ROBIN OF SUN COURT

BY

ELEANORA H. STOOKE

AUTHOR OF

"ONE CHRISTMAS TIME," "LITTLE SUNBEAM," ETC.

WITH FRONTISPIECE BY ISABEL WATKIN

LONDON

NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY

19, GREAT PETER STREET, WESTMINSTER NEW YORK: THOMAS WHITTAKER, 2 & 3 BIBLE HOUSE 1908 [All rights reserved]

PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON

BY THE SAME AUTHOR ——————————

LITTLE SUNBEAM. Price 1s. GRANFER, AND ONE CHRISTMAS TIME. Price 1s. —————————— NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY 19, Great Peter Street, Westminster, S.W.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. MORNING IN SUN COURT

II. ROBIN IN REQUEST

III. ROBIN'S FIRST EARNINGS

IV. ROBIN'S PLAN

V. AN AWFUL BLOW

VI. ROBIN'S HEART SOFTENS

VII. A POLICEMAN IN SUN COURT

VIII. MISS MAGGS IN SUN COURT

IX. POOR FATHER!

X. THE DAWN OF A HAPPIER TIME

XI. AT NEWLYN

XII. CONCLUSION

ROBIN OF SUN COURT

CHAPTER I

MORNING IN SUN COURT

SUN COURT was generally spoken of as one of the worst slums in Plymouth. Its name had been ill-chosen, for the sunlight only peeped into it early in the morning, and then only for an hour or so; during the rest of the day the place was dull and cheerless in the extreme. The houses surrounding the court were squalid and dilapidated for the most part. But some few looked better kept; and decorating a certain downstair window, on the May morning on which this story opens, was a wallflower in full bloom in a pot—an object of beauty in the midst of much which was unsightly, and, as the sun's rays fell on the streaky, golden-brown blooms, their delicious scent seemed to grow stronger until their fragrance filled the air.

It was said that many of the shadiest characters in Plymouth lived in Sun Court. It may have been so; but as ill weeds cannot altogether choke the growth of some hardy flowers, so were there those in Sun Court who rose above the circumstances of their lives and kept straight and honest in spite of their surroundings. One of these was the owner of the wallflower in the pot, an old cobbler called Jasper Blamey, who spent most of his days at his cobbler's bench, exactly inside the downstair window of his house.

The sun rose in a cloudless blue sky on this bright May morning, and, just as its first rays found their way into Sun Court, a big stalwart-looking man of about forty stumbled through the narrow passage which led into the court and turned into the doorway next to the cobbler's. A few minutes later there was a commotion within the house he had entered, followed by silence.

The noise in the adjoining dwelling had disturbed the old cobbler and roused him from sleep, but it had by no means alarmed or even surprised him. As it was unlikely he would sleep again, however, he decided to rise and get to work early. Half an hour later he was whistling softly to himself as he bent his head over the shoe he was re-soling, whilst the scent of the wallflower wafted through the window he had opened before taking his seat.

"I say, Mr. Blamey, did you hear the row?" asked a voice in a cautious whisper.

Jasper glanced up quickly at the speaker—a small, slight boy of about ten years of age, with a pale, pinched-looking countenance and a pair of big grey eyes—who stood outside the window, peeping in at him.

"Yes, I heard it right enough," he answered; "it woke me up, in fact."

"Father came home drunk," said the boy; "he's been out all night. Mother waited up for him till past twelve o'clock, then she went to bed. He hit her because she wasn't up and dressed ready to get his breakfast—she's getting it now."

"I hope Mrs. Burt is not hurt, Robin?" questioned the old man, in a tone of anxiety. There was an expression of deep sorrow on his kind face, and sympathy shone in his eyes—dark brown eyes they were, rather sunken, but wonderfully bright and observant.

"He struck her here," Robin answered, indicating his chest, "but she didn't make much fuss about it; you know she never does. The noise you heard was father kicking over the chairs. I thought I'd better clear out for the time or he might make for me. I say, Mr. Blamey, can't I come in and talk to you for a bit?"

"Yes, do, my boy."

In another minute Robin was seated on a three-legged stool by the cobbler's bench. He and the old man were good friends, and many were the conversations they held together.

"How lovely that wallflower is!" exclaimed the little boy, after a brief silence. "We can smell it in our house, too. Mother noticed it yesterday; she said it made her think of her old home, where she used to live when she was young, you know."

"Ay," assented Jasper, with an understanding nod; "your mother was country-bred, I take it; I never heard her say so, but I can tell."

