But all that evening Mr. Shafto's face was more serious even than ordinary. True, he nursed Gip on his knee, and at her urgent request gave her one brief ride upon it; but it was evident that his thoughts were elsewhere. Mrs. Shafto watched him anxiously, though it was a long while before she ventured to speak; for she had not yet grown accustomed to her husband's change of character.
"Is there anything the matter, Mr. Shafto?" she enquired at length.
"Mary, my love," he answered, hesitatingly, "what would you say to us all four going across the sea to Canada next time Miss Murray goes?"
"Oh! no, John," she cried. She was thinking of her children's graves, and of the old house where they had all been born, and had died. How could she leave them?
"My love," he continued, "I wouldn't mention it if it could be helped. But you must be told sooner or later; and perhaps it is better sooner than later. I've been turning things over and over in my head, and I don't see what we can do better than go to Canada, and buy a farm; and all work upon it ourselves, you and me and Sandy."
"Buy a farm!" exclaimed Mrs. Shafto, while Sandy's face shone at the mere mention of such a magnificent scheme.
"Dear me!" said Mr. Shafto. "After all I've begun to tell you at the wrong end. Why, my dear, be brave now, and bear it like a woman! The fact is, a railway is coming right through our grave-yard, and the chapel, and our poor little house; so we are compelled to turn out and leave it, you see. I'm to have £400 for my house and business; and with that we could cross the sea, buy a small farm, and settle on it, all four of us. You were born and bred on a farm, my love, and know how to make excellent cheese and butter, and manage cows and poultry. Sandy can chop timber famously, and he hasn't one idle bone in his body, nor little Gip—I'll answer for her. And, please God, I'll turn my hand and my head to doing anything that has to be done."
It was no wonder that both Mrs. Shafto and Sandy should be bewildered at the sudden turn in their affairs. The house must be quitted; there was no question about that, for they could not set a railway company at defiance if they wished it. If, then, they were compelled to give up the old home, why not make the change complete, and leave the noisy streets of London for some quiet country home in the great new land beyond the sea? The farm would be their own;—a place for Sandy and Gip to grow up in, and live in perhaps for years after both Mr. and Mrs. Shafto were dead.
When she came to think it over, Mrs. Shafto felt herself growing young again at the prospect of having cows and poultry to look after, and cheese and butter to make.
In three months' time, everything was arranged; their berths were taken on board the ship that was to take out Miss Murray with another band of destitute children. The goods they were carrying away with them were all packed up—among them Johnny's crutches, which were to be kept in some open place in their new home, where they would be always in sight. The last day was come, and Sandy had been busy since very early in the morning, journeying to and fro between their old home and the Refuge, from which Miss Murray's emigrants were to start the next day. It was evening now, and he was returning to sleep once more under the roof that had given him shelter in the hour of his deepest sorrow and despair.