Chapter VII: Theodore and His Stepmother

ONE afternoon, nearly a week later, upon entering the house by a side door, Mrs. Barton came upon Theodore and Jane both talking loudly and excitedly.

"I shall tell master, and see what he'll say!" she overheard Jane exclaim, and then came Theodore's quick retort, in enraged accents—

"You're a nasty sneak, and I'll do as I like!"

"What is it?" Mrs. Barton demanded, as she came forward, her usually gentle voice severe and peremptory.

Theodore turned a flushed, angry face towards her, whilst Jane changed colour, and hesitated to explain.

"What is it?" she asked again. "Theodore, how dare you speak to Jane in that way?"

"She is a sneak," the child declared passionately; "a sneak! a sneak!"

Mrs. Barton laid a firm hand on the boy's shoulder; and Jane burst into a storm of tears as she sobbed out:

"I'm sure I've done nothing to make Master Theodore so angry. I always try to do my duty!"

"I am sure you do," Mrs. Barton assured her. "Now, tell me what is the meaning of this scene?"

Whereupon Jane explained that Theodore had intended going out fishing with Tom Blake, and she had tried to prevent him. Mrs. Barton listened in silence. The case was just as she had imagined; and she now saw the time had come for her to put a check upon her stepson.

"I am very sorry Master Theodore has behaved so rudely to you, Jane; and he will be ashamed himself when he comes to think the matter over. You were quite right in not allowing him to go with Tom Blake— he is not at all a suitable companion for Master Theodore. You may go now. Theodore, you come with me."

Jane was glad to be dismissed, but went upstairs feeling uneasy, and somewhat frightened, as she thought of the interview that was to take place between Theodore and his stepmother.

Meanwhile Mrs. Barton led Theodore into the library, and, closing the door, released her hold of him. For some minutes there was silence, during which time Theodore's temper was rising, and Mrs. Barton was praying for help to use such words as would appeal to the boy's sense of right and duty.

"Sit down, Theodore," she said, gently and kindly. "I want to have a talk to you about this Tom Blake; but first of all I must tell you that I cannot allow you to call Jane names. It is unmanly to speak thus to a woman. Perhaps no one ever pointed out this to you—"

"She is a sneak!" the boy burst out angrily.

"A sneak means a low, mean person—Jane is not that."

"She was going to tell my father—something."

"Because you would not listen to her, or obey her. Theodore, such conduct is not honourable. Jane is responsible for you, and if you will not do as she tells you she must appeal to someone with greater authority. Now, she is quite right in not allowing you to go out with this Tom Blake; if your father was consulted on the matter he would most distinctly forbid it!"

"Why?" Theodore demanded, his eyes flashing ominously.

"Because the boy is not a fitting companion for you. I do not wish to get you into trouble, Theodore, and therefore I shall be quite satisfied to take your word that you will avoid Tom Blake all you possibly can. Will you promise this?"

"No, I will not! Someone has been putting you against Tom!"

"Someone has been telling me the truth about him. He is a bad boy; he swears, and tells lies. Is it not so?"

But Theodore was furiously angry. This was the first time his stepmother had ventured to interfere with his doings. His fierce grey eyes met hers, and he read in her steady gaze a look he did not like, a look that told him she meant him to obey her.

"What has it to do with you?" he demanded rudely.

"A great deal. It hurts me to think my husband's son should care for low company. Understand me, if this Tom Blake was a good boy I should not object in the least to your going about with him; it is simply because he is not good that I do object. Dear Theodore, you must see it is right. Do promise me you will do as I wish!"

"No! no! What has it to do with you? Why do you interfere with me? No one ever did until you came! You are not my mother, and I won't stand it! I hate you! I do! Yes, I hate you!"

"You do not know what you are saying, Theodore," Mrs. Barton said quietly, though her face became very pale. "You cannot mean what you say!"

"Yes, I do! I do! I hate you! I will go with Tom Blake whenever I like. He is waiting for me now, and I shall go, I tell you!"

Theodore was moving towards the door, but to his surprise his stepmother interposed between it and him.

"No, you will not go," she said, and the boy, even in his passion was quick to note the ring of power in her tones. "I shall prevent you. Go to your own room at once, and remain there till I give you permission to leave it."

Theodore gave a shriek of defiance as he listened, and then losing complete control over himself, he stamped round the room, raving at the top of his voice, venting on his stepmother all the pent-up evil thoughts he had harboured against her during the last few months.

She uttered no word, only watched him sorrowfully, marvelling that so young a child could hate so bitterly; then she went up to him, her quiet face showing little of the pain he had caused her.

"Are you going to obey me, Theodore?" she asked. "Go to your own room at once."

"I will not!"

"I must insist upon it."

"I will not! I—"

The words died on the boy's lips as the door opened and his father entered. Mr. Barton surveyed his son in silence, a dark flush of anger crossing his face; whilst Theodore's spirit quailed guiltily, though he was still determined to brazen the matter out.

Mrs. Barton in a few words gave her husband to understand that Theodore persisted in an act of disobedience, and she was insisting that he should go to his own room, and remain there for a punishment.

