Chapter XII: A Morning's Experience

THEODORE and Jack occupied the same bedroom at Blackburn Farm. It was a cheerful apartment, into which the sun streamed during the early morning hours, through small lattice windows, as though with an invitation to get up and see how fair the world was at dawn of day; or so, at any rate, Theodore fancied as he opened his eyes the first morning of his sojourn on Dartmoor.

He sat up in bed, scarcely realising for a moment where he was as he gazed around the strange room with its heavy old-fashioned furniture. Near by in another little bed lay Jack, still sleeping tranquilly.

"Jack! Jack!" cried Theodore, "wake up this minute, do! The sun's shining, and the birds are singing! It's a glorious morning! You know we agreed last night we'd be up early to-day!"

But Jack slept on, not hearing his stepbrother's voice, or if he did, it failed to arouse him, for he merely heaved a gentle sigh as though a little disturbed in his sleep.

Theodore sprang out of bed, rushed to the window, and looked out. He had a complete view of the farmyard, in which a group of sleek cows were placidly waiting to be milked; and whilst he still peeped, a trim dairymaid appeared upon the scene, bearing a milk-pail and stool. The sight roused Theodore to prompt action. He flew to Jack's side, and shook the sleeping boy vigorously by the shoulder. Jack opened his brown eyes in mingled fright and astonishment, but recognising Theodore, asked what he wanted.

"Get up, old fellow!" Theodore said, laughing at the bewilderment on the other's face. "The cows are going to be milked, and if you dress quickly you'll be in time to have a glass of new milk."

"I don't care about any," Jack replied, blinking sleepily. "Do go back to bed again; I am sure it is not time to get up yet!"

"It is!" Theodore declared. He was wide awake himself, and saw no reason why his stepbrother should be allowed to sleep any longer.

"If it was time to get up Jane would call us," Jack said, yawning. "I'm going to sleep again, and you'd better do the same—" and he turned on his side and closed his eyes.

Theodore gazed at him doubtfully for a moment. Last night Jack had seemed so eager to rise early, and now he declined to do so. It was too bad! How could he want to sleep with the sun streaming in the windows!

"Get up! If you don't I'll pull the bedding off!" Theodore threatened. "I mean it! What a miserable little owl you are, Jack!"

"Oh, Theo, don't! Please don't!"

It was no good to protest, for Theodore was as good as his word. The next minute the bedclothes lay in a heap on the floor, and Jack had perforce to jump out of bed. He began to dress, grumbling a little after such treatment, as was only natural; but he was a good-tempered boy, and not in the least resentful, besides he remembered he had agreed to rise early.

"It is a beautiful day," he said presently. "I do hope we are going to have fine weather whilst we're here! I think I'm glad you made me get up, Theo!"

"I knew you would be. Are you ready to go downstairs?"

"Not quite. I haven't said my prayers."

Theodore had forgotten all about his prayers in his eagerness to be out of doors. He had the grace to blush with shame as his stepbrother knelt down by the window-sill, and reverently buried his face in his hands. He knelt down too, and repeated the form of prayer he was in the habit of saying in the morning, and then glanced at his stepbrother again. It was several minutes before Jack rose from his knees.

"What long prayers you say," Theodore remarked; "mine don't take half the time!"

"You see there's so much I want to tell God," Jack responded smiling, "and so many things to thank Him for."

"What sort of things?" the other asked curiously.

"Oh, for taking such good care of me, and making people so kind. Then every day I thank God for making me well; and I thank Him for you, Theo."

"For me?" Theodore cried in great surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Your mother wanted you to be called Theodore, because it means 'Gift of God,'" Jack said earnestly, his dark eyes resting lovingly on his stepbrother's face, "and I think that's what you are to me. God gave you to me when I was very ill, and I never forget to thank Him for that!"

"What an odd idea!"

Theodore reflected a moment, asking himself how he would like to go back to the old days, before his stepmother and her little son had come to Afton Hall. He remembered how moody and irritable his father used to be; how the servants had continually quarrelled amongst themselves; and how lonely he himself had often been. All that was altered now. Then, had he nothing to thank God for, too? Jack's simple faith and grateful love put him to shame.

The two boys went quietly downstairs and out into the yard, where they stood and watched the cows milked, and drank a glassful each of the warm, frothy beverage which the milkmaid offered them. Mrs. Fry was up, bustling hither and thither. She allowed the boys to feed the poultry, and told them how often members of her feathered family fall victims to a sly old fox which had lived in the district for years.

"They hunt him every winter," she explained; "but there! he knows the moors better than any huntsman does, and it's my belief they'll never catch him. Last autumn he had several of my young turkeys; dear, dear, I was vexed: turkeys are so difficult to rear, too!"

In a corner of the yard was a pond where the geese and ducks disported themselves, and the boys spent some time in watching a brood of ducklings which had taken to the water that morning for the first time. Then they caught sight of the farmer, and tore after him to enquire where he was going. He explained that he was about to visit some sheep and lambs in a field near by, and good-naturedly invited the boys to accompany him. He spoke the broadest moorland dialect, so that his little companions found some difficulty in understanding what he said at first; and in consequence had often to ask him to repeat his remarks, whereupon he would raise his voice, as though he thought they must be deaf, greatly to their amusement.

"I think I like the black and white lambs best," Jack said to Theodore, as they stood in the gateway of a field where a score or more of lambs frisked about by their mothers' sides, whilst the farmer strolled around examining his flock. "Oh, Theo, look! there's one all black. Isn't he a beauty! What a curly back he has!"

"I wonder if I could catch him."

"Not likely."

"I'll try."

