"Oh!" cried Billy, flushing. So the Vicar considered Mr. Tom Turpin his friend! His heart swelled with happiness at that thought.
"He came to see me to say 'good-bye,'" the Vicar continued; "dropped in for a few minutes with his father on his way to the railway-station. He's gone to-day."
"Ah, poor lad!" sighed the postmaster. "I hope God will keep him safe."
"He will," the Vicar answered; "be sure He will. We know the Lord is mindful of His own—come life, come death, they're safe."
Come life, come death, they're safe! Those words, spoken by the old man with child-like faith and conviction, sounded in Billy's ears again and again during the remainder of the day, bringing joy and consolation with them. They eased the ache there was always in his heart when he thought of his mother, the innocent victim of the cruel war, and he murmured them to himself that night, as he lay in bed in the darkness, listening to the rising wind which was beginning to moan and to sob around the house.
The postmaster had been a true prophet. The fine weather had broken up. The after-glow of summer had gone.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
GRANDFER'S SECRET.
BILLY started up in bed uttering shriek after shriek, his forehead damp with perspiration, his limbs a tremble, his heart cold with fear. What had happened? A terrible noise had wakened him from tranquil sleep, a noise right overhead it had seemed. He had opened his eyes to find himself in pitch darkness; but now, all of a sudden, a great light almost blinded him, and, springing out of bed, he made a rush across the room for the door. As he reached it, it was opened, and Mrs. Brown, carrying a lighted candle, caught him by the arm.
"What's the matter, child?" she asked crossly. "Oh, stop that noise! Do you hear? Stop that noise, you little coward, you!"