it had not entirely left off falling. The clouds were dull, and low, and heavy, and every now and then a sort of fleecy vapour filled the air, which resolved itself into the fairest of fair crystals, which were borne by the wind into their faces. Fortunately the station was not far, scarcely more than fifty yards from the hotel. But even in that short space they began to look like millers, being covered from head to foot with snow. They might have ridden had they chose, and so have bade defiance to the wet, which is the inevitable accompaniment to wading through the snow; but they were in no humour now for riding; it was much too slow for them. Arm in arm they trudged along, and were only restrained from singing through the open street by some dim idea of observing the proprieties.

The station being reached, and they once more comfortably seated in the train, they found that all at once they had become celebrities. The train was not entirely reserved for those who had been in the accident; and those who had not, showed a most unmistakable interest in those who had. They were the heroes of the hour. As the lads came marching in, they were met by an unusually civil guard, who begged to be allowed to find seats for them. Immediately the word went round that they had been among the sufferers, and instantly a little crowd came about them, who thronged even round the carriage door, staring at them as though they were monstrosities of a kind which was never seen before.

"Take us for the Prince of Wales, or for the Shah, or for two-legged Jumbos," suggested Pollyon, who was seldom abashed by the presence of curious strangers. "It is only right that we should have a little talk with them."

"Here! let me--let me cross!" said Marmaduke, rising from his seat and pressing forward to the carriage door.

"Excuse me," observed one individual advancing from the others in the crowd, "but might I hope that you escaped without any injury from the catastrophe?"

"One moment! one moment!" replied Duke, waving him off with an airy movement of his hand. Then, with perfect gravity, yet with a twinkle in his eyes, in clear ringing tones, in which, despite their suavity, there was a touch of pride, "Ladies, gentlemen," he said, "this is the proudest moment of my life; may I say it is the same of yours? We meet upon an occasion which can but afford unqualified satisfaction to us both." ("Hear, hear! bravo!" shouted Lionel from behind his back.) "It is with sensations too deep for utterance that I behold before me this unexampled assemblage of the beauty and intellect of my native land!" ("Have you got a pea-shooter?" inquired Lionel at the top of his voice; "you might scatter them with peas.") "I will not detain you; no, I will not detain you at this trying moment--far be it from me, ladies and gentlemen--further than to say--Three cheers for the Dutchman's little dog, and a little one in for the dog's little tail!"

And he himself led off the cheers, backed up with might and main by Noel and Lionel. The crowd were at a loss to understand either the speaker or his speech. The individual who had ventured to hope that they had escaped without injury from the catastrophe said, in tones perfectly audible to the boys, evidently meaning what he said--

"Ah! shattered intellect! shattered intellect! the brain is gone!" and he tapped his forehead with his finger. "One can never tell what will be the result of these catastrophes."

"Poor young man! mad as a March hare!" exclaimed a matronly-looking woman of a more outspoken turn of mind. "How his mother'll feel it; and such a nice-looking boy as him!"

Neither of these observations were lost upon those whom they alluded to. Pushing Tregowan without ceremony on one side, Pollyon stepped in front, and said, speaking to Duke in easy conversational tones--

"Curious-looking set of people in these parts, aren't they? See that man," pointing to the individual who had ventured to hope; "looks like a member of the criminal classes, don't he? Thimble-rigger, I should say he was, for choice, or else something in the forgery line. And that man beside him," pointing to a stalwart countryman who had a broad grin upon his face, as though the whole thing was a mighty joke to him, "awful-looking villain, isn't he? A burglar, or a coiner, or something in the wife-beating way."

Like magic the smile vanished from the countryman's face, an unpromising look took its place, and with threatening gestures he strode towards Master Lionel.

"Let me get at him! let me get at him!" he exclaimed. "Mad or not mad, I'll teach him how to speak to decent folks."

Instantly Pollyon pulled to the door and drew up the window, and held tight to the handle inside. The countryman, who it was plain meant mischief, pulled and tugged from his side, and threatened if they did not undo the door to smash the window. There was every prospect of a lively scrimmage, when all at once the word was given by the guard to start.

"All in!" rang down the platform. "Now, then, get away from there." And the countryman, unless he wished to be dragged upon the line, was compelled to release his hold. The train glided slowly from the station, as, baffled in his desire to be revenged upon the lively Lionel, he shook his fist at them with a sufficiently suggestive gesture.

This time the journey was uneventful. Through the country, which was hidden by its coverlet of snow, onward they sped until they reached their journey's end--until they had passed the limits of their own fair county--until they were on Cornish ground. And who does not love the Cornish country of those who know it well? Past St. Germain's, past Menheniot, past Bodmin, past Lostwithiel, St. Austell, and the quaint old city lying in the valley, which has been lately made again important,--through the Cam Brea district, where all the streams run red, and where is more wealth of tin than is found in all the world besides--over the wooden viaduct, which will surely one day fall and leave Redruth the worse for falling, on to Camborne. And as they come nearer still and nearer to that ugliest of towns, which yet every true-born Cambornite loves with a love which endures with his life, the excitement of the lads is of such a kind that they find it quite impossible to give it adequate expression. Ever since Plymouth was left behind they have been jumping in and out at every station, recognising guards and porters, old friends and odd acquaintances, for few faces are known better in those parts than the face of a Tregowan. And now, as he gets closer to his journey's end, the very ground over which the train is running is his own. A goodly few, and not the least important, of those multitudinous mines which are on every side, and which make the country famous and hideous both at once, are his, or at least the "dues" are the Tregowans'. There is Pool; there is Carn Brea, most unlovely of elevations, and this is Camborne. Marmaduke can hardly wait till he is in the station. His head has been thrust out of the window this long time past, and, so soon as it was at all possible to effect a lodgment on the platform, he had leaped out of the train and was on to it.

And here a surprise awaited him. The news of the accident had reached the town, and with it the news that the three lads were in the ruined train. It is always the worst news that travels quickest. And at first the story was that they were found among the dead; but in the morning the telegram was told of which Marmaduke had sent his mother, and the tale went round that they were coming on to-day. The report was verified by the fact of Mrs. Tregowan driving through the town to meet the train. In a minute every one was seized with the same impulse, and every one went flocking to the station. By the time the train arrived half the town was there; and Duke, leaping out, had to force his way through a cheering throng assembled there to bid him welcome home. But though he laughed in very gaiety of heart, and shook hands with every one who insisted on that form of recognition, he thought only of one thing, and that was to find his mother. And at last he found her, and by her side was standing Winnie. They were so much alike, mother and daughter, that there was no mistaking the relationship. Winnie was the first to see him, and she stepped forward to give him greeting; but the mother was before her after all; and in the face of all these people, in the front of that cheering throng, in another second the son was folded in his mother's arms. And as she clasped him to her heart, and as she held him there, the only words out of the fulness of her heart which she could say were--

"My son! my son! God bless you, my only son!"

Where had Duke's dignity gone then?