Theodore crept cautiously towards the black lamb, which immediately ran away bleating in search of its mother. Jack laughed; but the farmer called to Theodore not to worry the sheep, so he desisted, and returned to his stepbrother.

Mr. Fry disappeared from sight behind a large block of granite in one corner of the field; and when he reappeared he was carrying something in his arms, whilst Help, the sheep-dog, followed close at his heels.

"I wonder what he has found?" Theodore exclaimed. "Why, I do believe it's a little lamb!"

A lamb it was, only a few hours old. The farmer explained that its mother had two others besides, and three was one too many for her to care for. He meant to take this little creature home for his wife to bring up by hand.

"Oh, please do let me carry it!" Jack cried, as he smoothed its woolly coat with a gentle touch.

"No, Jack," said Theodore quickly; "I had better carry it, for I am much stronger than you."

"But it is not heavy, is it?" Jack asked, appealing to Mr. Fry.

The farmer glanced from one eager face to the other, and shook his head. He wished to please both boys; and after a moment's consideration suggested that they should take it in turns to carry the lamb. They willingly agreed to this proposition; and it was decided that Jack should have the lamb for the first half of the homeward way. The little animal was certainly not a great weight, but it was heavier than Jack had expected; so that he was not sorry when Theodore took his burden from his arms, and marched on ahead, with "Help" at his side.

Theodore's arms were strong, and they did not tire as his stepbrother's had done. The farmer advised him to walk quietly; but he was in a hurry to arrive at the farm, to exhibit the lamb to Mr. and Mrs. Barton and Jane, and deliberately turned a deaf ear to what Mr. Fry was saying.

They were nearing the farm now, and in another minute came in sight of the gate which divided the yard from the road. Mr. and Mrs. Barton were leaning over the gate, evidently on the look-out for the boys. When Theodore saw them, he quickened his footsteps to a run, and shouted to them to look and see what he had got. Hardly had he spoken when his toe caught in a loose stone in the rugged road; and before he knew what was happening, he slipped, and rolled down the side of the road into a deep ditch which was nearly half-full of muddy water.

Jack uttered a cry of dismay, whilst the farmer ran forward to Theodore's assistance, and Mr. and Mrs. Barton came hurrying down the road.

"Oh, poor Theo!" gasped Jack, wringing his hands with affright. "Oh, the poor, dear little lamb!"

By this time Mr. Fry had dragged Theodore out of the ditch, and had rescued the lamb, which the boy had dropped. Happily it was not injured in the least, though it bleated pityfully, and of course was cold and wet after its immersion in the muddy water.

Theodore sat on the edge of the ditch, mud-stained and miserable, whilst Jack and his stepmother bent over him anxiously, and enquired if he was hurt. He shook his head, feeling more than half-inclined to cry; but he bit his lip, and blinked the tears out of his eyes manfully.

"You had better get up and return to the farm as quickly as you can," Mr. Barton remarked dryly. "Change your clothes at once. Really, Theodore, you are extremely careless!"

"Who would think there was a dirty old ditch like that by the side of the road!" Theodore exclaimed vexedly. "It ought to be filled in!"

"I am most, thankful you are not hurt," his stepmother told him. "You might have been injured, and the poor lamb too."

Mr. Fry was disappearing from sight with the lamb in his arms, anxious to get the little thing dried and fed. Theodore looked after him ruefully.

"I don't know what he'll think of me," he said in a regretful tone. "He told me to be careful, too!"

"Come, Theodore, get up at once!" his father interposed sharply. "Are you going to sit there in your wet clothes all day?"

Theodore arose with a shiver, and slowly turned towards the farm. He looked a pitiable object indeed, and he hung his head dejectedly. Jack walked by his side, offering words of consolation, and wondering what Jane would say when she saw her young master's deplorable condition.

But for once Jane refrained from scolding. She saw Theodore was smarting under a sense of the indignity of his fall, and merely recommended a good wash and a change of clothing.

When Theodore appeared at the breakfast-table he was in a subdued frame of mind. His father asked him how he had enjoyed his mud-bath, and seemed inclined to make a joke of his late experience. The little boy was grateful that his stepmother did not join in the laugh against him, but, on the contrary, tried to turn the conversation into another channel. After the meal was over she drew him aside, and told him that she had been to the kitchen herself, and ascertained that the lamb was no worse for the accident. Mrs. Fry had dried it by the fire, and fed it with warm milk.

"Is Mr. Fry very angry with me?" Theodore asked anxiously.

"No, not angry at all. But you must learn to be more careful, my dear; you are too impetuous. You must listen to what others say, especially when they are older and wiser than yourself. Mr. Fry told me he had desired you to walk quietly."

"Yes, he had; but you see I didn't know the ditch was there."

"Ah, but Mr. Fry did!"

Theodore was silenced. He realised that his stepmother was right, and that he did not attend to what he was told as he ought.

His morning's experience somewhat damped his spirits for the remainder of the day, for he was conscious that every one about the farm knew what had occurred. He sought Mr. Fry, and told him how sorry he was he had been so careless. The farmer was very kind, and begged him to think no more of it, assuring him that the lamb was unhurt, and promising to have the ditch filled up to prevent further accidents.

"I wish I was more like you, old fellow," Theodore said confidentially to Jack after they were in bed that night.

"Like me, Theo!" Jack cried, in great surprise.

"Yes. You always listen to what people tell you, and do as you're told. I don't."

"But you could if you liked."

"No," replied Theodore mournfully; "I forget."

Jack was silent for a short while; then he made a suggestion.

"Couldn't you ask God to help you to remember?" he said earnestly.

"Oh, yes; of course I could!" was the more cheerful response. "That's a good idea of yours, Jack. I'll ask Him to-night."