*CHAPTER III.*
*A NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH.*
The members of that little party will long remember the walk home fromthe county ground. It was an ideal summer evening. A few fleecy whiteclouds flaked the blue of the sky, and the sun's heat was tempered by agentle breeze blowing up pleasantly from the south. Birds sang in thegardens, and the fragrant odour of flowers filled the air.
Now and again the boys stopped the carriage, so that Susie, lookingthrough the gateways, might see the flowers in all their glory ofcolour. She did not talk much; she was rather tired by the unusualexcitement, and by her long stay in the open air.
Occasionally they passed a group of the Deanery boys, and then therewere cries of "Good old Hartland!" "Well done, Angel!" which made Susieprouder than ever.
"I say, Dick," said one urchin, "is it true you've been asked to playfor the county?"
The Angel, who loved a joke, laughed back broadly.
"Nothing's been settled yet," said he, "but I may give 'em a hand ifthey're hard pushed. I can't promise to play regularly, though--atleast this season."
"What a pity!" exclaimed the boy; "you would have been such a help."
The town was beginning to fill with the usual Saturday evening crowdwhen they reached the main street, and the newsboys were lustilyshouting, "Evening paper!"
"We must have a paper," said Jim's mother.
"Better wait a bit," observed Dick, with an air of wisdom; "the specialedition will be out soon."
Just then Temple, the captain of the Magpies, came along. He wasreading a paper, and would have passed our friends had not Dick said,"Hullo, old chap; anything about the match there?"
Temple glanced up hastily, and, with an odd look at Jim, answeredslowly,--
"Only the result, and there's no need to tell you that."
"Come on, Dick," said Jim; "he's got the hump."
The Angel was turning round to join his chum when Temple called him backsoftly.
"Haven't you heard the news?" he asked curiously.
"Haven't heard anything," replied Dick. "We've only just come from theground. You look as solemn as an owl."
"I am thinking of Hartland."
"Why? He's all right."
Unfolding the paper, Temple pointed with his finger to the spacereserved for late news.
Dick read the short paragraph, and immediately his face became clouded.
"Oh, poor old Jim!" he exclaimed. "And fancy, to-day of all the days inthe year."
"I'm awfully sorry too," remarked Temple. "Better show him the paper,so that he can tell his mother. Lucky the information came too late toput on the placard."
"They'll have it in big letters on the next lot," replied Dick, slippingthe paper inside his flannels.
"Hurry him home as fast as you can," said the other. "Somebody may stopMrs. Hartland and blurt out the news. There are plenty of fools about."
Dick was off at once, and, overtaking his friends, rather surprised hismother by saying,--
"Step out, mother. You forget it's past tea-time, and Susie here is ashungry as a hunter."
Now, of course Mrs. Boden had no suspicion of the truth, but she guessedfrom Dick's face that something was wrong, and, being a wise littlewoman, quickened her pace.
"Fancy Temple taking the hump like that," said Jim as they turned intoCedar Road, where he lived. "Shouldn't have thought he was that sort."
"Oh, it wasn't over the match. But I'll tell you all about it anothertime." And Dick nodded at the chair, as much as to say, "I don't wantSusie to hear."
Jim took the hint, and being rather curious, pushed on quickly to thehouse. They were all near the little gate when his mother said,--
"How very odd! Mrs. Hunt's blinds are all down, and so are Mrs.Pettifer's. There must be some one dead. I didn't know either of themhad any one ill."
"A relative has died suddenly, perhaps," suggested Dick's mother; whilethe boy, who trembled all over thought Jim would never get the frontdoor open.
At last it swung back, and the two boys lifted the carriage into thepassage. Then, between them, they carried Susie into the back room andlaid her gently on the couch.
Meanwhile Mrs. Boden had gone on home, leaving word for Dick to follow;so, after wishing Susie and her mother good-bye, he went out,accompanied by Jim.
"Come outside," he whispered, "and pull the door to. There's bad newsin the town."
"Bad news!" echoed Jim, wondering why his chum trembled so.
"Yes, that's what upset Temple. It's in the paper; but there's only aline or two, and it mayn't be true."
"But what is it?" asked Jim, and, oddly enough, his voice sank to awhisper, while his face was as white as Dick's.
"It's about the--the _Morning Star_," gasped the boy.
Then Jim understood in a flash what had happened, and why the neighbourshad darkened their windows.
"Give me the paper," said he, "and let me see what it says."
The paragraph was very brief, and ran thus:--
"It is reported at Lloyd's that the barque _Morning Star_ has been lostin a storm off Cape Horn. Some of the crew, including the chief mate,got ashore; but the captain, Robert Merritt, and the second mate, JohnHartland, went down with the ship. The _Morning Star_ was owned atCardiff, and was making for San Francisco with a general cargo."
Jim read the paragraph over several times. The letters seemed blurredand running into one another; only the words, "the second mate, JohnHartland, went down with the ship," stood out clear and distinct, as ifraised above the surrounding type.
