WHILST FATHER WAS FIGHTING

BY

ELEANORA H. STOOKE

AUTHOR OF "LITTLE MAID MARIGOLD"

LONDON

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

MANCHESTER, MADRID, LISBON, BUDAPEST.

MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN

PRINTED BY THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY, LONDON

CHAPTER I

AFRAID IN THE DARK

"Are you asleep, Jackie?"

Bob Middleton, closed the door of the attic which served as a bedroom for himself and his little five-year-old brother as he spoke, and stepped softly to the bedside.

No, Jackie was not asleep. He had sprung up in bed at the sound of Bob's voice, and now cried chokingly—

"Oh, Bobbie, Bobbie!"

"Why, what is the matter, old chap?" Bob, inquired. The question was needless, for he knew his little brother was crying from fear—fear of being alone in the dark. "I hoped I should find you asleep," he went on without waiting for a reply; "it was an hour ago that Aunt Martha put you to bed, and you promised you'd try to go to sleep right away."

"I did try," was the plaintive answer, followed by the anxious inquiry—"Are you coming to bed now?"

"No," said Bob, "I've only come up for a few minutes. Aunt Martha said I mustn't stay long, for she's several errands for me to do yet." He went to the window—it was low in the sloping roof—and pulled up the blind. "There, now!" he cried, "isn't that better? The moon's like a big lamp in the sky, and the stare are shining ever so brightly."

"I can see them," Jackie said, with a sobbing breath. "I wanted Aunt Martha to pull up the blind, but she wouldn't, and—and she said if I got out of bed she'd give me the stick. I hope she won't whip me again, Bobbie; she does whip so hard."

Bob set his teeth and was silent for a minute. Mrs. Mead, their Aunt Martha, was not always kind to Jackie. She was not always kind to him either, but that he felt did not matter. He and his little brother— Jackie was five years younger—had been living with Mrs. Mead for ten months, ever since the beginning of the war with Germany, when their father, a reservist, had rejoined the colours. Their previous home had been in a village some miles from Bristol, where their father had been employed on a farm.

Their mother had died when Jackie had been born, so there had been no one but Aunt Martha to take charge of them when the call to arms had taken their father from them. Mrs. Mead, who was a childless widow, kept a greengrocer's shop in a dingy street in Bristol; and, as she took lodgers, she had no room to spare her little nephews but an attic. From the boys' attic, which was at the back of the house, was a view of the river and the backs of the houses on the opposite bank—not a very cheering view for eyes accustomed to pretty wooded scenery.

"Well," Bob said, "I must be going. Don't cry any more, Jackie. There's nothing to be afraid of up here, and it's quite light now I've drawn up the blind. You can lie and watch the moon and stars. I daresay father's watching them too, out in the trenches—"

"Oh, I want father!" Jackie broke in, "I want father!"

Bob wanted his father quite as much as his little brother did; but he owned a brave heart, and, though it was very heavy, he answered cheerfully—

"I daresay he'll be home on leave soon. Here, let me cover you up!"

He tucked the bedclothes around Jackie, then hurried out of the room, leaving the door ajar. As he ran down the steep, narrow stairs he met a little old woman toiling up, followed by an ugly brown dog. He guessed who she was. There were two attics in the house, and the previous day he had heard his aunt remark that she had let the front attic to an old-age pensioner—a Mrs. Winter. No doubt this little old woman was Mrs. Winter.

"There's a dog following you!" he called out, stopping and looking after her.

"Yes," she said, glancing back at him with a smile, "he's my dog. Stray he's called. Oh, dear me, who's that crying?"

"My little brother," Bob replied; "he doesn't like being left alone— he's afraid."

He hurried on. Mrs. Winter, having reached the top stair, hesitated a minute, then, instead of going into her own attic, walked into the other, Stray at her heels.

Jackie was sitting up in bed, crying loudly. He became suddenly silent when he saw Mrs. Winter.

"Good evening!" she began. "I'm Mrs. Winter. I've come to live in the front attic, and should like to be friends with you and your brother. Now, suppose you tell me your name?"

"Jackie," the little boy answered; "I'm five," he informed her, "and Bob's ten."

Mrs. Winter took a chair by his side. He could see her face plainly in the moonlight. Such a pleasant face it was, although it was old, with bright brown eyes like a bird's and the happiest expression.

"I met your brother on the stairs," Mrs. Winter remarked, "he told me you were afraid because you were left alone. But we're never really alone you know, my dear. Jesus is always with us. Do you know about Jesus, Jackie?"

"Oh, yes," said Jackie; "I go to Sunday school. Jesus is in Heaven."

