Chapter XIX: Explanations and Forgiveness

WORN out with fatigue as little Jack was, it was small wonder he slept soundly the night following his harrowing experiences on the moor, in spite of his deep concern about his stepbrother. He was awakened by the sound of voices, and opened his eyes to see Jane standing by his bedside with a tray containing his breakfast in her hands, and his mother bending over him. With awakening thought came remembrance of last night's adventures; and he started up in bed, looking eagerly around for Theodore, an expression of distress and sorrow on his countenance.

"Theodore is safe, my darling," Mrs. Barton said, as she kissed her little son. "I will tell you where he is, and all I know about him, whilst you eat your breakfast."

"And mind you eat all you can, Master Jack," Jane told him, "for you are looking but poorly this morning. But there!" with an indignant sniff, "'tis no wonder, I'm sure! I hope all that happened to you yesterday will be a wholesome lesson to you, and Master Theodore too."

Now that her mind was at rest concerning the safety of her little master, Jane felt it would be a great relief to her feelings to give the boys both a good scolding; and she had the satisfaction of seeing a guilty flush rise to Jack's pale face before she left the room.

Alone with his mother, he soon learnt what had befallen his stepbrother after he had left him; for the blacksmith, true to his promise, had called at the farm ere he had returned to his home, and had told all he knew concerning Theodore. It was now nine o'clock, and further news was expected every minute; for Mrs. Barton rightly guessed that her husband would bring Theodore back to the farm as soon as possible.

At first Jack's mind had room for only one thought—his stepbrother's safety. But as his mother talked to him, he saw that her eyes were full of reproach, and his conscience told him the cause.

"Jack," she said at length, "you knew you and Theodore were acting wrongly yesterday, did you not?"

"Yes," he acknowledged, hanging his head.

"It was very naughty of you, and very unkind to all of us!"

"We meant to be home before dark," Jack began, then added quickly, "oh, mother, I knew all the time you wouldn't have let us go alone if you'd known!"

"And you purposely kept Jane in the dark, too?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Jack!"

The sorrowful tone of his mother's voice cut Jack to the heart; a great lump rose in his throat, and he restrained his tears with an effort.

"I'm very sorry," he murmured; "and so is Theo—he told me he was!"

"You boys have made us very unhappy, and upset the whole household—nay, more, the whole village!"

"I am very sorry," Jack repeated; "I am indeed! I hate to think we have made you miserable, and given so much trouble to everybody. We did not mean to get lost."

"Well, I will say no more about it, for I think you have had punishment enough. But I hope you will never act so wrongly again."

"Never, never!" Jack cried. "Oh, mother, do please believe that!"

"I do believe it. When you say your prayers, do not forget to thank God for His mercy in saving you from a horrible death last night. Oh, my boy, shudder when I think what might have happened!"

A hot tear splashed down Jack's cheek, but he wiped it hastily away. His mother saw that he was truly repentant, and said no more; but before she left him she gave him a loving kiss, which he knew expressed her full forgiveness.

His breakfast finished, Jack got up and proceeded to dress. He felt very tired, but otherwise perfectly well. A long while he knelt in prayer, for he had so much to thank God for this morning, and he did not forget to humbly ask pardon for his wrong-doing. He realised quite well that he ought not to have allowed Theodore to influence him to visit the Hermit's Cave without Mr. and Mrs. Barton's knowledge; but his fear of being thought a coward had made him fall in with his stepbrother's plans. He had known it was wrong—there lay the sin.

When Jack went downstairs he found a messenger had just arrived to say that Mr. Barton and Theodore were coming; and presently a caravan was seen entering the farmyard, drawn by a large grey horse, followed by a group of dark, curly-haired gipsy children. Moses Stanley walked at the horse's head, whilst his wife rode in front of the caravan.

Neither Mr. Barton nor Theodore were visible until the caravan came to a full stop in front of the door, and Moses let down the steps, when the former appeared and smiled as he caught sight of his wife, who with Jack and the rest of the household had come into the yard.

"How is Theodore?" Mrs. Barton asked, whilst Jane tried to peer into the caravan.

"Not very bright, of course, Mary; but better than I expected he would have been this morning," was the response.

"Well, Jack, are you all right?"

"Oh, yes, thank you, father!" the little boy answered.

"That's well. Stand back a minute, Jane. You shall see Theodore in a minute."

