Chapter VIII: Grandfer's Secret

BILLY started up in bed uttering shriek after shriek, his forehead damp with perspiration, his limbs a tremble, his heart cold with fear. What had happened? A terrible noise had wakened him from tranquil sleep, a noise right overhead it had seemed. He had opened his eyes to find himself in pitch darkness; but now, all of a sudden, a great light almost blinded him, and, springing out of bed, he made a rush across the room for the door. As he reached it, it was opened, and Mrs. Brown, carrying a lighted candle, caught him by the arm.

"What's the matter, child?" she asked crossly. "Oh, stop that noise! Do you hear? Stop that noise, you little coward, you!"

Billy obeyed. The room was in darkness again but for the flickering light of the candle which Mrs. Brown placed on the top of a chest of drawers.

"Get back to bed!" she commanded, giving the boy a little shake, then letting him go. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself for shrieking like that just because there's a thunderstorm."

"A thunderstorm!" faltered Billy. "Oh, was it only thunder I heard? I thought—oh, that's lightning!" He crept into bed and lay down.

For a moment the room had been illuminated brilliantly. Now a series of low, crackling reports sounded right overhead.

"What did you think?" asked Mrs. Brown, when her voice could be heard.

"That—that there was an air raid," the little boy admitted.

"The Germans haven't ventured over Devonshire yet," Mrs. Brown remarked, "and maybe they never will. But if they came you'd do no good by shrieking."

"I know," Billy answered. "I couldn't help it, Granny! I couldn't, indeed! Oh!—" as another flash of lightning lit up the room. "Now we shall have thunder again!"

He was right. This time, however, it did not sound directly over the house, but further away. Mrs. Brown sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him gravely. She had thrown on a grey flannel dressing-gown, which she now proceeded to button up.

"I'll stay with you a little while," she said, her voice sounding kinder; "if I'd known you'd have been so scared I'd have come to you before. But I thought perhaps you'd sleep on like your grandfather. He's such a heavy sleeper nothing disturbs him, yet he always wakes up sharp at six o'clock. It's been a wild night, but the thunder's passing, I think."

"Yes," agreed Billy. He listened, then went on, "But hark to the rain! It's coming down in torrents! It must have put out all the bonfires, and they were burning so beautifully. Oh, Granny, poor Jenny! How dreadful to think of her out in the orchard."

"Jenny's all right," Mrs. Brown assured him. "Your grandfather put her in her stable the last thing before he went to bed; she won't sleep out again this winter, I reckon. Why, you're trembling still, child!"

"But I'm not frightened any longer. I'm not afraid of thunder and lightning; it was only—that I didn't know—"

"Oh, yes, I understand now," Mrs. Brown broke in; "but I didn't at first. I'm sorry I didn't."

"Oh, never mind, Granny," Billy murmured. "I oughtn't to have been afraid; I shouldn't have been if I'd stopped to think—to remember God was with me and that He'd keep me safe."

"He didn't keep your mother safe!"

The little boy started up in bed.

"Yes, He did!" he cried. "He took her to be with Him for ever and ever! That's being safe, isn't it?"

Mrs. Brown was silent. She was not religious in the true sense of the word. She called herself a Christian, of course, but she had never opened her heart to the Saviour—never known that love which passeth knowledge. Indeed, she had never felt the need of that love; but now, as she looked at Billy's glowing face and shining eyes, she had a feeling that the little boy possessed something of which she was lacking.

"When I miss her—and, oh! I miss her always, every minute of the day," he continued, "it makes my heart ache less when I remember she's safe. Oh, mother!" He caught his breath with a sob.

"You mustn't grieve, child," Mrs. Brown said, with unusual gentleness; "by your own telling you know that she's better off where she's gone. I daresay she had a troublous life."

Billy nodded. "But we were very happy," he said, "just mother and me. Of course we were poor, but Grandfer helped us. He used to write such nice letters—short, but ever so kind. We used to look forward to getting his letters, not so much because of the money—"

"What money?" interposed Mrs. Brown with a start.

"The money he used to send us," the little boy explained. "Oh, didn't you know about it?"

Mrs. Brown hesitated, but only momentarily. Her face was flushed and her brows were knitted in a frown.

"No," she replied, "I did not. Perhaps your grandfather thought it no business of mine." She rose as she spoke and took her candle. "Well, I suppose I can leave you now," she remarked; "you're not likely to have a shrieking fit again."

"Oh, no, Granny! And thank you for coming to me. I—"

Billy ceased speaking abruptly, for Mrs. Brown had gone, closing the door behind her. He did not feel at all sleepy, but he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He wished he had not spoken of the money his grandfather had given his mother. He supposed, now, that Grandfer had not wished Granny to know about it—that that was the reason why he had always been so anxious not to be thanked. Then would Granny have been against the money having been sent?

"That must be it!" Billy decided. "Oh, how mean of her! Yes, I do call it mean! She is mean."

Though he had been so short a time at Rowley Cottage, he had discovered that Mrs. Brown had but one aim and ambition in life—to make and save money. Only the day before she had shown temper because her husband had become a subscriber to some war charity.

"You can't afford it!" she had declared. "We're only working people! Don't I slave from dawn to dusk over the housework and poultry, doing without a servant to save money? And you—why, you'd give the coat off your back, I believe, if anyone asked you for it! What's going to become of us in our old age if we don't put by now? Oh, we ought to trust Providence a bit, ought we? What cant! 'Look-out for yourself' is my motto, and it will take some beating! Don't talk to me!"

William Brown had not done so, but had allowed her to rage on. Billy was thinking how sad and ashamed he had looked, when he heard raised voices in the next room. Evidently a quarrel was taking place. He sat up in bed and listened, then, unable to make out what was being said, slipped out of bed and opened the door. Only one voice was speaking now—Granny's, shrill and excited.

"You kept it a secret from me to avoid unpleasantness?" it cried. "A fine excuse! And now you won't even tell me how much you sent her! It's too bad—too bad! And I had to admit to the boy you kept me in the dark! A nice position to have put your wife in! Shame on you, William Brown!"

"The shame's on you who were always so against the boy's father!—on you who begrudged the little money I spent on bringing him up and educating him!" Billy heard his grandfather retort. "You were never fair to my son—your own daughter knows it!"

Billy shut the door heavily and went back to bed. He had suddenly remembered that he ought not to be listening. Oh, how he wished he had not mentioned his grandfather's secret! But he had not known it was a secret till Mrs. Brown's flushed face and frowning brows had enlightened him.

The lightning was coming in only occasional flashes now, and the thunder had nearly stopped. By-and-by the angry voices in the next room ceased. Still Billy could not sleep. Though no longer frightened he could not quiet his nerves; he felt them throbbing all over him, even to his finger-tips. At last came dawn—a wintry dawn, chill and mournful, and it was time to rise.

The little boy was nearly dressed when Mrs. Brown, looking much as usual, opened the door and popped her head in.

"Oh, you're getting up!" she said. "Your grandfather's been out this long while, and'll be in to breakfast soon. Hurry! I want you to feed the fowls, and—but how white you look! Didn't you sleep again?"

"No," Billy admitted, "I couldn't—I was too unhappy. Oh, Granny, I heard you and Grandfer quarrelling," and his voice choked. "My head's dizzy," he faltered; "I feel—"

The room seemed to be swimming about him. He saw everything through a mist. The mist thickened and closed in around him, and had not Mrs. Brown rushed into the room and caught him as he staggered, he would have fallen, unconscious, upon the floor.