"How can you tell?" asked Robin curiously.

"Because she loves country things, and knows so much about them—animals, and birds, and flowers. I can see she wasn't reared in a place like this."

"She was brought up on a farm. I didn't know that till a few days ago, when she got talking about the time when she was a little girl; then she told me. She hardly ever tells me anything about herself; I wish she would. Oh, Mr. Blamey, do you know what I feel when I see father hit mother?"

The question was put with a sudden change of manner, and the boy's pale cheeks flushed with fierce anger as he spoke.

"No," was the response, in a troubled tone.

"I feel that I could kill him!" Robin declared passionately. "Oh, you don't half know how bad he is—how cruel! He nearly starves mother and me, sometimes, and sells our clothes just to spend the money in drink. Mother can't keep anything for him. When she's well enough to earn a little money he gets it from her and spends that on himself, too. Oh, how I wish mother and I could run away from him and never come back again! I hate him, that I do!"

"Hush! Hush, Robin! It's wicked to hate anyone," Jasper said, looking greatly distressed—"your own father, too—"

"He isn't my own father!" broke in Robin, eagerly. "He's only my stepfather. Ah, no wonder you're surprised! I was when I found it out, and oh, wasn't I glad! He's kind enough when he's sober, but that's not often nowadays. He gets worse and worse. Mother says my own father died when I was a little chap, and then she married him—that brute! She says he promised to be good to her and me, and see how he's kept his word. Look here!" he cried, his voice growing shrill with indignation whilst he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket and indicated several bruises on his skinny arm. "That's his doing, and there are others on my shoulders and back. But he shall never hit me again now I know he isn't my father. I'll run away, that I will, and if mother won't come with me, then I'll go alone!"

"Don't talk like that, boy," advised the old man; "you'll never desert your mother, I know. No, no; you'll never let yourself be such a coward as that."

"Coward?" Robin's expression was one of doubt. "I'm not going to let him strike me again," he said determinedly; "no, never again."

"I'm sure I hope he won't attempt it, Robin. But don't threaten to run away, there's a good boy. Stick to your post of duty—that's here in Sun Court. If you ran away, you'd only bring additional trouble into your mother's life—a life that's hard enough as it is, God knows. You're as the apple of her eye, and I think if you left her, it would well-nigh break her heart."

The expression of Robin's face changed to one of extreme tenderness as the old cobbler spoke, for his mother was very dear to him. They had shared each other's joys and sorrows ever since he could remember, and, if the sorrows had greatly outweighed the joys, that fact had but served to draw them closer together.

"I wish I had left school," Robin remarked by-and-by, "then I should be able to go to work and earn money, and I'd see father didn't get it. I heard yesterday of a place where a boy was wanted to clean boots, and I tried to get the job—I thought I could do the work out of school hours—but—but—"

"Well?" Jasper interrogated gently as Robin paused with quivering lips and misty eyes.

"I went to the house, but the people wouldn't have anything to do with me because I was so ragged. I told them my father had pawned my clothes, and they said that I must belong to a bad lot; and when they heard my home was in Sun Court, they said that settled the matter and that I shouldn't suit them at all. Oh, Mr. Blamey, wasn't it hard lines?"

"Very hard lines," was the sympathetic response.

"And the worst of it is, if mother works hard at charing and gets the money to take my suit out of pawn, the same thing will happen again, perhaps. Father will sell anything he can lay his hands on when he wants money for drink. Everyone calls me Ragged Robin, and it makes me so wild. Ragged Robin, indeed! But of course I am ragged," he admitted, with a doleful glance at his clothes and a deep-drawn sigh.

"Well, cheer up, and take no notice of what folks call you," said the old man; "there are always those who will be thoughtless and unkind, but the best way is to endure in silence, my boy. And, after all, Ragged Robin is not an ugly name. It's the name of a flower, and a very pretty flower, too, deep pink in colour. Dear me, the country lanes must be gay with ragged-robins now; they come after the primroses, with the wild hyacinths and the cuckoo flowers, when the hawthorn trees are in bloom. You ask your mother if ragged-robins are not pretty flowers."

"I will," Robin answered, looking interested. "How you do love the country, Mr. Blamey! You ought to live there instead of here in Sun Court."

"No, I'd rather live in Plymouth; it has always been my home."

"Then I suppose you were born here—in Plymouth, I mean?"