"Well, Theodore," Mr. Barton said sternly, "do as you are told, and go!"

"I will not do as she tells me!"

"What?"

The boy repeated the words, but scarcely had he done so than he felt himself in a strong grasp, and was dragged out of the room and upstairs before he had time to understand what was happening. In another minute he found himself seated on the floor in his own bedroom, and heard the door closed and locked from the outside.

He was stupefied with amazement. Never had his father interfered with him before, and he immediately saw that he had made a mistake in defying his stepmother. But he was not sorry yet, though he wept and sobbed himself perfectly sick. Nobody came to condole with him, and he felt he was hardly used, especially as tea-time passed, and no tea was brought to him.

"It is all her fault," he told himself, blaming his stepmother. "Of course, father would take her part."

He wondered why Jane did not come to see him, or at any rate to speak to him, if the key was taken out of the door; and regretted he had called her a sneak.

As the evening dragged on, his angry passions cooled down, and a feeling of self-pity took their place. Over the mantlepiece hung an enlarged photograph of his mother, and as his eyes rested on it, he almost fancied the sweet face smiled on him; and he wondered if she knew how badly he wanted her, and how lonely he felt. And then, in his imagination, the smile changed to a look of reproachful sorrow, and for the first time his heart smote him for his conduct that day.

Would no one ever come to him? The long summer evening was closing in at last, and still he was left alone.

"Theodore! Theodore!"

It was his stepmother's voice outside the door, and he answered quickly, "Yes, yes; oh, let me out!"

"I cannot; your father has the key. May I go to him and say you are sorry?" she asked anxiously.

Theodore did not answer, and she pleaded again: "You are sorry, are you not? Do let me fetch your father. Shall I?"

"Oh, yes, yes!"

He listened to her retreating footsteps, and it seemed ages before the key at length turned in the lock, and his father entered the room.

It was a forlorn-looking little figure, with pale cheeks and swollen eyelids, that stood shrinking before Mr. Barton's stern gaze.

"I am sorry," the boy murmured. "Won't you please forgive me, father?"

"It is not my forgiveness you want, Theodore. It was my wife you openly defied and insulted. When I first brought her home, she was ready to love you dearly, and would have done her best to fill the place of your dead mother. She has always been kind and considerate to you, and how have you repaid her? This afternoon I was ashamed of my son."

Theodore hung his head, and blushed with shame.

"I have heard the cause of the disturbance from Jane; and, once for all, let me tell you to avoid Tom Blake. Is that plain? Do you understand, and do you mean to obey?"

"Yes, father," Theodore answered, in a very small voice.

"If there is ever a repetition of the scene I partly witnessed to-day, I shall send you to a boarding-school at once. I should have dealt with you much more severely, if my wife had not begged me to be lenient with you. You had better go and try to make your peace with her. She is in the drawing-room."

Theodore turned away, and walked slowly downstairs, his proud spirit quite humbled for the time.

"I am sorry I behaved so badly," he said, going straight up to his stepmother, who was seated in a low chair by the window. As she turned and looked at him, he saw the traces of recent tears on her face. "I am sorry," he repeated. "Will you please forgive me?"

"Yes, Theodore."

His heart was touched by the gentle sadness of her voice, and he went on quickly:

"It was not true what I said, and it was very rude of me. I don't hate you, really."

Mrs. Barton made no reply, and Theodore did not know that she restrained a strong impulse to take him in her arms and kiss him. He was conscious of a touch of reserve in her manner that he had never felt before, and it made him uneasy.

"Did you—did you tell my father what I said?" he asked anxiously.

"No; there was no need to pain him."

Theodore winced at her reply, and stood hesitating, whilst Mrs. Barton turned her head away, and looked out of the window.

"I am sorry," he said again.

"If your sorrow is real, my dear, you will try to curb your temper. You must not continue to allow it to conquer you, or you will always be a slave to it."

"I can't help my temper."

"Oh, yes, you can! Pray to God to help you; and when you feel the evil passion getting the better of you, fight it down valiantly. Say to yourself, I can do all things through Christ, which strengtheneth me.'"

"I will try; indeed I will."

"And ask God to forgive you. Oh, Theodore! you have made me very unhappy; think of the sorrow you must have caused Jesus."

"I don't think He can care for me much."

"Why not?"

"I'm too naughty."

"Dear Theodore, we are all naughty; but Jesus loves us, and wants us to try and do better for His sake. Will you try?"

Theodore nodded, his eyes swimming with tears.

"You are sure you forgive me?" he asked earnestly.

"Quite sure. Now, good night. Run away and have your supper; you must be very hungry. Jack is anxiously waiting for you, and so is Jane—poor Jane! Good night, my dear."

A few moments Mr. Barton joined his wife, and leaning over the back of her chair, kissed her softly on the forehead.

"Do you think I shall ever win his love?" she asked wistfully. "Sometimes I almost despair."

"You must not do that," he answered fondly. "Some day Theodore will love you as dearly as your own boy does. You will see that I shall prove a true prophet."