"There may be a chance yet," suggested Dick, who was hurt by the look ofpain on his chum's face. "It isn't certain that your father is drowned."
"No," said Jim absently; "it isn't certain."
Then he put the paper into his pocket and turned to go in.
"Shall I tell my mother to come round?" asked Dick.
"Not to-night--thanks. No, we shall be better by ourselves."
Nodding to Dick, he stepped into the passage and closed the door gently.Then he went quietly to the room where his mother had laid tea. Therewas nothing of value in the house, for the family had been particularlyunfortunate during the last few years. In spite of many obstacles Mr.Hartland had worked his way up to the position of mate, but on his firstvoyage as an officer had met with an accident which kept him in hospitalfor months. Then he found it hard to secure another berth, and duringthe time of his enforced idleness the best of his furniture had beenparted with to buy food. Few people knew this, however, as theHartlands, who were very proud, kept their troubles to themselves.
Mrs. Hartland was a notable housewife, and had a certain amount oftaste, which enabled her to make the house look nice. The room whichJim entered was quite attractive. A few nicely-framed black-and-whitepictures hung on the walls; long curtains draped the window tastefully;the grate shone by reason of many applications of elbow-polish;everything was beautifully clean. A cloth of snowy whiteness coveredthe table, and the various articles set out for use showed evidence ofcapable cleaning.
"Make haste, my boy!" exclaimed his mother cheerfully; "your tea ispoured out. Dick and you have had a long gossip."
"Jim's tired, and I don't wonder at it," remarked Susie.
The boy sat down in his usual place and forced himself to eat and drink.His mother, who was proud of the praise he had won, talked about thematch.
"There was only one thing wanted to make the day a complete success,"said she. "When you were on the platform with all those gentlemen Icould not help wishing that your father had been looking on."
Jim put down his cup, so that she should not see how his hand trembled,and bit his lip to keep from crying out. The paper seemed to rustle inhis pocket, and he made up his mind to tell her the truth at once.
But how? He could not say, "Father will never know anything about it,because he is lying at the bottom of the sea!" Yet it must be done.His
mother must not be left to hear the terrible news from a stranger.
While he still hesitated, Susie, who had sharp ears, exclaimed, "Listen,there's the paper-boy. I can hear him shouting, 'Latest Special!'"
"Run, Jim, quick!" cried his mother, taking a half-penny from herpocket. She was as excited as Susie at the thought of seeing her boy'sname in print.
Jim tried to stand, but his limbs tottered, and he sat down again.
In an instant his mother, forgetful of the paper, was by his side. "Youhave overdone yourself, my boy," she said. "All that running about hasbeen too much for you."
"No," said the boy, and he spoke with difficulty; "I am all right,mother!" and then, with a wild cry, "O mother, mother, how can I tellyou? It's about the _Morning Star_, and--and father!"
Mrs. Hartland did not cry out or make a scene; only her lips twitchedpainfully, and she laid a hand on the table to steady herself.
"Tell me the worst, Jim," she whispered bravely; and the boy drew thepaper from his pocket with trembling fingers.
"Read it," she said simply; and he tried hard, but his voice broke downbefore the end of the first sentence.
Then she looked at it herself, but the letters seemed only black dotswhich danced about and intermingled as if trying to hide from her.
"Give it to me, mother," said Susie.
For the moment they had forgotten her, but the sound of her voice sent afresh arrow of pain through the mother's heart. But Susie was used tosorrow, and drew strength from her very weakness. Steadily she readthrough the paragraph from beginning to end, while her mother stood,white-faced and tearless, drinking in every word.
"The second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship!"
To the woman and children in that little room the words formed the wholeparagraph.
"Went down with the ship!" A simple phrase enough, and not uncommon,but perhaps it is as well that we do not always realize the misery andsorrow lying behind it.
A deep hush fell as Susie finished reading. The sun had gone down, theevening shadows were gathering fast; soon it would be time to light thelamp, but no one moved.
A loud rat-tat at the door startled them; and Jim, going out, found amessenger boy with a telegram. It was from the owners of the _MorningStar_, but contained no further information than had appeared in theevening paper.
"It is very kind of them," said Mrs. Hartland "but I am glad you told mefirst, Jim."
"We don't know yet that father is drowned!" exclaimed Susie stoutly."He might have been picked up by another ship. I have read of suchthings."
Neither Jim nor his mother answered her; the idea was too wild to beconsidered seriously.
The boy did not realize all that his father's death meant to him, for hewas young, and his experience of life had not been great. But hismother, while grieving bitterly for the dead man who had loved her sodevotedly, had to think of the living.
Through the long night hours, while the children forgot their sorrow insleep, she lay thinking, thinking earnestly about their future. She hadplanned great things for Jim, had built splendid castles in the air forhim; and now, at a blow, they came tumbling about her ears.
"Poor boy!" she said softly to herself; "I fear it will change the wholeof his life."
The Gayton Scholarship: A School Story Page 3