Chapter Fifty Three.

“Huzza! We’re Homeward bound.”

And now it seemed as if our difficulties were at an end, for the passage to Kingston, Jamaica, was a pleasant one, and we took our berths from there in the mail, which landed us in safety at Southampton, without a soul suspecting the nature of the treasure that we had on board, one which we had gone through so much peril to obtain.

It was a fine evening in July, that, after leaving my uncle and the others at a comfortable London hotel, Tom and I, after a quick run down by rail, found ourselves once more in the streets of the little town which we had left upon our setting off to foreign lands in quest of our fortunes.

How familiar everything seemed and yet how shrunken! Houses that I used to consider large appeared to have grown small, and people that I had been in the habit of considering great and important, somehow looked as if they were of no consequence at all.

“Lor’, look ye there, Mas’r Harry, they’re practising in the cricket field. What a while it seems since I have handled a bat! Come and give us a few balls, the chaps would be glad enough to see us.”

“No, no, Tom,” I said hastily, “I want to see the old people.”

“Oh, yes, of course, I forgot all about that, Mas’r Harry. I haven’t got no one to see.”

“Why, what about Sally?” I said.

“Pooh, it’s all nonsense! What stuff! How you do talk, Mas’r Harry!” he cried indignantly. “Just as if Sally was anything to me!”

“Come, Tom,” I said, “you know you were always very great friends.”

“Friends, Mas’r Harry! Why, she were allus giving me spanks in the face. I do wish you wouldn’t be so foolish, Mas’r Harry.”

“All right, Tom,” I said, for he was speaking in quite an ill-used tone. “There, what’s that?” I cried, as with beating heart, longing to look into the old home and yet almost afraid, I stopped short at the corner of the lane, and caught Tom by the arm.

“What’s that?” cried Tom grinning, as he took a long sniff. “Taller. Say, Mas’r Harry, after missing it all this long time, it don’t smell so very bad after all.”

“Well, it is not nice, Tom,” I said smiling, “but how familiar it all does seem! What days and nights it does recall! Why, Tom, we hardly seem to have been away.”

“Oh, but don’t we though?” said Tom, pulling down the front of a new waistcoat and pushing his hat a little on one side. “We went away nobodies like, at least I did, Mas’r Harry, and I’ve come back an independent gentleman. I wonder whether Sally’s altered.”

I did not make any reply, but walked steadily on till I reached the familiar gates leading into our yard, and through which I had seen the laden van pass so many hundreds of times. There beyond it was the soap-house with its barred window, the tall chimney, and, on looking over, there were the usual litter of old and new boxes, while an unpleasantly scented steam was floating out upon the evening air.

How strange and yet how familiar it all seemed! How old and shabby and forlorn everything looked, and yet how dear! I wanted to creep in and catch my mother in my arms, but something seemed to hold me back, so that I dare not stir.

I walked straight by, with Tom following me slowly, looking across at the opposite side of the road, and whistling softly, and as we walked on I could see into the garden, and my heart gave a throb, for, instead of being neat and well stocked as of old, everything appeared to have been neglected—creepers had run wild, the apple and pear trees were covered with long shoots, and tall thistles and nettles stood in clumps.

My heart seemed to stand still, and I hesitated no longer. My father must be ill, I thought, or the garden in which he took so much pride would never have been allowed to run wild like that.

“Tom,” I said, “there’s something wrong.”

“Lor’, no, Mas’r Harry, not there. Nothing’s wrong, only that Sally’s left, and that’s all right, ain’t it?”

I did not answer, but, going to the yard gate, pushed it open, and the hinges gave a dismal creak.

“Bit o’ soap would not hurt them,” said Tom sententiously, and he followed me through the yard.

I peeped in at the old, familiar boiling-house, but though work had lately been in progress there was no one there; so I went on to the back door and was about to enter, but Tom laid his hand on my arm.

“Would you mind my going in first, Mas’r Harry?” he said softly. “I know it ain’t right, but I should like to go in just once—first.”

I drew back and Tom stepped forward to go in, but as he raised his hand to the latch he dropped it again and turned back to me.

“’Twouldn’t be right, sir, for me to go afore you; and don’t you think, Mas’r Harry, now that you’re a great, rich gentleman just come over from foreign abroad, that it would be more genteel-like to go round to the front and give a big knock afore you went in?”

“Well, let’s go round to the front, Tom. Perhaps it isn’t right to come round here. We might startle them.”

“Wouldn’t startle Sally, even if she were here, Mas’r Harry. Nothing never did startle she, though she ain’t here now.”

The fact was that I felt as nervous and tremulous about going in as poor Tom, and accordingly we went round to the front, and after a moment’s hesitation I gave a rap at the door.

No answer.

I rapped again, and then, finding the door unfastened, I pushed against it with trembling hand to find it yield, and, walking straight in, I turned to the right and entered the little parlour.

As I went in some one who had been sitting back asleep in the easy-chair started up and took a great red handkerchief from his face.

As he did this I was advancing with open hands, but only to stop short, for it was not my father.

“Hillo!” said the stranger, a dirty-looking man with an inflamed nose.