Even as Mr. Barton spoke, Theodore appeared at his side, looking very white and crestfallen.

Jane caught him in her arms, and bore him triumphantly into the house, covering his face with kisses; which treatment secretly irritated him greatly, for he felt his position anything but dignified for a boy of his age.

In the parlour, Jane laid him on the sofa, and stood back herself to allow Jack a few words with his stepbrother. But the boys had very little to say to each other then. Jack merely enquired how Theodore was feeling, and if his hand was sore; whilst Theodore murmured in a husky voice:

"I'm all right, old fellow."

Mrs. Barton remained in the yard to speak a few words to Moses and Miriam, and to learn that the gipsy family intended to encamp in one of Mr. Fry's fields for a few days. When she entered the parlour with her husband, Theodore glanced at her nervously. She spoke to him in her usual kind and affectionate manner; but he could find no words in response, and a little hurt, she left him to Jane's tender mercies.

Mr. Barton had sent for a doctor to look at Theodore's hand. When he arrived, much to every one's relief he made light of the case, and said the wounds would soon heal; but added that the boy had had a shock, and he must be kept quiet for a few days. He was to get up late, go to rest early, and take life easily.

"Am I to have my breakfast in bed?" asked Theodore.

"Certainly," the doctor replied, laughing; "do so by all means, if you wish."

Theodore smiled with gratification on hearing this; for he looked upon being allowed to breakfast in bed as a great treat, having never done so but on the very few occasions when he had had bad colds, and Jane had indulged him.

He lay on the sofa all day, on the whole finding being an invalid not an unpleasant experience, now that his hand was less painful. He told Jack all about Miriam, and what a cosy home a caravan really was, saying that he thought he would like to be a gipsy, and travel about the country as he pleased.

During the day an unexpected visitor arrived at Blackburn Farm, no other than Peter Blake, the owner of the white-washed cottage and the fox-gin. He was terribly grieved at what had occurred, he told Mr. Barton; he would not have had it happen for any amount of money! He confessed he had set the gin because he was so "worrited" with foxes—that was his only excuse. He hoped the young gentleman was not seriously injured, and if Mr. Barton would refrain from prosecuting him, he would faithfully promise never to set a trap again. As there was no advantage to be gained by prosecuting the old man, Mr. Barton relieved his mind on that score, and accepted his promise. Peter Blake was profuse in his gratitude and thanks, as, indeed, he had good cause to be. He explained his absence from home on the preceding night by telling how he had gone to visit a sick brother living in a neighbouring village, and had sat up with his wife as she had had no one else at hand to assist her in the nursing. When he had returned home early in the morning he had found his gin unset and bloodstained, and the hedge trampled down. Later he had learnt what had befallen Theodore on his premises, and had hastened to Mr. Barton to express his regrets.

"I hope I have done right in letting the matter pass thus," Mr. Barton said to his wife when Peter Blake had gone, much relieved at the knowledge that Theodore's hand was doing well, and with the assurance that he would not be prosecuted, "but Fry tells me the old man will have all the hunting folks in the county down on him for having tried to entrap a fox, and I judged he would find that punishment enough."

That same afternoon Mr. Barton asked Jack, who was hovering about his stepbrother with tender solicitude, if he would like to pay the gipsies' encampment a visit; and accordingly the two started off together, leaving Theodore and Mrs. Barton alone. She moved her chair close to the boy's sofa, and strove hard to amuse him, but it was a thankless task, for Theodore was disinclined for conversation, being secretly annoyed because Jack had left him.

"Shall I read to you?" Mrs. Barton asked, "or would you like me to tell you a story?"

Theodore declared his head ached, and he wanted to be quiet. On hearing this, his stepmother removed her chair to the opposite side of the room, and took up some needlework. Theodore watched her wistfully, regretting that he had driven her away. He thought her face looked a little sad and pale, and once he fancied he heard her sigh. She must have been very anxious about Jack last night, he remembered, and he was conscious that he ought to exonerate his stepbrother from blame in her sight.

"It was all my fault yesterday," he said, bluntly, "I mean that we got lost. Did Jack tell you how I made him go?"

She put down her work, and glanced at him in surprise, shaking her head.

"I told father all about it, and he forgave me," Theodore proceeded. "I—I should like to tell you too."

"Yes?"

