Chapter XXII: Cousin Robert's Letter

THE first letter Mousey wrote to Mr. Harding caused her a great deal of trouble. She was anxious that there should be no mistakes in the spelling, and that the writing should be particularly legible, for she had often heard her cousin say that children were not taught to write plainly nowadays as they had been when he was young, and she was fearful lest he should think her education had been neglected in that respect. So she spoilt many sheets of notepaper before she succeeded in inditing a letter which she thought would do; but at last one was satisfactorily finished. Mousey wondered if Mr. Harding would write in reply; but when several days passed without her getting an answer, she came to the conclusion that she was not going to hear from him, and was greatly disappointed.

Meanwhile, the little girl was having a most enjoyable time. Mr. Dawson was not particularly busy in his gardens, for during the days of early autumn there is not much outdoor work for nurserymen to do, except taking cuttings from summer plants, and collecting seeds for sowing the following year; so he often went with the children for long walks through the woods and meadows, where they gathered ferns and flowers, returning laden with their spoils. Sometimes Mr. Dawson would take Mousey for a drive in the market-cart, and allow her to have the place of honour, and hold the reins, whereupon Billy—the sly creature— would slacken his pace, knowing at once he was no longer in his master's capable hands.

One morning a letter arrived from Mr. Harding at last. Mousey's face lit up with pleasure as she scanned the opening lines; but she paled as she read what followed. This was Mr. Harding's communication:—

"MY DEAR MOUSEY,"

"I was glad to get your letter, more especially as I did not know you meant to write, and it came as a surprise and an unexpected pleasure. It was most gratifying to me to note how correctly you have learnt to spell, and how nicely you express what you have to say. Your writing, too, is most legible—a fact I was glad to note, for, as I dare say you have often heard me remark, I have a great objection to an ugly, scrawling handwriting."

"Maria is very well. She sends her love and desires me to say she trusts you are spending an enjoyable time with your relations."

"I should have written to you before, but something has happened which has upset me more than I can express. A few nights after you left, the house was burgled, the thief gaining admission by climbing over the back wall and dropping into the yard; after which he cut a pane of glass with a diamond out of the parlour window, thus enabling himself to put in his arm, undo the fastening of the window, and effect an entrance easily enough. He forced the lock of my secretaire, and ransacked all the drawers. Fortunately, I had only a few pounds there, so the burglar had not a very large haul, and I have no doubt was greatly disappointed. When Maria got down in the morning she found my books and papers strewed all over the place, but nothing had been taken except the money. I only wish I had caught the thief at work; but what he did must have been done very quietly, as no one heard a sound in the night."

"There is little doubt in my mind but that the burglar was that young man, Herbert Hambly, who, it appears, induced John Monday to tell him where I was in the habit of keeping my money; but though John Monday confessed his share of the business as soon as ever the robbery was discovered, the police have been quite unable, up to the present, to find a clue to Herbert Hambly's whereabouts. He has disappeared from Haughton, and seems to have left no trace behind him."

"You will realise, my dear Mousey, how much this affair has upset me, especially when I tell you that John Monday has left me. I do not think I am to be blamed for reproaching him with his faithless conduct; in fact, he himself acknowledged the justice of my words, and appeared extremely penitent, begging me to forgive him. I felt that was not the time to talk of forgiveness, and so I told him, saying that he could not expect to obtain my pardon until he had proved to me the sincerity of his repentance. Well, to cut a long story short, when, later in the day, I sent the boy out to post a letter, he failed to return, nor have I seen or heard of him since, though that was more than a week ago. I do not believe he is in Haughton—my private opinion being that he has joined Herbert Hambly."

"I am much disappointed in John Monday, and confess I should like to know what has become of him. Do not let this unfortunate business trouble you, my dear child. I am thankful you were absent at the time of the burglary, and during the unpleasant scene which followed between that wretched boy and me."

"Pray give my kind regards to Cousin Eliza and her good husband; I am grateful to them both for giving you such a happy holiday, and if they desire to keep you until the commencement of your next school term, I shall be perfectly willing to let you stay. I shall be glad to hear from you again, and remain, with much love,"

"Your affectionate cousin," "ROBERT HARDING."

"P.S.—I had a call from Mr. Bradley yesterday. He came to ascertain the reason why John Monday had absented himself from the Bible class, and seemed greatly distressed at the account I was forced to give him of the boy's conduct, and the fact that I had no knowledge of his whereabouts."

"What is amiss, child?" Mrs. Dawson asked anxiously, noting Mousey's shocked face.

"Oh, it is dreadful!" gasped the little girl. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

"Shall I read this?" inquired Mr. Dawson, picking up the letter which Mousey had allowed to flutter to the floor.

"Please read it aloud, Uncle Dick," she requested, "then Aunt Eliza will understand too."

He complied immediately. There was a minute's silence when he had finished, broken by an indignant exclamation from his wife.

"What a wicked boy!" she cried. "The idea of his serving his master like that!"

"I am disappointed in him," Mr. Dawson remarked, shaking his head sorrowfully. "I knew from the short conversation he and I had together that he was dissatisfied with his lot in life, but he appeared an outspoken lad, not in the least underhand or shifty. Dear me, I am very sorry!"

"Oh, you don't understand, either of you!" Mousey exclaimed. "He is not as bad as you think."

"I don't want to misjudge anyone," Mr. Dawson said gently, "least of all a poor boy who has never had the advantages of a good home training, but you must agree with me, my dear little girl, that he has acted very badly."

Mousey reflected for a moment. She wondered if it would be wrong for her to tell how John Monday had been led to speak of his master's business; how bitterly he had repented of having done so; and how the remembrance had been a continual terror to him. She thought, as he had himself confessed the truth to Mr. Harding, it would be no betrayal of confidence if she told the whole story to her uncle and aunt as the boy had told it to her. This she accordingly did, and was relieved to find afterwards that they were not so inclined to think badly of John Monday as they had been at first, though still seeing, of course, that he was greatly to blame.

"I should say it is extremely unlikely he has joined that Herbert Hambly," Mr. Dawson remarked thoughtfully; "from what you have told us, Mousey, it seems he was really horrified when he discovered the young man's true character."

Mousey assented eagerly, adding that she expected he had run away from fear of Mr. Harding.

"Dear, dear, I'm afraid it's a bad business. But don't you worry about it!" Mr. Dawson advised. "It will all come right in the end—things always do if we have faith to leave them in wiser hands than our own."

"Yes," his wife agreed, "that's very true. No good comes of worrying, but we can ask God to help those who seem powerless to help themselves."

"Mother used to say that," the little girl said, a smile lighting up her countenance. "I do hope John Monday has not gone away with that wicked young man. No, I don't believe he has!"

"I don't believe it either," Aunt Eliza said warmly. "I can't bear to think of the boy homeless and friendless, and perhaps wanting a meal's meat," she added, sighing.

"That's looking on the dark side, indeed," her husband told her. "John Monday struck me as being a strong, able-bodied lad, well fitted to earn his living in ways more arduous than in mending watches and jewellery. I dare say he'll find a niche to fit him somewhere or other."