“Hallo!” I said; “who are you?”

“Who am I?” said the stranger, staring at me as if I were asking a most absurd question. “Why, persession—that’s about what I am. Are you come to pay me out?”

“Pay you out!—possession!” I faltered. “Why, what does it mean?”

“Sold by hockshin without reserve by one of the morkygees,” said the man, “soon as the inwintory’s took.”

“Where are my father and mother?” I said, with my heart sinking at the idea of the distress they must have been in.

“Now, then!” said a sharp voice, and a young woman came to the inner door; “who do you want?”

“Sally!” whispered Tom excitedly.

“Why, Sally!” I exclaimed, “don’t you know me again?”

“It isn’t Master Harry, is it?” she said wonderingly.

“Yes, Sally,” I said. “Why, how you have altered and improved!”

“Get along, Master Harry; it’s you that’s improved. Who’s that big, stoopid-looking young man with you?”

“Oh, I say!” groaned Tom.

“Oh, I see!” she said carelessly, “it’s the boy!”

“Ain’t she hard on a fellow, Mas’r Harry?” whispered Tom; but I did not reply, for I was questioning Sally.

“What! haven’t you heard?” she said.

“No, I’ve heard nothing,” I exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

“’Bout master’s having failed, and a set o’ wretches,”—here she glanced at the dirty-looking man—“coming and robbing him of his business, and his house, and his furniture, and everything a’most he’s got.”

“No, no, Sally, I have heard nothing. But are they well?”

“Oh, yes, as well as folks can be as is being robbed by folks who come sitting in all the chairs with hankychers over their heads, and going to sleep all over the place.”

“But where are they?” I cried; “upstairs?”

“Upstairs? No,” cried Sally. “They’re down at the little cottage in Back Lane, where old Mrs Wigley used to live.”

“I’ll run down at once,” I cried. “Come along, Tom!” I did not look back, for I was intent upon my task; and if I had I should have had no satisfaction, for Tom had stayed behind, as he afterwards said, to look after old master’s property; but I never believed that tale for several reasons, one being that Tom looked shamefaced and awkward as he said it, and circumstances afterwards tended to show that he had some other reason.

The old cottage named was one that I well remembered, and my spirit seemed to sink lower and lower as I neared the place; for it was terrible to think of those whom I had left, if not in affluence, at least in a comfortable position in life, brought down to so sad and impecunious a state, suffering real poverty, and with the home of so many years now in the broker’s hands.

Then I felt a wave of high spirits come over me, as it were, to hurl me down and then lift me and carry me on and on, till I literally set off and ran down turning after turning, till I came to the little whitewashed cottage where my father and mother had their abode.

I half-paused for a moment, and then tapping lightly, raised the latch and entered.

My father was seated at a common uncovered deal table, poring over an old account-book, as if in hopes of finding a way out of his difficulties. My mother, looking very care-worn and grey, was seated by a back window mending some old garments, and now and then stopping to wipe her eyes. At least that is what I presumed, for she was in the act of wiping them as I dashed in.

“Mother! father!” I exclaimed, and the next moment the poor old lady was sobbing in my arms, kissing me again and again, and amidst her sobbing telling my father that she knew how it would be—that it had been foolish of him to despair, for she was certain that her boy would come back and help them as soon as he knew that they were in trouble.

“When did you get the letter, my darling?” she said as she clung closer to me.

“Letter!” I said; “I’ve had no letter.”

My mother looked up at me wonderingly.

“Had no letter, Harry?”

“No, my dear mother; I have not had a line since I have been gone.”

My mother loosened her hold of me and turned to my father as he stood looking on.

“You did not write to him,” she said.

“Oh, yes, I daresay he did, mother,” I cried, “but of late I have been travelling about a great deal.”

“Then the letter would have come back, Harry,” said my mother. “He did not write.”

“No,” said my father quietly; “I did not write. What was the use of troubling the poor fellow about our miserable affairs when he was far away?”

“Then you did not come, Harry, because we were in trouble?”

“No, mother,” I replied. “I came home because my task was done.”

“Your task was done?” said my mother. “I don’t understand you. I thought you went to work at your uncle’s.”

“I was with my uncle, mother,” I replied, enjoying the knowledge of the surprise I had in store, and feeling that now, indeed, the treasure I had found was worth having, for what changes it would work! “but he was in trouble too.”

“In trouble!” said my father and mother in a breath.

“Yes, he was in the same predicament as you are, and his coffee plantation was going to be sold up.”

“What an unhappy family ours is!” said my mother. “Harry—Harry! you might as well have stayed at home.”

“If I had stayed at home, mother, would it have spared you this trouble?”

“I—I don’t know, my boy. Would it, my dear?” she said, turning to my father.

“No, wife—no,” he said; “Harry was quite right to go. He foresaw what was coming, and how useless it was for me to try. The hardest part of it, my lad, is that I can’t go out of business an honest man and pay every one his due.”

“Don’t fret, dear,” said my mother; “you’ve done your best and given up everything. But tell me, Harry,” she cried, “what did my poor brother do? Had he no friend to help him?”