"If any harm had come to Jack it would have been my fault, because I made him go with me, I did. He didn't want to go at all. So he never told you? Well, he is a brick!" Theodore's tone was full of admiration for his stepbrother. "I suppose he didn't want to get me into a row," he continued, "but I hope you didn't scold him. Oh, I don't know what I should have done if anything had happened to Jack."

"Tell me all about it, Theodore," Mrs. Barton said, looking mystified. "How did you make Jack go? Even if you did influence him he was to blame all the same."

Theodore entered into an explanation, concealing nothing. When he had finished his tale he said, dolefully, "Father thought you would forgive me, but perhaps he didn't know."

"Oh, yes, yes; he was quite right. Say no more about it, Theodore. God has given you boys back to us, and I don't believe you will ever try to induce Jack to do wrong again."

"I never, never will," he declared, earnestly.

"Theodore," said Mrs. Barton, gently, "I am going to speak to you as I speak to Jack, as though you were my own son, because I love you dearly, and—"

"Do you really?" Theodore asked, his cheeks flushing, his eyes shining brightly. "Do you really love me when I've been so naughty, and made Jack naughty too?"

"Indeed, I do."

There was a struggle going on in the boy's heart at that moment between a strong desire to respond to his stepmother's affection, and the wilfulness and pride he had harboured so long.

"I—I don't deserve you should," he said, falteringly, "because I'm not good like Jack. I should like to be, but I can't."

Mrs. Barton rose impulsively from her seat, and, crossing the room, knelt down by Theodore's sofa, so that his face was on a level with hers. There were tears in her soft, brown eyes—eyes so like her little son's—and at the sight Theodore's mistrust of his stepmother died for ever, and, flinging his uninjured arm around her neck, he gave her the first kiss he had ever voluntarily bestowed upon her.

"I never really hated you," he whispered. "I only said it because I was wicked; I often am, you know. But I mean to be better, and you will help me, won't you, like you help Jack?"

"Oh, yes, yes; you are both my dear boys."

"And I—I will call you 'Mother,'" Theodore continued. "I don't think she will mind—my real mother, I mean."

"No, no. I can never quite make up to you for her loss, my dear, but I will do my best, so that some day I may be able to say to her, 'I did what I could to take your place.'"

This idea pleased Theodore. He remained very quiet for some minutes, then he said, tremulously, "Do you know what I thought when Jack and I were wandering about the moor last night? It was how you would hate me if anything happened to Jack, and—and I knew I hadn't always been nice to you, and I asked God to take care of Jack before me, because I had made him come. Then I got caught in that dreadful gin, and when I woke up in the caravan I couldn't think what had become of Jack, and Seth didn't know, or Moses, or Miriam, or anyone. Oh, you can't think how glad I felt when father came and told me Jack was all right. Nothing seemed to matter after that. I think it was noble of Jack not to tell how I made him go, and when I had been so nasty to him too! I called him a coward, and said all sorts of disagreeable things."

Theodore's face was full of excitement. His stepmother looked at him a trifle anxiously. Rising to her feet she again drew a chair to the side of the sofa, and, seating herself thereon, talked to him in a soothing tone on different subjects till he grew more composed.

Presently Jane came to see how her little master was, but, finding him deep in conversation with his stepmother, would have retired without a word if Mrs. Barton had not stopped her.

"Jane," she said in her pleasant voice, "his father and I have forgiven him the anxiety and trouble he caused us, and we hope you will do the same."

"Yes, please, do, Jane," Theodore said, earnestly. "I am very, very sorry. I suppose you found out I had taken the matches from your dressing-table? I really don't know what we should have done without them."

"Oh, that's what you were up to, was it?" Jane cried. "I found the matches gone; I might have guessed you had them. Well, Master Theodore, if you want my forgiveness you have it, though I do think you treated me badly."

When Jack and his stepfather returned they found Theodore cheerful and happy, with Mrs. Barton seated at his side, looking bright and animated.

"Back already!" Theodore exclaimed in surprise.

"Why, Theo, we've been away two hours nearly," Jack cried. "What have you been doing all the time? I suppose you've been talking?" he said, dubiously.

Theodore nodded.

"Secrets?" asked Jack.

Again Theodore nodded, but this time he spoke as well. "Nothing to do with anyone besides ourselves," he explained; then added, a little shyly, "secrets between mother and me."