CHAPTER IX

POOR FATHER!

"WHAT do you think of Miss Maggs, Mr. Blamey?" asked Robin, some hours later, as he leaned against the cobbler's window-sill. It was between eight and nine o'clock, and the atmosphere in Sun Court was less close than it had been all day; indeed, Jasper had remarked a few minutes previously that he had caught a whiff of sea breeze.

"She appears a very straightforward sort of person," replied the old man; "a true friend, I'll be bound to say."

"Yes," nodded the little boy. He proceeded to recount what had taken place between Miss Maggs and Dick Farrant, and then went on: "I don't believe Dick's done any work for nearly a week. I heard his mother talking about it this morning."

"What did she say?" inquired Jasper, his tone betokening interest.

"That she didn't know where he got his money." Robin glanced around to make certain that no one was near to overhear him, and continued: "Of course, I know Dick's a bad boy, Mr. Blamey—mother's often said that the less I have to do with him the better—but somehow I can't help liking him; he's really kindhearted, and he's not a bully like Sam Brown."

"He has his good qualities, I have no doubt, Robin. By the way, has your stepfather returned yet?"

"No; he's working long days now. He'll be home about nine o'clock, I expect. Mother's beginning a letter to my grandfather; she asked me to leave her by herself, so I thought I'd come and have a word with you. Oh, Mr. Blamey, I don't know how I feel about going to Newlyn! I've begged mother to let me stay with her, but she seems quite determined to send me to my grandfather. Do you think I really ought to go? I remember your saying once that my post of duty was here in Sun Court."

"Circumstances alter cases, Robin. When I said that, you were talking wildly about running away from home. If you go to your grandfather now, it will be a different matter altogether. Your first duty is to obey your mother. She knows what's best."

"Things are very hard!" sighed Robin. "It is so dreadful that my money should have been stolen. I don't suppose mother and I will ever have a holiday together now." He blinked away a tear as he spoke.

"We never know what's in store for us, my boy," Jasper observed, his dark, bright eyes tender with sympathy. "We must just take the days as they come, and make the best of them. Maybe there's a happier time coming for you and your mother, too. Your stepfather has certainly been much steadier of late. That shows he could give up drink altogether if he liked, and I am hopeful that he will."

"Are you?" said Robin, in surprise. "I know mother's often tried to get him to take the pledge, and so have you, haven't you, Mr. Blamey?"

"Yes, but I never speak to him about it now because I found I was doing more harm than good. I don't forget to pray for him though, Robin, nor must you. When I was talking to your friend Miss Maggs this afternoon, she said that there was a deal of power in prayer, and she's right. Why, it's the greatest power in the world! It's the link between earth and Heaven—between God and His children. If you can't do anything else to help people, you can always pray for them."

The cobbler had been gathering together his tools as he talked, and, having tidied his bench to his satisfaction, he went to a cupboard and took out a loaf of bread and a pat of butter. Seeing he was preparing for supper, Robin was turning away, when he called him back.

"I wonder if you'd fetch a couple of bloaters for me?" said the old man. "I feel I could relish one to-night."

"Oh, yes! I'll go now," answered Robin, "and I'll be back in no time."

"Oh, there's no great hurry!" smiled Jasper. "Here's the money—two for three halfpence, I expect they'll be." He handed Robin a sixpenny-bit as he spoke.

The little boy went off on his errand, and five minutes later found him making his way along the pavement of the narrow street which adjoined Sun Court. Being a back street, in a low-class district, the shops on either side had nothing very attractive in their windows; so Robin was somewhat surprised at finding quite a crowd before a corner shop where only newspapers were sold. Curiosity impelled him to linger to try and ascertain what was going on, but he could not get sufficiently close to the window to see anything; so he presently pursued his way, and, having made his purchase of the bloaters at a grocer's, was retracing his footsteps when someone laid a hand on his arm, and he looked up into the face of Dick Farrant, which wore its most good-humoured expression.

"Hulloa, youngster, where are you off?" asked Dick.

"I've been on an errand for Mr. Blamey to buy some bloaters for his supper," explained Robin, noticing that the other's eyes were resting inquiringly on his parcel. "What are all those folks waiting outside the newspaper shop for?" he questioned.

"Oh, they're waiting to see if they've made their fortunes!" laughed Dick, with a knowing wink.

"I don't understand what you mean," said Robin, much puzzled.

"I daresay not; you're such a little innocent! Well, in plain language, they're waiting to find out the result of a horse-race. Presently a telegram will be stuck up in the window, giving the name of the winner of the race. It's no great interest to me, for I don't happen to have any money on it."

