Chapter XXIII: John Monday Reappears Upon the Scene

THE thought of John Monday was the one unhappiness which clouded Mousey's otherwise happy visit. The day after she had received her cousin's letter, she wrote and tried to explain to him how troubled she was at the boy's disappearance; and begged Mr. Harding not to believe that he had left him to join Herbert Hambly. To this letter she received no reply, as Mr. Harding was anything but pleased that she did not accept his theory concerning John Monday, and was, besides, annoyed that she had not condoled with him on the loss of his money. The truth was, Mousey had thought very little of the burglary in comparison with its result as affecting her cousin's assistant.

The little girl had been to see her parents' grave several times, and the day before her visit was to come to an end she went with her aunt to take a parting look at the spot.

"Oh, Aunt Eliza," she cried, as she stood by the green mound, "if only she had not died!"

"God knows best, child," Mrs. Dawson answered softly, much touched by the wistful sadness of Mousey's face.

"It's so kind of Uncle Dick to keep the grave tidy. I wish I could put up a tombstone with their names, and a verse from the Bible; but I expect that would cost a lot of money, and it's no good thinking about it."

They lingered a while longer in the churchyard, and then turned slowly away. Both were disinclined for conversation, so that they had nearly reached home, and were actually within sight of the house, before either spoke. It was Mrs. Dawson who broke the silence by exclaiming—

"Look! What is that boy gazing at, I wonder?"

Mousey raised her eyes, which had been fixed meditatively on the ground, and saw, peering through the thorn hedge which divided her uncle's gardens from the road, a shabbily clad boy. He had his back towards them, so she could not get a glimpse of his face; but there was something familiar in the attitude of the figure, and the way the tweed cap was worn on the back of the head.

"Why, Aunt Eliza, I do believe it is John Monday!" the little girl cried excitedly.

"John Monday!" Mrs. Dawson repeated in astonishment. "Surely you must be mistaken, my dear! What should bring him here?"

"It is John!" Mousey insisted, running forward impetuously, whilst her aunt followed at a quieter pace.

"John, how did you come here? What are you doing?"

At the sound of her voice the boy turned hastily. It was indeed John Monday, but looking so thin and haggard that the little girl uttered a cry of dismay at his changed appearance. His clothes were covered in dust, and his feet were almost on the ground, his boots being nearly without soles. When he saw Mousey and her aunt, his face flushed painfully, and he appeared inclined at first to run away, but seemed to think better of it.

"I'm not doing any harm," he said half apologetically; "I was only watching the men at work in the garden, and wondering if they could find a job for me."

"It is my uncle's garden," Mousey said; "I suppose you know that?"

"Yes," he assented briefly. "Do you think your uncle could find me some work?" he questioned, a gleam of hope passing over his countenance. "I'd do anything! I've been wandering about the country for weeks, but I haven't been able to get regular employment. I suppose you knew I had left Mr. Harding's?"

"Yes. Why did you go, John? I'm sure Cousin Robert would have forgiven you if you had stayed."

The boy shook his head. There was a weary expression on his face which Mrs. Dawson noticed with a thrill of sympathy.

"Are you hungry?" she asked abruptly.

"I haven't had a morsel of food inside my lips since yesterday morning," he replied; "but I didn't come to beg," he added hastily, whilst Mousey uttered an exclamation of mingled horror and pity. "I thought perhaps Mr. Dawson might be able to find me some work."

"Come inside," said Mrs. Dawson.

She led the way into the house, and seating the boy at the kitchen table, gave him a plate of bread and meat. He thanked her gratefully, and began to eat, whilst Mousey watched him with sympathetic eyes; and Mrs. Dawson turned to the fireplace to see if the kettle was nearly on the boil. It was, and in a few minutes she set before her visitor a strong cup of tea, which refreshed him even more than the food.

"John, you didn't go away with Herbert Hambly, did you?" Mousey questioned anxiously when he had finished his meal.

"No, no! What makes you ask that?"

"Because Cousin Robert thinks you did."

"But I told Mr. Harding I never saw Herbert Hambly after he got rid of him when he called to see me the last time at the shop. How could he believe I had gone away with him?"

"I suppose he thought you hadn't told the truth."

"I did tell him the truth," the boy declared with such earnestness that neither of his hearers doubted his words. "He had a perfect right to be angry, but I couldn't stand the hard, bitter things he said to me, although I may have deserved them. I'd rather go hungry, and sleep by the side of a hedge, than go back to him, that I would!"

"Mousey, run and tell your uncle I want him in here," Mrs. Dawson said quietly; "and do you remain where you are," she added, turning to John Monday, who had risen to his feet.

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied, as he sat down again. "I'm afraid I'm very dusty and dirty, not fit to be seen, and that makes it all the kinder of you to treat me like this."

Mousey soon found her uncle, and he accompanied her to the kitchen. John Monday, fully conscious of his disreputable appearance, rose, and stood bashfully before the master of the house, whose usually good-humoured countenance was now very grave and stern.

"Well, young man, what has brought you here?" he commenced; then, as the boy made no answer, only hung his head in confusion, he motioned to his wife to go away, and take Mousey with her.

Half an hour later Mr. Dawson came into the sitting-room, where the family was assembled, and met his wife's anxious, inquiring countenance with a smile.

"Well, my dear," he said, "I suppose you want to know what I'm going to do with John Monday? I've had a long, serious talk with him, and the result is, he has promised me that if Mr. Harding wishes him to return he will do so; on the other hand, if Mr. Harding does not wish to have him back, I am going to give him a trial myself. You know I've been wanting a lad to look after the pony, and go around to the houses in the town with the cart sometimes; in short, one who will make himself generally useful about the place."

"But do you think he is to be trusted?" Mrs. Dawson asked dubiously.

"That will have to be proved, my dear. Anyway, I mean to see what he is made of, if Mr. Harding does not want him again. I think my best plan will be to go to Haughton with Mousey to-morrow, and have a personal interview with your cousin."

"Yes, perhaps that would be best," his wife agreed.

"You see, I should not like to employ the lad without first coming to a thorough understanding with Mr. Harding."

"No, of course not. Where is the boy now?"

"In the yard, having a wash at the pump. Poor lad! He has roughed it lately without a doubt. He'll have to sleep in the loft to-night. If it is decided he's to remain, I dare say I can find him a lodging with one of the men. I hope you think I have acted rightly, Eliza? I could not send the boy away."

"No, no!" Mrs. Dawson exclaimed, meeting her husband's glance with a tender smile which lent real beauty to her homely countenance. "You mustn't imagine I disapprove of what you've done; and you can see by Mousey's face what she thinks about it."

Mr. Dawson turned an inquiring look upon the little girl. She ran to him and kissed him again and again, calling him the dearest, kindest of uncles, till he laughingly pushed her away from him, and went to look after the lad he had taken under his protection.