CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
HOME AGAIN.
Time passed away, and Bobby Frog said to his mother one morning,"Mother, I'm going to England."
It was a fine summer morning when he said this. His mother was sittingin a bower which had been constructed specially for her use by her sonand his friend Tim Lumpy. It stood at the foot of the garden, fromwhich could be had a magnificent view of the neighbouring lake. Richfoliage permitted the slanting sunbeams to quiver through the bower, andlittle birds, of a pert conceited nature, twittered among the same.Martha Mild--the very embodiment of meek, earnest simplicity, and stilla mere child in face though almost a woman in years--sat on a woodenstool at Mrs Frog's feet reading the Bible to her.
Martha loved the Bible and Mrs Frog; they were both fond of the bower;there was a spare half-hour before them;--hence the situation, as brokenin upon by Bobby.
"To England, Bobby?"
"To England, mother."
Martha said nothing, but she gave a slight--an almost imperceptible--start, and glanced at the sturdy youth with a mingled expression ofanxiety and surprise.
The surprise Bob had expected; the anxiety he had hoped for; the starthe had not foreseen, but now perceived and received as a glorious fact!Oh! Bobby Frog was a deep young rascal! His wild, hilarious, recklessspirit, which he found it so difficult to curb, even with allsurroundings in his favour, experienced a great joy and sensation ofrestfulness in gazing at the pretty, soft, meek face of the little waif.He loved Martha, but, with all his recklessness, he had not the courageto tell her so, or to ask the condition of her feelings with regard tohimself.
Being ingenious, however, and with much of the knowing nature of the"stray" still about him, he hit on this plan of killing two birds withone stone, as it were, by briefly announcing his intentions to hismother; and the result was more than he had hoped for.
"Yes, mother, to England--to London. You see, father's last letter wasnot at all satisfactory. Although he said he was convalescent and hopedto be able to travel soon, it seemed rather dull in tone, and nowseveral posts have passed without bringing us a letter of any kind fromhim. I am beginning to feel anxious, and so as I have saved a good bitof money I mean to have a trip to old England and bring Daddy out withme."
"That will be grand indeed, my son. But will Mr Merryboy let ye go,Bobby?"
"Of course he will. He lets me do whatever I please, for he's as fondo' me as if he were my father."
"No; he ain't that," returned Mrs Frog, with a shake of the head; "yourfather was rough, Bobby, specially w'en in liquor, but he 'ad a kind'art at bottom, and he was very fond o' you, Bobby--almost as fond as heonce was o' me. Mr Merryboy could never come up to 'im in _that_."
"Did I say he came up to him, mother? I didn't say he was as fond o' meas my own father, but _as if he was_ my father. However, it's allarranged, and I go off at once."
"Not before breakfast, Bobby?"
"No, not quite. I never do anything important on an empty stomach, butby this time to-morrow I hope to be far on my way to the sea-coast, andI expect Martha to take good care of you till I come back."
"I'll be _sure_ to do that," said Martha, looking up in Mrs Frog's faceaffectionately.
Bob Frog noted the look, and was satisfied.
"But, my boy, I shan't be here when you come back. You know my visit isover in a week, and then we go to Sir Richard's estate."
"I know that, mother, but Martha goes with you there, to help you andHetty and Matty to keep house while Tim Lumpy looks after the farm."
"Farm, my boy, what nonsense are you talking?"
"No nonsense, mother, it has all been arranged this morning, earlythough it is. Mr Merryboy has received a letter from Sir Richard,saying that he wants to gather as many people as possible round him, andoffering him one of his farms on good terms, so Mr Merryboy is to sellthis place as soon as he can, and Tim and I have been offered a smallerfarm on still easier terms close to his, and not far from the big farmthat Sir Richard has given to his son-in-law Mr Welland--"
"Son-in-law!" exclaimed Mrs Frog. "Do you mean to say that MrWelland, who used to come down an' preach in the lodgin'-'ouses inSpitalfields 'as married that sweet hangel Miss Di?"
"I do mean that, mother. I could easily show him a superior angel, ofcourse," said Bob with a steady look at Martha, "but he has done prettywell, on the whole."
"Pretty well!" echoed Mrs Frog indignantly; "he couldn't 'ave donebetter if 'e'd searched the wide world over."
"There I don't agree with you," returned her son; "however, it don'tmatter--Hallo! there goes granny down the wrong path!"
Bob dashed off at full speed after Mrs Merryboy, senior, who had aninveterate tendency, when attempting to reach Mrs Frog's bower, to takea wrong turn, and pursue a path which led from the garden to a prettyextensive piece of forest-land behind. The blithe old lady was postingalong this track in a tremulo-tottering way when captured by Bob. Atthe same moment the breakfast-bell rang; Mr Merryboy's stentorian voicewas immediately heard in concert; silvery shouts from the forest-landalluded to told where Hetty and Matty had been wandering, and a rush ofpattering feet announced that the dogs of the farm were bent on beingfirst to bid the old gentleman good-morning.