Mrs. Winter nodded. "Yes, Jesus is in Heaven," she agreed, "and He's here too. He's everywhere. No—" as Jackie glanced around the room— "we can't see Him; nevertheless He's here, and you can speak to Him whenever you like and be quite sure He'll hear you. Don't you know that when you pray you are talking to Jesus? He loves you, and wants you to love Him. Oh, He is such a good friend to have, Jackie! I wonder, now, if you said your prayers to-night?"

"No," the little boy answered; "I forgot."

"Ah! I'm not surprised you felt lonely and frightened. I tell you what, we'll pray together—just you and me. You can kneel upon the bed, and I'll kneel beside it."

They did so, whilst Mrs. Winter offered up a prayer. It was a very simple prayer, which asked Jesus to watch over Jackie and make him feel His presence so that he might not be afraid, and the little boy quite understood it.

"I like her," he said to himself, after Mrs. Winter had bidden him "good-night" and gone away, accompanied by her dog; "she's a very nice old woman. It was kind of her to come to see me. Oh, I do hope she'll come again!"

CHAPTER II

THE NEW LODGER

JACKIE quite meant to keep awake till Bob came to bed, but he fell asleep soon after Mrs. Winter had left him. When he awoke the bright morning sunshine was shining into the attic, and Bob was in the midst of dressing. He told him of Mrs. Winter's visit.

"It was kind of her to come," Bob said, pleased because Jackie seemed to be. "Did you like her? Yes? That's all right, then! She's going to pay Aunt Martha two shillings a week for the other attic and 'do for herself'—that means clean her own room and cook her own food. Come, tumble out of bed, Jackie, or you'll be late for breakfast!"

Quarter of an hour later the two boys went downstairs together to the kitchen, where an untidy maid-of-all-work was preparing to cook bacon for breakfast.

"I'll lay the table for you, Lizzie," Bob told her, and set about doing so, Jackie helping him.

In a short while their aunt appeared upon the scene. She was a short, stout woman, with a bustling manner and a nagging tongue.

"Past seven o'clock and breakfast not yet ready!" she began; "you must have been idling, Lizzie, for I called you in good time! Be careful what you're doing, Jackie! There, now, you careless child, you've spilt the milk—and milk such a price, too! Sit down and be quiet, for goodness sake!"

"He's helping me lay the breakfast things," Bob explained, as Mrs. Mead pushed Jackie roughly aside; "it's only a little drop of milk he's spilt, but I'll go without, then it won't matter."

Mrs. Mead made no response. She was a woman of uncertain temper, and this morning she was in an ill-humour because the lodger who rented her best rooms had given her notice yesterday to leave. She let two sets of rooms; but her lodgers did for themselves, like Mrs. Winter, so they were not much trouble to her.

Breakfast was eaten almost in silence; then Bob was sent to open the shop, and at half-past eight the boys started for school. Jackie attended an infant's school not far from home, but Bob had further to go.

When Jackie came out of school at twelve o'clock almost the first person he saw was Mrs. Winter, who was taking her dog for a walk. He stopped and looked at her, thereby attracting her attention. She did not recognise him at first glance, for he looked very different from the little boy with the tear-stained face and tear-blurred eyes she had seen last night. To-day Jackie's face was all smiles, and his eyes were as blue and clear as the summer's sky.

Her second glance, however, told her who he was, and she exclaimed—

"Why, it's Jackie! How do you do, dear? I'm so glad to meet you, and so's Stray. Come here, Stray, and make friends with Jackie!"

Jackie loved dogs, so he patted and made much of Stray; and Stray, who loved to be noticed, was delighted.

"I suppose you're going home now, Jackie?" Mrs. Winter said inquiringly.

"No," the little boy answered, "I'm going to meet Bobbie. You come too!" He slipped his hand into the old woman's as he spoke, and they walked on together, Stray running on ahead.

Jackie was very interested in Stray, and asked many questions about him. He learnt that he was a come-by-chance.

"I found him in the street one wet night, when he was a puppy," Mrs. Winter explained; "he was shivering with cold, and I think he'd have died if I hadn't taken him home with me. Next day I tried to find his owner, but I couldn't, so I kept him. He's about six years old now."

"Older than me!" exclaimed Jackie, adding, "Oh! I think he's a dear dog!"

"He is," agreed Mrs. Winter; "he's no beauty, but he's as good as gold, and so loving and faithful! I always feel thankful God sent him to me."

"I thought you said you found him?" said Jackie.

"So I did," replied Mrs. Winter smiling; "but I'm sure God put him in my way so that I might befriend him. God is love, you know, and for certain He loves every creature He made. It tells us in the Bible that He cares for the sparrows, and I'm as sure He cares for Stray as I'm sure He cares for you and me."

