CHAPTER IV

ROBIN'S PLAN

IT was Sunday afternoon, and old Jasper Blamey sat at his bench in front of the open window. His tools had been put aside out of sight on the previous night, and before him was his open Bible, from which he was reading, repeating the words in a loud whisper as was his custom.

"'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.'"

The old man stopped suddenly, interrupted by a knock at the door, and, his finger marking the place where he was reading, said, "Come in."

The door opened immediately and admitted Robin; but ragged Robin no longer, for he was clad in a navy-blue sailor suit of clothes which was quite sound and appeared but little the worse for wear. A beaming smile was on the boy's face, and there was a colour in his thin cheeks.

"Why, how fine you look!" cried Jasper, his eyes travelling slowly over the slight serge-clad figure with mingled surprise and pleasure.

"Do I?" said Robin, much gratified. "I'm glad you think so, Mr. Blamey. Mother said the same, and I believe father thought it, too, though he didn't say. Mrs. Groves gave me this suit last night. It's one that Master Gilbert has grown out of, but it just fits me—I'm a little shorter than he is. I went to church this morning—the first time I've been for a month; I was so shabby before that I couldn't bear to be seen. I know you'll say God doesn't mind, but—" And Robin paused expressively, then looked down over himself, a moment later, with marked approval. "I'll take good care father doesn't get this suit from me," he went on; "I'll keep it under my bed at night. Feel the material, Mr. Blamey. Isn't it a good quality serge?"

"The best, I should say. Did your mother go to church with you, Robin?"

"No; she wasn't well enough. I don't know what's amiss with her; she seems very poorly, but she won't see a doctor."

"Your stepfather's been going on pretty well lately, hasn't he?"

"Pretty well. He's in regular work now, and I do hope he'll keep it. He isn't such a bad sort, you know, when he's sober, and sometimes I think he's ashamed of the way he's treated mother and me."

"He'd be a different man if he'd give up the drink altogether, Robin."

"I'm sure I wish he would; mother's asked God to make him; she told me so. But I don't believe myself that father will ever change."

"You can't tell that. God's love may reach him yet."

"Oh, he's not religious," began Robin; but the old man interrupted him:

"No, my boy, I know that well enough; but listen," and turning to his Bible, he read aloud slowly and solemnly:

"'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.'

"I think we're apt to forget that. Sit down on the stool there and let us have a talk together."

Robin took his accustomed seat and began to speak of the picture Mrs. Groves was painting. He had served as a model for her twice a week for nearly a month, and she had made good use of the time.

"I didn't see what she was doing till last week," the little boy said, "but then she showed me. Oh, Mr. Blamey, she's got me in her picture exactly, rags and all! There I am, standing against a hedge, reaching up to pick some flowers, and what do you think the flowers are? You'll never guess, so I'll tell you. Why, they're ragged-robins. I didn't know what they were called till she told me, then I remembered what you had said about them. Oh, how I wish you could see the picture!"

"So do I," said the old man, vastly interested; "has Mrs. Groves given it a name?"

"Oh, yes. It's called 'Ragged Robins.' Mother's to go and see it one day soon, although it isn't finished; but Mrs. Groves and Master Gilbert will be leaving Plymouth before very long, for Master Gilbert's nearly well. I'm glad of that, of course, but I'm so sorry they're going, not only on account of the money. You can't tell how kind they've been to me. They live at Newlyn—"

"Newlyn?" the cobbler broke in. "You mean Newlyn in Cornwall, I suppose?"

"Yes; it's by the sea—a very pretty place, Master Gilbert says."

"So it is. I spent a week there a few summers ago; you know I always go away for a short holiday every year. There are a lot of artists at Newlyn."

"Yes, Master Gilbert told me that. He's not going to be an artist, though; he's quite made up his mind to be a sailor."

"Has he now? I thought he was very delicate?"

"Yes, but he may grow up stronger, mayn't he? He knows such a lot about ships; he says he learnt it all from an old sailor who's called the same as I am—Robin Rodway."

"Why, of course," exclaimed Jasper, a sudden light breaking across his mind; "I remember him well. I couldn't think where I'd heard the name before. Dear me, my memory must be beginning to fail. I recollect Robin Rodway now; he was a fine, hale old man with a sunburnt complexion and thick iron-grey hair. Now, I wonder—you are related to him?" he questioned.

"That's what Master Gilbert wanted to know. I told him I didn't suppose I was; but afterwards I asked mother—"

"What did she say?" the cobbler asked eagerly, as Robin paused with a slightly troubled expression of countenance.