As Bob Frog had said, the following day found him far on his way to thesea-coast. A few days later found him on the sea,--wishing, earnestly,that he were on the land! Little more than a week after that found himin London walking down the old familiar Strand towards the city.
As he walked slowly along the crowded thoroughfare, where every brickseemed familiar and every human being strange, he could not help sayingto himself mentally, "Can it be possible! was it here that I used towander in rags? Thank God for the rescue and for the rescuers!"
"Shine yer boots, sir?" said a facsimile of his former self.
"Certainly, my boy," said Bob, at once submitting himself to theoperator, although, his boots having already been well "shined," theoperation was an obvious absurdity.
The boy must have felt something of this, for, when finished, he lookedup at his employer with a comical expression. Bob looked at himsternly.
"They were about as bright before you began on 'em," he said.
"They was, sir," admitted the boy, candidly.
"How much?" demanded the old street boy. "On'y one ha'penny, sir,"replied the young street boy, "but ven the day's fine, an' the bootsdon't want much shinin', we gin'rally expecs a penny. Gen'l'min _'ave_bin known to go the length of tuppence."
Bob pulled out half-a-crown and offered it.
The boy grinned, but did not attempt to take it.
"Why don't you take it, my boy?"
"You _don't_ mean it, do you?" asked the boy, as the grin faded and theeyes opened.
"Yes, I do. Here, catch. I was once like you. Christ and Canada havemade me what you see. Here is a little book that will tell you moreabout that."
He chanced to have one of Miss Macpherson's _Canadian Homes for LondonWanderers_ in his pocket, and gave it to the little shoe-black,--who wasone of the fluttering free-lances of the metropolis, not one of the"Brigade."
Bob could not have said another word to have saved his life. He turnedquickly on his heel and walked away, followed by a fixed gaze and aprolonged whistle of astonishment.
"How hungry I used to be here," he muttered as he walked along, "souncommon hungry! The smell of roasts and pies had something to do withit, I think. Why, there's the shop--yes, the very shop, where I stoodonce gazing at the victuals for a full hour before I could tear myselfaway. I do think that, for the sake of starving boys, to say nothing ofmen, women, and girls, these grub-shops should be compelled to keep thevictuals out o' the windows and send their enticing smells up theirchimneys!"
Presently he came to a dead stop in front of a shop where a large mirrorpresented him with a full-length portrait of himself, and again he saidmentally, "Can it be possible!" for, since quitting London he had neverseen himself as others sa
w him, having been too hurried, on bothoccasions of passing through Canadian cities, to note the mirrors there.In the backwoods, of course, there was nothing large enough in the wayof mirror to show more than his good-looking face.
The portrait now presented to him was that of a broad-chested,well-made, gentlemanly young man of middle height, in a grey Tweed suit.
"Not _exactly_ tip-top, A1, superfine, you know, Bobby," he muttered tohimself with the memory of former days strong upon him, "but--but--perhaps not altogether unworthy of--of--a thought or two from littleMartha Mild."
Bob Frog increased in stature, it is said, by full half an inch on thatoccasion, and thereafter he walked more rapidly in the direction ofWhitechapel.
With sad and strangely mingled memories he went to the court where hisearly years had been spent. It was much the same in disreputableness ofaspect as when he left it. Time had been gnawing at it so long that afew years more or less made little difference on it, and its inhabitantshad not improved much.
Passing rapidly on he went straight to the Beehive, which he had forlong regarded as his real home, and there, once again, received a heartywelcome from its ever busy superintendent and her earnest workers; buthow different his circumstances now from those attending his firstreception! His chief object, however, was to inquire the way to thehospital in which his father lay, and he was glad to learn that the caseof Ned Frog was well-known, and that he was convalescent.
It chanced that a tea-meeting was "on" when he arrived, so he had littlemore at the time than a warm shake of the hand from his friends in theHome, but he had the ineffable satisfaction of leaving behind him a sumsufficient to give a sixpence to each of the miserable beings who werethat night receiving a plentiful meal for their bodies as well as foodfor their souls--those of them, at least, who chose to take the latter.None refused the former.
On his way to the hospital he saw a remarkably tall policemanapproaching.
"Well, you _are_ a long-legged copper," he muttered to himself, with anirrepressible laugh as he thought of old times. The old spirit seemedto revive with the old associations, for he felt a strong temptation tomake a face at the policeman, execute the old double-shuffle, stick histhumb to the end of his nose, and bolt! As the man drew nearer he didactually make a face in spite of himself--a face of surprise--whichcaused the man to stop.