"Yes. I was born and brought up in the workhouse, where my mother died when I was a baby. When I was old enough to be put out in the world, I was apprenticed to a cobbler in this very house. He was a gruff old fellow, but he treated me fairly and taught me his trade; so at his death I took on his business. Sun Court's more of a home to me than any other place would be. For all that, I enjoy a holiday in the country, and get it sometimes. But I think my Master wants me here," he concluded thoughtfully.

"Your master?" said Robin in a tone of inquiry.

"The Lord Jesus Christ. I'm well known here, and folks will listen to me sometimes when I speak to them of Him; I can tell what Jesus has been to me—just the best master and friend ever man had. He never failed anyone, and His promises are sure. 'Take my yoke upon you,' He said, 'and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.' Ah, Robin, how I wish Jesus was your master and friend! Perhaps He will be some day." And Jasper looked at the little boy with an expression of great tenderness in his dark eyes as he spoke.

Robin made no response. He liked and respected the old cobbler, but it always made him uneasy to hear him "talk religion," for he was not religious himself, though his mother had taught him to be truthful and honest. Accordingly, at this point in the conversation, he remarked that he thought perhaps he had better go home and have breakfast with his mother and stepfather, or the latter might take exception to his absence.

"Very well," Jasper replied, "you know best. I hope your father—your stepfather I suppose I should say—has cooled down by this time. Dear, dear, what a sad pity it is he should break out like this! And he's such a pleasant-spoken, good-tempered fellow when he's sober, too!"

"Oh, he's all right when he isn't in drink," Robin allowed. "By the way, Mr. Blamey, you haven't asked me my name—my surname I mean. It's Rodway. Don't you think Robin Rodway sounds much better than Robin Burt? I do. Mother says my own father was a real good man. I'm glad of that. Well, I must really be going, I suppose. Thank you for letting me come in and talk to you."

"I'm always glad of your company. If you don't find everything right at home you can come back again and have breakfast with me."

"Oh, thank you. Oh, there's mother calling me." Robin rose from the three-legged stool as he spoke and turned to the door. "It's sure to be all right or she wouldn't call me," he said. "Good morning, Mr. Blamey."

"Good morning, my boy," the old man returned. "So Richard Burt's only his stepfather," he muttered as his visitor disappeared; "and he's called Rodway. Surely I've heard the name 'Robin Rodway' before?"

CHAPTER II

ROBIN IN REQUEST

"MOTHER, mother, here's news—such good news!"

Robin's voice was full of joy and excitement as he hurried into the kitchen, where his mother was seated close to the window which looked into the court. It was the afternoon subsequent to the day on which Richard Burt had returned home the worse for drink and had served his wife so brutally.

"Good news?" echoed Mrs. Burt, a faint, incredulous smile flitting across her pale, careworn face. "Good news for 'us,' Robin?"

"Yes, indeed, mother. But you're ill!" he cried, in accents of concern, as he noticed her countenance bore signs of pain.

"I'm not well," she admitted; "you know, dear, I haven't felt very strong of late; I get a pain here." She pressed her hand to her side as she spoke. "No, it's not where he hit me," she continued hastily, as she observed a wrathful gleam in her little son's eyes; "he bruised me a bit, but I don't take much notice of a few bruises nowadays. Tell me your news, my dear."

"Oh, yes! You'll be so pleased, mother. Something wonderful has happened. It was like this. You know Sam Brown, and how he always bullies me just because he's older and stronger than I am? Well, I was coming home from school this afternoon when Sam overtook me and began cheeking me, calling me names, and laughing at my clothes—oh, mother you needn't look so sorry; really I didn't mind—that is, not much. A lady we met heard what Sam was saying, and she stopped and looked at him, and he cleared out as quick as he could. She was such a pretty lady, with beautiful brown eyes, and her voice sounded so kind—"

"Then she spoke to you, Robin?" Mrs. Burt interposed, her interest now thoroughly aroused.

"Yes. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, 'So they call you Ragged Robin, do they?'

"And I said, 'Yes, ma'am.'

"She looked at me very hard and smiled, and I got very red, because I was wondering what she thought of my shabby clothes.

"'I've a little boy of my own about your age,' she said. 'Where do you live?'

"I told her. She said she didn't know Sun Court, but she expected she would be able to find it, and she asked me my name and if I'd like to earn some money out of school hours. I told her I wanted to get a job, but it was very difficult to find one that I could suit, although I could shine boots and clean knives as well as any boy.

