CHAPTER II.

THE BEST CHANCE OF ALL.

WHEN Roger awoke the next morning, he found Jack Sparling engaged in his morning ablutions, which were of a rather noisy and vigorous nature. He was offered "a loan of the tub," and gladly accepted it. When he was washed and dressed, he looked round for Sparling, and saw him kneeling beside his low bed, his face hidden in his hands, his whole person perfectly still. Thus reminded of his prayers, Roger knelt down too and said them, watching Sparling all the time. The latter, his prayers finished (Sparling did not merely say his prayers), stood up and opened a little-box which lay on a shelf over his bed. He took out what Roger could see was a picture of some sort, and having looked at it for a few moments, he muttered "My lass!" in his gruffest tones, put the picture into the box, and locked it up. Roger jumped up and went over to the window.

"Another fine cold day," said he. "Well, sir, I'm very much obliged to you, and I shall see you again at dinner time."

"Sleep here till you get good work," said Sparling. "You ain't in my way a bit, and it'll be better for you than sleeping out in such weather."

"Thank you, sir, you're really very kind. If you don't think the people the house belongs too will mind, I am very glad to take your offer."

"No danger. I'm off," said Sparling. Roger followed him down stairs, and Sparling went into the Averys room and said,—

"Tom, ye wouldn't miss what that lad would eat."

"Don't know that," said Tom, "he seemed to have a terrible appetite! Call him in, Bess."

But Roger had vanished, having suspected what Sparling was up to. He ran down to the beach; some fishing boats had just come in, and as he munched his reserved store of bread and meat, he watched the sorting of the fish, and listened with keen interest to the bargainings between the fishermen and the owners of sundry big baskets and small carts, which were soon stored with fish of various kinds and carried away some into the little town, some going off along the country roads.

Not a word was lost on Roger; and he laid up in his excellent memory many useful facts connected with the buying of fish. Then he started off after a woman with a basket, to acquire information about selling it. And he heard that woman sell a fish for two shillings for which he had seen her pay ninepence, and heard her declare stoutly, that "she had just her own money, not a penny more, and no one but Mrs. Parker should get such a bargain, but she had that respect for Mrs. Parker."

"I won't do that," thought Roger; "but I must think about it. It may be a good chance. Any one may sell fish. I must save up my pence."

He then looked about for a shop where they sold milk, and invested a penny in a big mug of skim milk. Thus refreshed, he went to the new railway terminus, and watched the carpenters and painters; getting into conversation with a painter, he so cross-questioned him as to the way he did his work, and his reasons for doing it in one way and not in another, that the man at last said that he never was "good at saying catechiz."

"Well, but you see I really want to know how things are done, it comes in handy."

"Use your eyes then," said the man.

And Roger did use his eyes, not only that day, but very often afterwards, till he longed to take the paint brush and try a bit of "graining" himself.

For three weeks or so, Roger carried the dinner basket every day, and slept in Sparling's room every night. At the end of that time, Bess Avery was all right again, and, as the boy put it, "that chance was over."

But Avery gave him a "bit of a note" to the chief man among the navvies, and armed with this, Roger plodded along the unfinished line until he reached the place where they were now at work. This was nearer Kingsmore than Sandsea, so, when he was engaged by the clerk of the works, Roger was obliged to sleep at Kingsmore. But, in about a fortnight, he was surprised by a visit from Sparling, who had "knocked off" at dinner time and come along the line in search of him.

"Why, Mr. Sparling!" cried Roger. "What brings you here?"

"Came after you. Do you like this chance so well that I needn't tell you of a better?"

"No, sir, I don't greatly like it. They're a queer set, these men."

"Ay, navvies mostly is. Well, Easy Deasy has gone off. Ever since we came here, he's been troublesome, and Avery says he is only in hopes that no boy can be got to come in his place. It's to light the fire, blow the bellows, carry the lead, do Deasy's work all round. It's one and sixpence a day. Will you come?"

"Will a duck swim?" said Roger gleefully. "Are you going back at once? Oh, wait till I speak to Mr. Brown, and if he lets me off at once, I'll go with you, if I may."

Sparling nodded. Roger's arrangements were soon made, for he had found the people of the house in which he lodged so dishonest that he had got the habit of bringing all his worldly possessions, with him, and the load was not a heavy one.