"Excuse me," said Bob, with much of his old bluntness, "are not youNumber 666?"
"That is not my number now, sir, though I confess it was once," answeredthe policeman, with a humorous twinkle of the eye.
Bobby noticed the word "sir," and felt elated. It was almost more thanwaif-and-stray human nature could stand to be respectfully "sirred" by aLondon policeman--his old foe, whom, in days gone by and on occasionsinnumerable, he had scorned, scouted, and insulted, with all theingenuity of his fertile brain.
"Your name is Giles Scott, is it not?" he asked.
"It is, sir."
"Do you remember a little ragged boy who once had his leg broken by arunaway pony at the West-end--long ago?"
"Yes, as well as if I'd seen him yesterday. His name was Bobby Frog,and a sad scamp he was, though it is said he's doing well in Canada."
"He must 'ave changed considerable," returned Bob, reverting to his oldlanguage with wonderful facility, "w'en Number 666 don't know 'im. Yes,in me, Robert Frog, Esquire, of Chikopow Farm, Canada Vest, you be'oldyour ancient henemy, who is on'y too 'appy to 'ave the chance of axinyour parding for all the trouble he gave you, an' all the 'ard names hecalled you in days gone by."
Bobby held out his hand as he spoke, and you may be sure our hugepoliceman was not slow to grasp it, and congratulate the stray on hisimproved circumstances.
We have not time or space to devote to the conversation which ensued.It was brief, but rapid and to the point, and in the course of it Boblearned that Molly was as well, and as bright and cheery as ever--alsosomewhat stouter; that Monty was in a fair way to become a realpoliceman, having just received encouragement to expect admission to theforce when old enough, and that he was in a fair way to become assedate, wise, zealous, and big as his father; also, that little Jo aimedat the same honourable and responsible position, and was no longerlittle.
Being anxious, however, to see his father, Bob cut the conversationshort, and, having promised to visit his old enemy, hastened away.
The ward of the hospital in which Bob soon found himself was a sadplace. Clean and fresh, no doubt, but very still, save when a wearysigh or a groan told of suffering. Among the beds, which stood in arow, each with its head against the wall, one was pointed out on which aliving skeleton lay. The face was very very pale, and it seemed as ifthe angel of death were already brooding over it. Yet, though sochanged, there was no mistaking the aspect and the once powerful frameof Ned Frog.
"I'd rather not see any one," whispered Ned, as the nurse went forwardand spoke to him in a low voice, "I'll soon be home--I think."
"Father, _dear_ father," said Bob, in a trembling, almost choking voice,as he knelt by the bedside and took one of his father's hands.
The prostrate man sprang up as if he had received an electric shock, andgazed eagerly into the face of his son. Then, turning his gaze on thenurse, he said--
"I'm not dreaming, am I? It's true, is it? Is this Bobby?"
"Whether he's Bobby or not I can't say," replied the nurse, in the tonewith which people sometimes address children, "but you're not dreaming--it _is_ a gentleman."
"Ah! then I _am_ dreaming," replied the sick man, with inexpressiblesadness, "for Bobby is no gentleman."
"But it _is_ me, daddy," cried the poor youth, almost sobbing aloud ashe kissed the hand he held, "why, you old curmudgeon, I thought you'd'ave know'd the voice o' yer own son! I've grow'd a bit, no doubt, butit's me for all that. Look at me!"
Ned did look, with all the intensity of which he was capable, and thenfell back on his pillow with a great sigh, while a death-like palloroverspread his face, almost inducing the belief that he was really dead.
"No, Bobby, I ain't dead yet," he said in a low whisper, as histerrified son bent over him. "Thank God for sendin' you back to me."
He stopped, but, gradually, strength returned, and he again lookedearnestly at his son.
"Bobby," he said, in stronger tones, "I thought the end was drawin'near--or, rather, the beginnin'--the beginnin' o' the New Life. But Idon't feel like that now. I feel, some'ow, as I used to feel in thering when they sponged my face arter a leveller. I did think I was donefor this mornin'. The nurse thought so too, for I 'eerd her say so; an'the doctor said as much. Indeed I'm not sure that my own 'art didn'tsay so--but I'll cheat 'em all yet, Bobby, my boy. You've put new lifeinto my old carcase, an' I'll come up to the scratch yet--see if Idon't."
But Ned Frog did not "come up to the scratch." His work for the Masteron earth was finished--the battle fought out and the victory gained.
"Gi' them all my love in Canada, Bobby, an' say to your dear mother thatI _know_ she forgives me--but I'll tell her all about that when wemeet--in the better land."
Thus he died with his rugged head resting on the bosom of his loved andloving son.
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