“Yes, mother.”

“And did he?”

“Yes, mother.”

“What! paid his debts?”

“Yes, dear mother.”

“God bless him!” said my mother fervently. “I wish I could take him by the hand. And how is your uncle now?”

“He was quite well when I left him to-day, mother.”

“Left him!—to-day?” said my mother wonderingly.

“Yes, he is in town. I brought him with me, and he will come down and see you with some one, mother, I want you very much to love.”

“You foolish boy!” said my mother. “Ah, Harry—Harry! you are too young to think of that.”

“I’m sorry he’s coming to see us,” said my father sadly. “We are not in condition to see company, wife.”

“No,” said my mother, sighing as she glanced round. “But don’t be down-hearted, dear,” she cried more cheerfully; “when things are at their worst they always mend, and I think they have got to their worst now, and have begun to mend, for Harry has come back.”

“Yes, mother,” I cried, unable to keep back my good news, knowing as I did how welcome it must be to them at such a time. “Yes, mother, I have come back, and brought with me the friend who helped my poor uncle in such a strait, and now he shall help you.”

“Ah, but my dear boy, we have no claims upon your uncle’s friend.”

“The greatest of claims, mother,” I cried excitedly, “for he is your own flesh and blood.”

“Harry!” cried my father, “what do you mean? Did you help your uncle?”

“Yes, father,” I said modestly.

“And paid his debts?”

“Yes, father, and now I’m going to pay yours, or rather you are going to pay them yourself, and be what you called—an honest man.”

His eyes lit up, and he looked as if he were about to catch me by the hands, but he stopped short and shook his head.

“No, no, no, my boy, you do not understand these things. I owe nearly five hundred pounds.”

“My dear father,” I cried, “I’m ready to pay it if you owe nearly five thousand. I went out to make my fortune and I have made it, and I never knew its value thoroughly till I came home to-day. There, come away home and I’ll pay out that fellow, and—oh, come, mother—mother, mother!” I cried as I took hold of her hands to raise her up, for she had sunk upon her knees and was embracing my legs. “You must not give way like this, or you will make me behave like a great girl.”

“It is because I am so happy,” she sobbed, and as I raised her so that she could weep on my shoulder, my father caught me by the hand.

“God bless you, my boy! God bless you!” he cried. “I won’t question you now, for like your mother I feel as if this is more than I can bear.”

We lost no time as soon as they had grown calmer. For though I had not the money with me sufficient to pay all my father’s debts, I had plenty to pay what was needed to get rid of the unpleasant tenant of my old home, and that night I slept happily once more beneath its roof.

I had hard work to satisfy the old people about my right to the large sum of money I had brought back, but I found no difficulty with their creditors, who took the cash without asking any questions, and were very loud in their praises, saying that I was the best of sons, which was all nonsense, for I should have been the worst of sons if I had not done my duty as I did.

The next few months were chiefly spent in getting things into order, and in the midst of my busiest time Tom came to me one day, bringing with him Sally.

“Hallo!” I said, “what does this mean?”

“Oh, nothing at all, Mas’r Harry; only now I’m settled as a gentleman of property I’m going to be married.”

“Don’t you believe him, Master Harry,” said Sally; “it’s all his nonsense,” and she was scarlet as she spoke.

“Don’t you believe her, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom grinning; “she promised me she would, and she can’t draw back, can she?”

“Certainly not, Tom,” I said. “A lady’s under her bond just as a gentleman is.”

“There! hear that, Sally?” said Tom.

“Yes, I hear,” she said, “so I suppose I must;” and Sally spoke in quite a resigned way, keeping her word to Tom within three months, my father saying that Sally had been the most faithful of servants, and had forced upon them all her little savings in the time of their distress.

You may be sure I did not forget this on the day when my father gave her away, and Tom had a nice little dowry with his wife.

It may be thought that, with so great a sum of money—so large a fortune—I must have lived in great splendour during the rest of my life. But it was not so. Certainly I have always since enjoyed the comfort of a pleasant, well-kept, unostentatious home; but the fact is this—it was my fate to marry a woman generous almost to a fault. As you have seen, she began by giving the greatest treasure I found in the New World—herself—to me; and then, upon the strength of our having plenty of money, she was of opinion that its proper purpose was being spent in doing good to others.

My uncle and Mrs Landell were settled in a pleasant little estate of their own; and after a great deal of persuasion my father was induced to take upon himself the position of a country gentleman. One way and another our income became shrunk down to very reasonable proportions; though, after Lilla has done all the good that she can in the course of the year, we have always a little to spare.

My story is ended. And now that grey hairs have made their appearance, bringing with them sounder thought and the ripe judgment of experience, I often go over my adventures again, and chat about them with Tom, and Sally his wife, when I have taken a run over to their prosperous farm; but in spite of all the success that has attended me and mine, I think, have thought, and I hope I shall still think to my last day, that my journey to the New World, my adventures, and all I gained, would have been but so much vanity and emptiness had I not won Lilla, who has shed upon my life a sunshine such as has proved that after all she was the true gold.

The End.