"'Well, I'll engage you for a model, and I'll pay you a shilling an hour,' she said. 'Can you come for a couple of hours twice a week? I want to put you into a picture, and you'll have to keep very still whilst I take your likeness—that's being a model, you know.'

"I was so surprised I didn't know what to say, but I felt I could have jumped for joy, and I think she saw I was very, very glad. She's coming to see you to-morrow; and, oh, mother, don't you call this good news?"

"Yes, dear, indeed it is," Mrs. Burt replied. Her face had brightened considerably whilst her little son had been talking. "Did the lady tell you her name?" she inquired.

"No. But she wrote down your name on a card, and asked me all sorts of questions about you, mother. I told her that you hadn't been well lately, and—and that father treated you badly—"

"Oh, Robin! You should not have mentioned that."

"Why not? It's true." The boy met his mother's reproachful gaze with one of defiance; then his expression softened, and he continued:

"I don't know what made me tell her, I'm sure, but she looked so kind I felt I could tell her anything. I thought if she wanted to put me into a picture she'd like me to wear better clothes, so I told her I was sorry I hadn't another suit; and then she said she meant to take my likeness just as I am. Fancy that! And fancy her offering me a shilling an hour to do nothing—only to keep still!"

"I expect you'll find it rather trying doing that," Mrs. Burt remarked with a smile; "you're usually such a restless boy."

"Anyway, I do hope I shall get the job, mother."

"I'm sure I hope so too, dear. Are you ready for tea? The kettle's on the oil-stove; it will boil directly."

"Where's father?" Robin inquired.

"Gone to Devonport to see if he can get work at the dockyard. He's ashamed of himself to-day. I haven't done much myself this afternoon; I've felt too weak and dispirited to stir about, and I haven't seen a creature to speak to but old Mr. Blamey, who came to the door to know how I was; he's always very attentive and kind."

"Yes," assented Robin; "folks say he's mazed, but I don't think he is."

"Mazed?" exclaimed Mrs. Burt. "To my mind he's a deal more sane than most people," she declared emphatically.

"They say so because he's so very religious," Robin explained.

"He's a good man, Robin, and I'm certain the love of God is in his heart, for he's always ready to put himself out of the way to do anyone a kind turn; and he's happy—so few people are that in this world!"

"He says one can't be happy without Jesus," remarked Robin, thoughtfully.

"He's right, my dear. I think there's no doubt that our old neighbour has found Jesus, and you know the Bible tells us that 'they that seek the Lord shall not want any good thing.' Mr. Blamey reminded me of that this afternoon; his words came in season, for I've been very troubled and unhappy of late, and I've kept my sorrows to myself instead of laying them before the Lord. I fear I've been a faithless woman. Ah, Robin, Sam Brown little guessed that he was doing you a good turn by jeering at you this afternoon. I expect it was really the unkind remarks he was making which drew the lady's attention to you."

"I hope she won't change her mind about me," said Robin uneasily; "perhaps she will find out that Sun Court isn't a nice place," he added, with a sigh.

"Don't meet trouble half way," advised his mother; "I've an idea that the lady will prove as good as her word."

Mrs. Burt was right in her surmise, for the following afternoon the expected visitor arrived. The old cobbler looked after her with approving eyes as she passed his window, for seldom was such a sweet face seen in Sun Court. She introduced herself to Robin's mother as Mrs. Groves, and explained that her home was at Newlyn, in Cornwall, and that she and her little son had been lodging in Plymouth for the past month, and would in all probability remain several weeks longer.

"My boy is an only child, like yours," she said, "and I think the two must be about the same age. How old is Robin?"

"Ten years and a few months, ma'am," Mrs. Burt replied.

"Gilbert—that is my little boy's name—is not quite ten. Unfortunately, he is far from being a strong child; his health has always been a cause of anxiety to me. He was very ill a short while since, and my reason for coming to Plymouth was that he might be treated by a celebrated doctor. My husband is an artist, and he has several pupils at Newlyn, so he could not possibly leave to be with us here. I am an artist, too, and the instant I saw your little son I longed to paint him. He is just the model I want. You will let him come to me, will you not?"

"Oh yes, ma'am, thank you," Mrs. Burt hastened to respond, with mingled thankfulness and gratitude in her voice, "and I do hope he'll keep still and give you every satisfaction. I'm sure he'll try to do so. He's really a very good, obedient boy, ma'am, and—and the greatest comfort I have," she concluded with a break in her voice.

"I can well understand that. He looks a dear little fellow, and he has a frank way of speaking, which I noticed at once."