CHAPTER FIVE.
A STUBBORN DISPOSITION.
"Stop!"
Don had taken his hat, and, seeing his uncle apparently immersed in aletter, was about to yield to his curiosity and follow the constable,when, as he reached the door, his uncle's word thundered out and madehim turn and go on with his writing in response to a severe look and apointing finger.
From time to time the boy looked up furtively as he sat, and wonderedwhy his uncle did not say anything more about the money.
But the time glided on, and the struggle between his desire to speak outfrankly and his indignant wounded pride continued.
A dozen times over he was on the point of crossing to the stern-lookingold man, and begging him to listen and believe, but Uncle Josiah satthere with the most uncompromising of expressions on his face, and Dondared not speak. He dared not trust himself for very shame, as theincident had so upset him, that he felt sure that he must break down andcry like a child if he attempted to explain.
After a time there was the sound of voices talking and laughing, and theclick of the heavy latch of the gate. Then through the open windowscame the deep _burr burr_ of Jem's bass, and the shrill inquiring tonesof Sally Wimble, as she eagerly questioned her lord.
Then there were steps, some of which passed the office door; and Don, ashe sat with his head bent over a ledger, knew exactly whose steps thosewere, and where the makers of those steps were going to the differentwarehouses in the great yard.
Directly after Jem's foot was heard, and he tapped at the door, pushedit a little way, and waited.
"Come in," said Uncle Josiah, sharply.
Jem entered, doffing his cocked hat, and casting a sympathising look atDon, who raised his head. Then seeing that his employer was deeplyimmersed in the letter he was writing, Jem made a series ofgesticulations with his hat, supplemented by some exceedingly queergrimaces, all meant as a kind of silent language, which was veryexpressive, but quite incomprehensible to Don.
"Well?" said Uncle Josiah, sharply.
"Beg pardon, sir! Thought you'd like to hear how we got on?"
"Well?"
"Went pretty quiet, sir, till we got about half-way there, and then hebegun kicking like mad--leastways he didn't kick, because his legs wastied, but he let go all he could, and it was hard work to hold theladder."
"And he is now safely locked up?"
"Yes, sir, and I've been thinking, sir, as he must have took that moneywhen Master Don here was up in the warehouse along o' me."
"I daresay we shall find all out by-and-by, Wimble," said the oldmerchant, coldly. "That will do, now."
Jem looked uneasily at Don, as he turned his hat round to make surewhich was the right way on, and moved slowly toward the door.
"Which, begging your pardon, sir, you don't think now as--"
"Well?" said the old merchant, sharply, for Jem had stopped.
"Think as Mrs Wimble picked up any of the money, sir?"
"No, no, my man, of course not."
"Thankye, sir, I'm glad of that; and if I might make so bold, sir, aboutMaster Don--"
"What do you wish to say, man?"
"Oh, nothing, sir, only I'm quite sure, sir, as it was all MikeBannock's doing, and--"
"I think you had better go on with your work, Wimble, which you dounderstand, and not meddle with things that are beyond you."
"Certainly, sir, certainly," said Jem, quickly. "Just going, sir;" andgiving Don a sympathetic look, he hurried out, but had hardly closed thedoor before he opened it again.
"Beg pardon, sir, Mrs Lavington, sir, and Miss Kitty."
Don started from his stool, crimson with mortification. His mother!What would Uncle Josiah say?
Jem Wimble gave Don another look full of condolence before he closed thedoor, leaving Mrs Lavington and her niece in the office.
Mrs Lavington's face was full of anxiety and care, as she glanced fromher son to her brother and back again, while Kitty's was as full ofindignant reproof as she darted an angry look at Don, and then frownedand looked straight down at the floor.
"Well?" said the old merchant, coldly, "why have you come? You know Ido not like you to bring Kitty here to the business place."
"I--I heard--" faltered Mrs Lavington, who stood in great awe of herbrother when he was in one of his stern moods.
"Heard? Well, what did you hear?"
"Such terrible news, Josiah."
"Well, well, what?"
"Oh, my brother!" she exclaimed, wildly, as she stepped forward andcaught his hand, "tell me it is not true."
"How can I tell you what is not true when I don't know what you aretalking about," cried the old man, impatiently. "My dear Laura, do youthink I have not worries enough without your coming here?"
"Yes, yes; I know, dear."
"And you ought to know that I shall do what is just and right."
"I am sure of that, Josiah, but I felt obliged to come. Kitty and Iwere out shopping, and we met a crowd."
"Then you should have turned down a side street."
"But they were your men in the midst, and directly after I saw littleSally Wimble following."
"Oh, she was, was she?" cried the old man, glad of some one on whom tovent his spleen. "That woman goes. How dare she leave the gates whenher husband is out? I shall be having the place robbed again."
"Yes, that is what she said, Josiah--that you had been robbed, and thatDon--my boy--oh, no, no, no; say it is not true."
Mrs Lavington looked wildly from one to the other, but there was a deadsilence, and in a few minutes the poor woman's manner had entirelychanged. When she first spoke it was as the timid, shrinking,affectionate woman; now it was as the mother speaking in defence of herchild.
"I say it is not true," she cried. "You undertook to be a father to mypoor boy, and now you charge him with having robbed you."
"Laura, be calm," said the old merchant, quietly; "and you had bettertake Kitty back home and wait."
"You have always been too stern and harsh with the poor boy," continuedMrs Lavington, without heeding him. "I was foolish ever to come andtrust to you. How dare you charge him with such a crime?"
"I did not charge him with any crime, my dear Laura," said the oldmerchant, gravely.
"Then it is not true?"
"It is true that I have been robbed, and that the man whom Lindon haspersisted in making his companion, in spite of all I have said to thecontrary, has charged him with the base, contemptible crime of robbingthe master who trusted him."
