by Bartimeus
*III.*
The Periwinkle found blindness an easier matter to bear in the ward of ahospital than on board the P. & O. Liner by which he was invalided home.A Naval Sick-berth Steward attended to his wants, helped him to dress,and looked after him generally. But every familiar smell and sound ofship-life awoke poignant memories of the ship-life of former days, andfilled him with bitter woe. He was morbidly sensitive of his blindness,too, and for days moped in his cabin alone, fiercely repelling anyattempt at sympathy or companionship. Then, by degrees, the ship'sdoctor coaxed him up into a deck-chair, and sat beside him, warding offintruders and telling stories with the inimitable drollery that is theheritage of the surgeons of P. & O. Liners. And at night, when thedecks were clear, and every throb of the propellers was a reminder ofthe home they were drawing near to, he would link his arm loosely withinthe boy's and together they would walk to and fro. During thesepromenades he invariably treated the Periwinkle as a man of advancedyears and experience, whereby was no little balm in Gilead.
Many people tried to make a fuss of the boy with the sullen mouth, whosecheek-bones looked as if they were coming through the skin, and who hadsuch a sad story. Wealthy globe-trotters, Anglo-Indians, missionaries,and ladies of singular charm and beauty, all strove according to theirlights to comfort him. But by degrees they realised he never wanted toplay cat's-cradle or even discuss his mother, and so left him in peace.
But the boy had a friend beside the doctor, a grizzled major from anIndian Frontier regiment, returning home on furlough with a V.C. tackedon to his unpretentious name. At first the Periwinkle rather shrank froma fresh acquaintance--it is a terrible thing to have to shake hands withan unknown voice. But he was an incorrigible little hero-worshipper, andthis man with the deep steady voice had done and seen wonderful things.Further, he didn't mind talking about them--to the Periwinkle; so thatthe boy, as he sat clasping his ankles and staring out to sea withsightless eyes, was told stories which, a week later, the newspaperreporters of the Kingdom desired to hear in vain.
He was a philosopher too, this bronzed, grey-haired, warrior with thesun-puckered eyes: teaching how, if you only take the trouble to lookfor it, a golden thread of humour runs through all the sombre warp andwoof of life; and of "Hope which ... outwears the accidents of life andreaches with tremulous hand beyond the grave and death."
This is the nicest sort of philosophy.
But for all that it was a weary voyage, and the Periwinkle was abrown-faced ghost, all knees and elbows and angularities by the timeTilbury was reached. The first to board the ship was a lady, pale andsweetly dignified, whom the doctor met at the gangway and piloted to thePeriwinkle's cabin. He opened the door before he turned and fled, andso heard, in her greeting of the Periwinkle, the infinite love andcompassion that can thrill a woman's voice.
* * * * *
In a corner of the railway carriage that carried them home, thePeriwinkle--that maimed and battered knight--still clung to the haft ofhis broken sword. "I meant to do so jolly well. Oh, mother, I meantyou to be so jolly proud of me. The Flag-Lieutenant said I might havebeen ... if only it had been an arm or a leg--deaf or dumb ... butthere's nothing left in all the world ... it's empty--nothing remains."
She waited till the storms of self-pity and rebellion passed, leavinghim biting his fingers and breathing hard. Then little by little, withmysterious tenderness, she drew out the iron that had entered the boyishsoul. And, at the last, he turned to her with a little fluttering sigh,as a very tired child abandons a puzzle. She bent her head low--
"This remains," she whispered.