He and Sparling set off at once, Sparling slouching along heavily, always looking down on the path, Roger mighty alert and lively, taking in everything.

"Why, you've reached the second cutting!" said he, when, after a long tramp, they came upon the iron rails in the gathering twilight.

"Ay!" said Sparling.

"And what a way you came, losing your half-day too, just to find me. Mr. Sparling, what makes you so kind to me?"

"I'm under orders to be kind," was the answer, given in Sparling's half-surly growl. He did not look up, and Roger stared at him.

"Whose orders, sir?" said he presently.

"My Master's, the Lord Jesus," with a touch of his hand to his cap. "He says:

"'Be kind one to another.' 'Freely ye have received, freely give.' 'Do unto others as you'd like they would do to you.'

"It's in the Bible,—I've no great memory."

Roger walked along in silence for some time. At last he said doubtfully,—

"That's not common talk, sir."

"More's the pity. It's because folks don't know. I wish they did. Look ye here, Roger, you can sleep in my room if you like, and we'll get Mrs. Avery to put in a second bed for you. She won't charge you much. Don't ye go chumming with young Bowles and that set; they mean no harm perhaps, but I doubt they got Deasy into mischief. Bess likes ye, and you'll be safer with us."

"I'm only too glad to get the chance, sir," said Roger.

"You and your chances!" growled Sparling with the queer look that served him for a smile. "And yet I doubt, boy, you're careless about the best chance of all?"

"What's that?" very alertly.

"The chance of going to heaven."

"Oh!" said Roger a little disappointed.

"Ah, just so. You're taking the chance of going—t'other way. A sharp lad like you ought to see to it."

Roger said nothing, but he felt oddly put out. He had been used in old times—they were only a year old, but they seemed far off to him—to go to church and say his prayers regularly; but his lot had never been cast among really religious people, and what Sparling said took him by surprise and puzzled him. Honest, industrious, active, and clever as Roger was, he was very little better than a heathen, as far as any sense of religion went. He knew that it was wrong to steal, and he thoroughly believed that "honesty is the best policy," also that it was wrong and foolish to tell a lie: all this he owed to being the native of a Christian country.

If asked, he would have said that he knew that he would be punished hereafter if he did wrong, and that if he did his best, he would go to heaven: and that was all. But Sparling's words about the "best chance of all" got into his head and stayed there. Only into his head as yet: the boy had no one to care for but himself, and at this time of his life may be said to have been all head and no heart.

He was soon very comfortably settled in the house with the Averys and Sparling, and began saving up money towards a project that was growing in his mind. Presently Tom Avery told him that if he continued to please him as well as he now did, he would take him to Birmingham, and get him taken on permanently in Deasy's place. Even then Roger did not give up his saving ways. Young Bowles laughed at him; but Roger said nothing, until he was asked what he was saving for. "One never knows what chance may turn up," was his answer. He was rather fond of the word "chance," meaning opportunity; and whenever he used it, Sparling would look at him with his grave grey eyes, reminding him always of that "best chance of all."

After a while, Roger took to going to church every Sunday with Sparling: and later in the day they often took a long walk into the country together. Sparling had taken a real liking to the boy, and Roger was not ungrateful. Little by little, he began to love this queer silent young man, ay, and to admire him. And no wonder.

Jack Sparling's life was one that bore looking into. Bess Avery was never weary of telling how, when she and Tom were down with fever, Sparling nursed them and worked for them, as if he had been a brother—though up to that time, they had hardly known him. A purer, holier, more self-denying life no man had ever lived than did this poor rough workman, who could read, but had never learned to write, and who was not even clever at his trade.

The job lasted some time; it was July before the rails were close to the town of Kingsmore, where they would join the rails already in use. And before that time, Sparling and Roger had had many walks and many talks, only one of which we can hear. This took place on a glorious day late in July, and the pair of friends had walked several miles into the country, and were resting under a big beech-tree which stood in the corner of a large field of wheat. It had been a hot summer, and the wheat was ripening early; and the fine full ears and long straw promised a good harvest.

"Where I was born," said Roger, "the ground is red, not black like this."

"This is rare rich soil, they say," answered Sparling; "where was that, Roger?"

"In Devonshire. My grandfather was Sir Carew Shafton's gamekeeper."

"The grandfather that bid ye never to lose a chance?"