"That it was very possible, as my father was a Cornishman and his relations were all seafaring people; then she began to cry, so I did not like to say anything more about it. Master Gilbert says he shall tell his Robin Rodway all about me when he gets home, but perhaps he will forget."

Jasper made no response. He sat with his eyes fixed searchingly on his companion's face, trying to trace a resemblance between it and the weather-beaten visage of the old Cornish sailor, but he could see none.

"Do you know, I've earned more than ten shillings," Robin proceeded after a brief pause; "Mother has the money put away for me. I gave her my first two shillings; but she says the rest must be my own, and she's taking care of it for me. Mr. Blamey, can you keep a secret?"

"I reckon I can, Robin."

"Then I'll tell you one. I'm saving my money for a holiday—a holiday for mother and me. Well go on the moor, and, oh, what a splendid time we'll have! If all's well, I shall earn a few shillings more, so we shall have plenty of money. I heard mother say the other day that she believed a breath of her native air would do her more good than all the medicine in the world; that's why I think it would be better to go on the moor than anywhere else. The farm where she lived when she was a little girl was close on Dartmoor. I haven't told her what I've planned yet, though I've been thinking of it some time."

"A long day on Dartmoor would be a rare treat for her, and no mistake," was the hearty response.

"Yes," nodded Robin; "I do hope she'll agree to go, and that she won't think it extravagant to spend the money that way."

"I don't fancy you'll want to spend all your money, for you'll be able to take excursion tickets, and they are very cheap. I'll find out all about them for you if you like."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Blamey! I should be so glad if you would!" Robin cried, his face one broad beam of delight as he allowed his mind to dwell on the prospect of a holiday amidst the Dartmoor tors, which he had only seen in the distance.

That night the little boy confided his plan to his mother. At first she was disinclined to fall in with it, having scruples, as he had feared she would have, about spending his earnings in pleasure; but when she read the keen disappointment in his face she admitted that it would indeed be a great treat to spend a long day far away from Sun Court.

"It's years and years since I was on Dartmoor," she said wistfully. "I should like to go back there—to the little village where I used to live. My uncle who brought me up—I was left an orphan in infancy—was a small farmer; he's dead now, and I've lost touch with his family. He was always kind to me; but my aunt and cousins were not, so when I was old enough to earn my own living, I came to Plymouth and took a situation as a servant, and then I met your father, and a year or so later we were married. He was employed as a rivetter at the dockyard, and earned good wages, and we had a dear little home. I was so proud of it; and then you were born, and I thought my cup of happiness was full."

"And soon after that my father died, didn't he?" said Robin, who had been listening with the closest attention.

"Yes. He died when you were only six months old. I was nearly broken-hearted, Robin; but I was obliged to put my shoulder to the wheel, as the saying is, and earn money for our support, so I paid a neighbour who took in children to nurse to look after you by day, and went out as a charwoman. That lasted about two years; then I married again; I meant to do the best I could for myself and you, but—" She paused for a minute, an expression of intense sadness on her worn countenance. "It's no good going back over the past," she proceeded; "let us speak of the future. About your plan, Robin, now I come to think it over I don't see why we shouldn't carry it out."

"Oh, mother, I'm so glad to hear you say that. Then it's settled, isn't it?"

"Yes; that is, we'll have our holiday providing all goes well. As Richard has permanent work and is keeping steadier I see no reason why we should not give ourselves this treat. We don't owe money to anyone, for, however short things have been with us, I've always managed to keep free from debt, so I think we're justified in spending a little on ourselves. Oh, I do believe a day on the moor would do me a lot of good. Oh, Robin, my dear boy, how much we have to be thankful to God for! I hope you remember that when you kneel down to pray, and do thank Him. See the friends He's raised up for us! There's Mrs. Groves, and that kind Miss Maggs, who seems to take an interest in us, judging by the gifts she sends us every now and again. When I go to see Mrs. Groves's picture I must thank Miss Maggs—"

"She won't let you, mother," Robin broke in; "she'll say, 'No need to thank me,' or something of that sort. She told me one day that she disliked being thanked, and I believe she meant it. She's a funny old body with a queer, sharp way of speaking. I didn't understand her a bit at first, but I'm beginning to understand her now. I like her ever so much, and so does Master Gilbert. He goes downstairs in the kitchen and talks to her when she isn't busy—that's after she's cooked her lodgers' dinners—she always does that herself. I'm sure you'll get on with her, mother."

"I hope so, my dear. I feel very grateful to her. I'm sure she's a good soul."

Robin nodded. "Mrs. Groves says she's a real Christian," he said gravely; "that means she loves Jesus, doesn't it? I think people who love Jesus are always kind."