This was a new idea to Jackie, so he pondered it in silence. Presently Mrs. Winter said—

"Isn't this your brother coming towards us?"

Yes, it was Bob. He looked surprised when he saw Jackie's companions; then a smile lit up his face, and shone in his eyes, which were as clear and blue as his little brother's.

"It was ever so kind of you to go in and talk to Jackie last night, Mrs. Winter!" were the first words he said. "You see," he went on, "Aunt Martha puts him to bed early, and he lies awake getting more and more frightened the darker it gets, and—"

"Oh, he shan't do that any longer if I can help it!" Mrs. Winter broke in. "I'll ask Mrs. Mead if I may sit with him till he falls asleep, shall I?"

"Oh, if you only would!" Bob cried gratefully. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he asked Jackie.

"It would be lovely," the little boy answered; "I shouldn't mind its being dark then."

Mrs. Mead was secretly pleased when her new lodger offered to relieve her of the task of putting Jackie to bed every night, and consented at once.

"I used to be a children's nurse," Mrs. Winter told her, "so I understand little people and love them. You will not object to my staying with Jackie for a bit after he's in bed?"

"Oh, no!" Mrs. Mead answered. "I'm afraid you were disturbed by his crying last night. I couldn't let Bob stop with him because I wanted his help—he runs errands for me in the evenings, you see."

As a matter of fact, Mrs. Mead was working Bob much too hard, sending him here, there, and everywhere to fetch and carry loads of vegetables a great deal too heavy for his strength. He had been very high-spirited and the picture of health when he had come to Bristol; but he was daily growing thinner, and paler, and more and more depressed. It took a load of anxiety from his mind, however, to know that no longer whilst he was at work for his aunt in the evenings would Jackie be crying and fretting in the dark.

"Don't you feel tremendously grateful to Mrs. Winter?" he asked Jackie one day, about a week after the new lodger's arrival.

"Oh, yes!" the little boy replied, "I do, Bobbie. She's a dear, and Stray's a dear, too! I love them both! It was kind of God to send them here!"

"How do you know He did?" questioned Bob.

"Because Mrs. Winter told me so," was the prompt response.

"How does she know, Jackie?"

Jackie shook his head.

"She didn't tell me," he said; "but I'll ask her. She did say it, so of course it's true."

CHAPTER III

BOB AND STRAY MAKE AN ENEMY

THE first time Mrs. Mead called on her new lodger to receive her rent, which had to be paid weekly, she looked around the attic approvingly, so dainty and clean was everything; then she raised her eyebrows in surprise, for seated at the little round table near the window was Jackie, a picture of contentment, his head bent over a picture book Mrs. Winter had lent him.

"Why, Jackie, how comes it you are here?" Mrs. Mead inquired. Without waiting for a reply she turned to Mrs. Winter, and said—"I hope he doesn't worry you; you must send him away if he does."

"Oh, he doesn't!" Mrs. Winter assured her. "I love having him with me, and he didn't know what to do with himself as there's no school to-day."

"Such a mistake giving children a whole holiday on Saturday!" Mrs. Mead grumbled, "I'm sure they don't need it; though I admit I'm glad to have Bob at home to run errands, as Saturday is always my busiest day."

Mrs. Winter paid her rent, and had her rent-book receipted. Then Mrs. Mead observed Stray, who was lying on a mat before the fireplace.

"He seems a well-behaved, quiet dog," she remarked, "and you keep him very clean; his coat looks in good condition, as though it was brushed pretty often."

"It is, every day," Mrs. Winter replied smiling.

"I brushed and combed him this morning," Jackie informed his aunt eagerly; "and, afterwards, he jumped up and licked my face, so he must like me, mustn't he?"

Mrs. Mead nodded.

"It must cost you something to feed him, Mrs. Winter," she said. "I'll tell Lizzie to save our scraps for him in future."

Every day after that a plate of scraps was sent up to Mrs. Winter's attic from the kitchen, so that now Stray was better fed than he had ever been in his life before.

Swiftly passed the summer days, then came August when the schools were closed for a month. It was really no holiday for Bob, because his aunt kept him running errands and allowed him no time to himself. Only on Sundays did he get any rest.

Mrs. Mead always took her nephews to church with her on Sunday mornings. During the remainder of the day she did not trouble about them, as long as they kept out of her way; so when one Sunday afternoon, on their return from Sunday school, Mrs. Winter asked them to take tea with her they accepted her invitation at once.