"Yes, I never had but one grandfather; at least, I must have had two of course, but I never saw the other. Nor my mother either. She died when I was born."

"What like was your father?" inquired Sparling.

"My father?" said Roger. "My father was a genius. That's what they said of him. Man! There was nothing he couldn't do, except—stick to it. Sir Carew got him a place in a big piano factory; his cleverness lay mostly that way," the boy said vaguely, "but he invented an improvement, and the head folk said they didn't care for it, so he gave up his place and came home. I lived with grandfather, you know. Father walked in,—we were having our tea,—grandfather looked at him,—

"'No. 7,' says he.

"Father laughed. 'Just so, sir,' says he; 'but No. 8 will make my fortune.'

"I didn't understand then; but afterwards grandfather told me that was the seventh start in life he had got, seven places, all different, and gave satisfaction in every one of them, but never stayed long in any. He'd been a clerk in the post office, he'd been in a great chemist's shop, he'd been Sir Carew's—well, it's a long word, and it means he wrote letters for him—Sir Carew is very blind, and likes to have a man to write for him. I forget the rest of the chances, but all were good. Well, in a few days, he went off to London to see who would buy his invention, and soon after that grandfather died quite suddenly. Father wrote for me to go to him, and that he would soon be able to put me to a good school."

He stopped short.

"Well, boy? What next?"

"Next—he died," said Roger. "His invention was no good. He got ill and died."

"Leaving you in London? Why didn't ye go back to Sir Carew?"

"I couldn't, he was very angry with me for going to my father. He'd have been good to me, if I had gone to him when grandfather died; but he was sore angry with my father, and when I said I must go when my father gave me no choice, he said I was not to suppose I could go to him when I was tired of idleness. I never thought of going to him after that. Father was only dead a couple of weeks when I came here. Now, Jack, I've told you all my history, you tell me one thing. I want to know how you came to be—so good?"

"Ain't good."

"Oh, ain't you, though! Jack, were you always like this, ever since you were a boy?"

"No, I didn't get a chance," said Jack with a look at the other. "It's said in the Bible:

"'Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth,—'

"And there's a many promises for those who do that. But I was a wild, idle fellow, and thought nothing of that."

"And what made you think? Jack, do tell me."

"I don't hold by much telling, boy."

"If I guess, will you tell me?"

Jack nodded.

"Was it because of the—person in your picture?"

No answer.

"You know, Jack, I couldn't help seeing you look at it and say, 'My lass!' every night and morning, when you've said your prayers. I did not mean to vex you."

Jack Sparling had turned away his face, but here, he thrust out a big brown fist and gave Roger's a squeeze. He remained quite silent for a long time and then suddenly said,—

"'Twere along of her. I met her when I was just twenty or thereabouts. She was so fair and soft-looking, like a pretty flower, just. Not all kinds of flowers; but, look ye now, I never see a white rose or a June lily, but I feel my heart go sick. It were more than a year before I dared to speak to her. Well, I was to marry her when I could keep her. And I was sent away, as now, on a job—and we was to be married when I came back. But one day I was sent for."

He waited a little to steady his voice.

"She was always delicate. She was too good for this world—not to say for me. She took a sudden weakness of the heart, they said. But I was in time—we had two days together; and we'll have for ever and ever together when we meet again. She gave me her Bible and she says, 'Read it, Jack, my dear, and pray. And I'll be looking out for you.' I began for love of her, and now I love my Master, and would try to serve Him without that. Roger, you have the chance of beginning young and not with a bad youth to remember, as I have. I wish, lad, you'd think serious of it."

"Jack, I will! I'd like to be as you are. I'll buy a Bible to-morrow and begin. You'll have to help me, though."

"You pray for better help than mine, boy. And the sermons, if you put your mind to it, do help wonderful. And the prayers and the hymns. Come now, we must be getting home. Well, it's a long time since I spoke of my lass to any one; though I keep thinking of her. Her name was Mary," he added in a soft voice, not a bit like his usual tone.

This was not the beginning of Roger Read's determination to be a Christian, but it certainly strengthened it, and he kept his word about buying and reading a Bible. He found many difficulties in his readings which Sparling could not explain, always saying,—

"We shall know one day, we know enough for this world."

But Roger, eager and intelligent, could not feel quite content with this, and longed greatly for help and instruction.