CHAPTER IX.

GOOD-BYE TO LONDON.

THE next morning, Davie again pleaded to be allowed to go forth with broom in hand to his old quarters in Harley Street. His mother, however, would not hear of it, nor would she allow the subject to drop till she had received a promise from him that he would take a whole week's holiday before attempting to do anything.

"By the end of that time, Davie," she said with a peculiar smile, "who knows but what something may have turned up for you?"

The week was not over when Lady Cloudesley came. Doubtless Mrs. Willis had her reasons for hinting at the chance of "something turning up" for Davie, for the lady had not been seated many minutes before, turning to him, she said,—

"Davie, I have a proposal to make to you."

He had not the least idea what she meant, but he answered readily,—

"Yes, my lady."

"I have been talking about you to a friend of mine—the Vicar of St. Mary's in Foster Street. I have been telling him how nicely you can sing, and he says he shall be glad to have you in his choir. You would like to go, wouldn't you?"

"What, go and sing on a Sunday in the church, do you mean?"

"Yes, and on other days too, when there are services. Of course you will get paid. You are to have five shillings a week."

Five shillings a week, and all for doing what would be the greatest pleasure to him! Davie's eyes sparkled.

"And then your voice will be properly trained," went on Lady Cloudesley, "and you will be taught to sing by note. In time, I shouldn't wonder if you became quite a great singer, and able to earn ever so much money."

That was rather too much to believe, but it was not surprising that Davie's face was radiant with delight. Lady Cloudesley's words had taken a great weight from his mind. He had feared, though he had not said a word to his mother, that his limping gait would be a serious drawback in the sweeping business. Now, if he could earn five shillings a week regularly, there need be no thought of going back to street work. But Lady Cloudesley was speaking again, and if he would hear what she was saying, he must put other matters aside.

"I have made one other arrangement for you," she said. "I did it without consulting your mother, but I feel sure she will not object; indeed, I think she will be very glad that you should do what I propose. I have arranged that you should attend the St. Mary's Schools. There you will learn so many things that I cannot even tell you what they will be. You will like that too, won't you, Davie?"

He said "yes," but there was no quick response, and no sudden light of joy flashed into his eyes as it had done when he had heard that he was to become a chorister. Recollections of certain wearisome days of long ago took away all charm from the prospect of a return to school routine, and he had so long enjoyed the freedom of the streets that he disliked the idea of any kind of enforced restraint. Nevertheless, he felt very grateful to Lady Cloudesley for taking so much trouble on his account. He remembered, too, that he was lame now, not to any great degree certainly, but enough to take away the "keen" pleasure that he had once experienced in active employment.

"I hoped you would like it 'very' much, Davie."

"I daresay I shall after a bit, my lady," he replied, "and thank you for getting me into the school, but just at first it's a bit startling to think of."

Lady Cloudesley smiled. She understood quite well all that he had left unsaid, and liked her little protégé the better for his honesty.

From that time a new life began for Davie, a wonderful life, and such a happy life that looking back upon the "last year," he quite pitied the poor little Davie Scott he had then been. Instead of something very much like a prison, as Davie had foolishly imagined the school would be, it proved a delightful place. Very soon he could read quite fluently, and that step gained, learning was no longer a task but a pleasure. Of course with his heart in his work, he made rapid progress, and the faith Mrs. Willis had always had in Davie's intellectual powers, "if only he had the chance," proved to be of good foundation.

As soon as he could write in a manner which he considered "well enough," he sent a long letter to Mr. Kilmarnock.

If his week-days were pleasant to him, his Sundays were still more so. Then to sit in the chancel, and join in psalm, and hymn, and anthem, was to Davie a delight indescribable. It was not in his nature to do anything by halves, but when it came to "singing," every effort was strained to produce a good and finished result. And it was for "the service and glory of God"—in that to Davie lay the greatest joy of all.

Many a bright bit of pleasure, too, broke the regular daily work of the boy's life. On two different occasions he spent a whole day in the country. The beautiful things he saw there served for talk for many an evening afterwards.

Then, at intervals of three or four weeks, he would pay Dr. Scott a visit. He was sure to be welcomed with a smile and a hearty hand-shake, and there were always kind inquiries as to what he was doing, and how he was getting on. The boy would go away feeling all the happier for the encouraging, "Bravo, King Davie!" which never failed to greet the announcement of his last achievement at school or in the choir.

* * * * * *

It was just about a year after Davie's accident that one morning Mrs. Willis received a letter. As he was now the better scholar of the two, it was passed over to him to read. He recognised the handwriting in a moment.

"Oh mother!" he cried. "It's from Mr. Kilmarnock. I am 'so' glad. I was beginning to think that he'd forgotten his promise to write again some day."

There was pride mixed with the pleasure with which he unfolded that letter. Before, when he had received one, he had been obliged to have it read to him, now he could make it out for himself, and, thanks to the care with which it had been written, it was so legible and clear that he did it without difficulty. The nature of its contents was startling in the extreme.