Jackie was now quite at home in Mrs. Winter's attic; but Bob had never been there before. They had their tea at the little round table near the window. It was a very frugal repast of bread not very thickly buttered, and weak tea; but both Bob and Jackie enjoyed it a great deal more than they had ever enjoyed a Sunday tea with Aunt Martha. Bob thought Mrs. Winter the nicest old woman he had ever known. He told her about their old home in the country, and talked to her of his father; then began to ask questions.

"Has your husband been dead long, Mrs. Winter?" he inquired.

"Nigh twenty years, my dear," she answered; "he was a sailor—a good, God-fearing man. His ship went down with all hands in a storm."

"Oh, then he was drowned!" Bob exclaimed, looking at her sympathetically. "Haven't you any children?" was his next question.

"I had one, a little boy; but when he was about the age of Jackie I had to part with him—God took him to Himself," Mrs. Winter replied. There was a look of pain on her face for a minute, then it gave place to a brighter look. "I'm fond of boys for my own boy's sake," she added smiling, "so you two will always find a welcome here whenever you may care to come."

That first Sunday tea in Mrs. Winter's attic was followed by others, and the friendship between the old woman and the brothers grew apace. Stray had taken a great liking to Bob; so Mrs. Winter was very glad to let Bob take him out sometimes, whilst the boy was delighted to have the dog for company when he was running errands for Aunt Martha.

One evening, at the end of August, Bob, who had been sent late to deliver a heavy load of potatoes at a house a long distance from Mrs. Mead's shop, was returning with his empty basket, accompanied by Stray, when he saw a crowd around the entrance of a big building which he knew to be a hospital for wounded soldiers, and paused to inquire what was doing.

"There's going to be a concert to-night for the patients," someone told him, "and a great lady is going to sing—people are waiting to see her."

"A great lady?" said Bob inquiringly. "Who?"

"Lady Margaret Browning," was the reply, "she's an earl's daughter. Her husband, Captain Browning, is in France where the fighting is."

"Oh, then he's a soldier!" Bob exclaimed, adding proudly, "So's my father!"

A young lady passing, leaning on the arm of an elderly gentleman, caught the ring of affectionate pride in Bob's voice, and looked back over her shoulder at the boy with a smile so full of goodwill and understanding that she won his heart completely. She was wearing a long, dark cloak, and a hood was pulled over her head, but the hem of a white silk gown showed under the cloak. Bob only noticed that she was young, and that her face, with its large grey eyes, was the sweetest he had ever seen. He watched her disappear, with her companion in the crowd, and was about to go on his way himself when he caught sight of something sparkling on the pavement not a yard from him, and picked it up. It proved to be a small brooch, shaped like a sword, the hilt of which was set with bright red stones. He moved under a lamp to examine it.

"Hulloa, youngster!" said a voice behind him at that moment, "what's that you've got there?"

It was a big boy called Tom Smith who had addressed him, whose father kept a pawnshop a few doors from Mrs. Mead's shop. Bob disliked Tom because he was a bully, but he was not afraid of him.

"It's something I've found," he answered. "No!" as the other boy would have taken it from him—"I'm not going to part with it!"

Tom laughed.

"'Finding's keeping'!" he quoted. "You might let me look at it, though!"

Bob did so. Tom looked at it in silence for a minute, then said—

"I see. It's only one of those cheap brooches you can buy anywhere for sixpence-halfpenny. Like to sell it I'll give you a shilling for it."

Bob was shrewd enough to know that if Tom really valued the brooch at only sixpence-halfpenny he would not offer to buy it for as much again nearly as it was worth, so he said he intended to keep it.

"Oh, you do, do you?" Tom cried angrily, with a threatening look. "I'll see about that!"

He tried to snatch the brooch from Bob, but failed. The next moment Stray, all his teeth showing, had flown at him.

"Call him off!" he shouted, "call him off! He's got me by the leg!"

But Stray had only got him by the leg of his trousers fortunately. He dropped his hold the instant Bob bade him do so, and followed Bob quietly when he walked away.

Tom Smith was now in a furious passion.

"I'll be even with you for this!" he yelled after Bob, "with you and that ugly brute of a dog, too! Mark my words—I'll be even with you both!"

CHAPTER IV

ABOUT THE RUBY BROOCH

BOB hurried home, the brooch he had found safe in the breast-pocket of his coat. He did not show it to his aunt, as she was gossiping in the shop with a neighbour. She broke off in her conversation to tell him she had no further errands for him that night, and ordered him to take his supper and go to bed.

In the kitchen Lizzie had his supper ready. He showed her the brooch, allowing her to examine it in her own hand.

"'Tis lovely!" the girl exclaimed; "I believe those red stones are rubies! How they do sparkle, to be sure!"