"Oh!" cried Robin comprehendingly. He looked at his companion with an inscrutable expression in his big grey eyes.

"I'll put you up to a thing or two when you're a bit older, young 'un," said Dick, in a patronising manner.

"No, no!" cried Robin. "Oh, Dick, what a pity you should bet! You know it's wrong!"

"Don't know any such thing! Look here!" Dick thrust his hand into his trousers pocket, and drew out a shilling. "That's for you," he said.

But, contrary to his expectation, Robin's face showed no sign of pleasure, nor did the little boy attempt to possess himself of the coin.

"I don't want it, thank you!" he exclaimed quickly. "No, I really can't take it," he went on, "though it's very kind of you to wish to give it to me, but—no, thank you!" His tone was decided.

"Oh, nonsense!" Dick's manner grew suddenly most unaccountably embarrassed. "Look here, do have it!" he said, almost imploringly. "I-I've been sorry for you about—about the loss of your money, you know. I—I've thought of it a good deal, and I—I wish I could make it up to you. Do take this shilling, Robin! I daresay I shall be able to give you another in a few days. Come, between friends, you know—" He broke off, an expression of marked anxiety on his face.

But Robin was not to be persuaded to accept the gift, though it really distressed him to refuse it.

"Don't be vexed with me," he said, observing that Dick looked both annoyed and disappointed. "I feel it's very, very kind of you!"

"It isn't!" the other interrupted brusquely.

"Oh, yes, indeed it is!" persisted Robin. "But I can't take it. Mother wouldn't like it if I did. I—I know—that is, I am afraid that it isn't good money."

"Good money?" echoed Dick. "What do you mean by that? It isn't base coin. It's right enough. Do you imagine I'd trick you?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure you wouldn't!" Robin cried distressfully. "But I expect you won that shilling by betting, and—and mother says money gained in evil ways is bad money, and it never brings a blessing with it, and Mr. Blamey says the same."

"Ah, Mr. Blamey!" broke in Dick, with a sneer. "You needn't repeat to me anything he may have said. I can't bear him."

"I am sure he never did you any harm!" exclaimed Robin reproachfully. "He's been a wonderfully good friend to mother and me."

"I daresay; but I'd rather he didn't try to be a friend to me. I like to go my own way. The other day he took upon himself to round on me because I'd spoken roughly—unbecomingly, he called it—to my mother, and I swore at him for his pains. It was on Sunday, and he was seated at his bench reading his Bible, or pretending to. Well, he never answered back; but I saw his lips moving, and I believe he was praying. Now, what right has he to pray for me, I should like to know?"

"I expect he was telling Jesus about you—asking Him to forgive you for having been a bad fellow," replied Robin simply.

They had reached the entrance to Sun Court by this time, and paused facing each other. The elder's countenance had lost the good-tempered expression it had worn at the commencement of their conversation, and was overshadowed by a heavy frown; whilst the younger's was flushed and troubled.

"Has old Jasper Blamey converted you, then?" Dick asked, with a laugh which he meant should sound insulting. Then, without waiting for a reply, he continued: "Oh, I know how he goes on with his talk about Jesus! The Friend of sinners, as he calls Him! As though Jesus cared for sinners! Good people are more in His line, I should think."

"Oh, but He does care for sinners!" Robin said impressively. "I used to think, like you, that He didn't; but I know now that He does. He cares for everyone. It says in the Bible, 'God commendeth His love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us.' Isn't it wonderful to think that He should have died for us all?"

Dick made no response. He stood looking steadily at Robin, whom he had never heard speak like this before. Evidently the little fellow was deeply in earnest. It was at this point that a motor-carriage rushed with a whirr around the corner of the street, and both boys turned involuntarily to watch it as it came towards them. At the same instant a little girl ran out of the entrance of Sun Court, and started for the opposite pavement; then, suddenly becoming aware of the approach of the motor-carriage, she stopped, apparently paralysed with fear.

"She will be killed!" shrieked Robin, beyond measure horrified, his fascinated gaze upon the little girl.

Even as he spoke, a man sprang towards the child and flung her out of harm's way into the gutter, where she set up a frightened wail. What followed Robin could never afterwards tell. The motor-carriage pulled up, and its occupants got out and went to the assistance of someone who lay, white and unconscious, in the middle of the street.

"Poor fellow!" murmured a pitying voice. "I'm afraid if he's not actually killed, he's seriously injured. It was a brave thing to do."

Impelled by curiosity, the boys joined the crowd which was already gathering around the prostrate form of the man who had saved the child. Then Robin caught sight of a marble-white countenance, and he gripped Dick by the arm.

"It's father! Oh, poor father!" he cried.