Mr. Kilmarnock wrote to ask Mrs. Willis whether it would be pleasant to her to remove into the country? If so, he could offer Davie a post as chorister in W— Cathedral.

"I shall for the future," said the writer, "reside at W— during certain months of the year, and as I take a great interest in your son, it will be a satisfaction to me to be able to see him frequently. I think, too, that country air will be better for his health. As regards yourself, my recommendation would keep you well supplied with plain needlework, and as Davie would receive a larger sum at W— for his services than he does in London, you would, at any rate, be no worse off than you are now. Talk it over with your son, and let me know your decision."

There were a few more sentences, but Davie did not stop to read them.

"Oh, mother, shall we go?" he cried.

"I don't know, Davie," she said. "It's all come so sudden that I can't seem to get my thoughts together. 'You'd' like it, wouldn't you?"

"Oh! I should. Just think what it must be to 'live' in the country. Then there would be Mr. Kilmarnock! Fancy seeing him as often as I see Mr. Crawford."

Mr. Crawford was the vicar of St. Mary's.

"It seems to me that you care more for Mr. Kilmarnock than for anybody," said Mrs. Willis in a tone that betrayed jealousy, though she did not intend that it should.

Davie looked up.

"No, mother, I love you better than anybody in the whole world, but I can't help loving Mr. Kilmarnock too. Even now I can't think of him a-coming all that long way to see me in the hospital without feeling choky-like. And then to sit as he did a whole night long with me on his lap, and never moving an inch for fear of waking or hurting me. I don't think there's many would have done that for a poor little chap like me, as everybody thought was a-dying. And there's other things besides that, mother."

"I know, Davie. I don't mind, and if you like we'll say no more about it, but pack up and start off at once."

Of course the question was not settled in quite such a hurry as that, but the early spring found Mrs. Willis's lodgings empty, and she, and Davie, and the twins comfortably settled at W— in a cottage not far from the Cathedral.

Perhaps Mrs. Willis went all the more willingly because Lady Cloudesley told her that she usually spent the summer months at W—, and that when next there she would not fail to use her influence to get her work.

But after all, London had not been left without regret. Saying good-bye to St. Mary's and the school, Davie declared to be "horrid work," and when it came to bidding Dr. Scott farewell, he half wished that they had never decided to go away.

But once at W—, Davie no longer regretted that they had come. His joy at seeing Mr. Kilmarnock was unbounded. The clergyman was greatly concerned to see him so lame, but he did not doubt that fresh air and country diet would soon effect an improvement. And good medicines they proved.

When Mrs. Willis perceived how well he was beginning to look, how the old limp was gradually leaving him, and how light-hearted and merry he always was now, she too felt glad that they had exchanged the city for a country life.

And when a year or two had passed, she could not imagine how she could have been so foolish as "ever to have minded" giving up her lodgings in the close, dirty street in London, for the pretty ivy-covered cottage that was her pride to keep the picture of order and cleanliness.

So "all things worked together for good" to Mrs. Willis and her children. The twins grew apace, and Davie was so happy that his life seemed one never-ending joy. The new school was as delightful as the old, and oh! how great a happiness and honour it was to him to contribute his part towards that glorious music in the beautiful old cathedral.

Fresh, and clear, and sweet, rang out the young voice of the chorister, and by the tone of deep feeling with which the words of prayer and praise were sung, it was evident that Davie uttered them with his heart as well as his lips.

Nor did he forget to whom his happiness was owing. "God has been so good to me. If only I could love Him more, if only I could serve Him more!" was often his inward cry. Then he would remember one of the lessons that the lark had taught him. "What" it could do, it did with all its strength. It took wing, and getting as near to its Maker as it could, simply warbled forth its burst of joy and praise.

So in his home, in his work, and in his heart, Davie strove to render "kingly" service—to be "faithful in the least." And though, of course, he often fell short of his desires, yet it was but to persevere the more earnestly in his onward and upward journey.

His mother, noting him, began to think "that after all there must be something in religion." So curiosity first led her to search into the matter, and that led to something deeper—to a trust in Christ as her Saviour.

Once when Mr. Kilmarnock paid her a visit—a rare event, for it was seldom he had a spare half-hour—she told him about it, and how Davie—though he had never known it—had been the means, under God, of leading her to the knowledge of "Christ and Him crucified."

On his way to his home, it so happened that the clergyman met Davie returning from school. Doubtless it was the recollection of that conversation with his mother which caused Mr. Kilmarnock's eyes to rest upon him with even more affection than usual, and to say at parting—and what memories the words awoke in the boy's mind!

"Good-bye, King Davie. Remember that is a name which need not end with this life. God grant that you may be worthy of it."

[Illustration: The End.]

[Illustration]

_Jarrold and Sons, Printers, London Street, Norwich._