"But it is not true, Josiah; and that is what you always do, treat mypoor boy as if he were your servant instead of your nephew--yoursister's boy."
"I treat Lindon as if he were my son when we are at home," said the oldman, quietly. "When we are here at the office I treat him as my clerk,and I trust him to look after my interests, and to defend me fromdishonest people."
Don looked up, and it was on his lips to say, "Indeed, uncle, I alwayshave done so," when the old man's next words seemed to chill and hardenhim.
"But instead of doing his duty by me, I have constantly had to reprovehim for making a companion of a man whom I weakly, and against my betterjudgment, allowed in the yard; and the result is I have been robbed, andthis man accuses Lindon of committing the robbery, and bribing him tosilence."
"But it is not true, Josiah. My son could not be guilty of such acrime."
"He will have every opportunity of disproving it before themagistrates," said Uncle Josiah, coldly.
"Magistrates!--my boy?" exclaimed Mrs Lavington, wildly. "Oh, no, no,no, brother; you will not proceed to such extremities as these. My boybefore the magistrates. Impossible!"
"The matter is out of my hands, now," said the old merchant, gravely."I was bound to charge that scoundrel labourer with the theft. I couldnot tell that he would accuse your son of being the principal in thecrime."
"But you will stop it now for my sake, dear. Don, my boy, why do younot speak, and beg your uncle's fo
rgiveness?"
Don remained silent, with his brow wrinkled, his chin upon his breast,and a stubborn look of anger in his eyes, as he stood with his hands inhis pockets, leaning back against his desk.
"Do you hear me, Don? Tell your uncle it is not true, and beg him tohelp you clear yourself from this disgrace."
The lad made no reply, merely crossing his legs, and made hisshoe-buckles rasp together as he slowly moved his feet.
"Don!"
He looked up strangely, met his mother's earnest appealing gaze, and forthe moment his better nature prevailed; but as he looked from her to hisuncle, and saw the old man's grey eyes fixed upon him searchingly, afeeling of obstinate anger swept over him again, and made him set histeeth, as something seemed to whisper to him, "No; you told the truth,and he would not believe you. Let him prove you guilty if he can!"
It was not the first time in history that a boy had stubbornly foughtagainst his better self, and allowed the worst part of his nature toprevail.
"Do you not hear me, Don?" cried his mother. "Why do you not speak?"
Don remained silent, and Kitty, as she looked at him, angrily uttered animpatient ejaculation.
"Don, my son, for my sake speak to your uncle. Do you not hear me?"
"Yes, mother."
"Then appeal to him to help you. Ask him to forgive you if you havedone wrong."
"And she believes me guilty, too," thought Don, as he scowled at hisfeet.
"But you have not done wrong, my boy. I, your mother, will not believeit of you."
Don's better self began to force down that side of his mental scale.
"You may have been weak and foolish, Don, but nothing worse."
The evil scale went down now in turn, and with it the foolish, ignorantboy's heart sank low.
"Come, Don."
"I've nothing more to say, mother."
"Nothing more to say!" cried Mrs Lavington, wildly. "Oh, yes, yes, youhave much to say, my boy. Come, throw away this wilful pride andobstinacy."
"I wish I could," thought Don one moment. "It is as cruel as it isunjust," he thought the next; and he felt more obstinately full of pridethan ever.
"Don, I command you to speak," said Mrs Lavington, whose manner nowbegan to change; but unfortunately the stern tone she adopted had thewrong effect, and the wrinkles in the boy's face grew deeper, and theposition more strained.
If Uncle Josiah, who had never had boys of his own, had come down fromthe lofty perch he had assumed, taken the boy's hand, and said in kindlyand frank tones, "Come, Don, my boy, there are troubles enough in life,clouds sufficient to obscure too much sunshine; speak out, let's haveall this over, and clear the storm away,"--if he had said something likethat, Don would have melted, and all would have been well; butaccustomed to manage men with an iron rule, Uncle Josiah had somehow, inspite of his straightforward, manly, and just character, seemed to repelthe boy whose charge he had taken, and instead now of making theslightest advance, he said to himself, "It is not my duty to eat humblepie before the obstinate young cub. It will be a severe lesson for him,and will do him good."
So the breach widened. Don seemed to grow sulky and sullen, when he waslonging to cast himself upon his mother's neck. The poor woman feltindignant at her son's conduct, and the last straw which broke thecamel's back was laid on the top of the load by Kitty, who, moved by adesire to do good, made matters far worse by running across to Don, andin an impetuous way catching his hands and kissing him.
"Don, dear!" she cried.
The boy's face lit up. Here was some one who would believe him afterall, and he responded to her advances by grasping her hands tightly inhis.
"Do, do speak, Don dear, and beg father to forgive you," she cried."Tell him it was a mistake, and that you will never do so again."
Don let fall her hands, the deep scowl came over his brow again, and hehalf turned away.
"No, no, Don, dear," she whispered; "pray don't be obstinate. Confessthat you did it, and promise father to do better in the future. He willforgive you; I know he will."
Don turned his back with an impatient gesture, and Kitty burst intotears, and went slowly to her aunt, to whose hands she clung.
"Laura, dear," said Uncle Josiah, gravely, "I think we had better bringthis painful interview to an end. You may rest assured that I shall dowhat is just and right by Don. He shall have every opportunity forclearing himself."
"I am not guilty," cried Don, fiercely throwing back his head.
"I thought so this morning, my boy," said the old merchant, gravely."Your conduct now is making me think very differently. Laura, I willwalk home with you, if you please."
"Josiah! Don, my boy, pray, pray speak," cried Mrs Lavington,piteously.
Don heard her appeal, and it thrilled him, but his uncle's words hadraised up an obstinacy that was stronger than ever, and while longing tothrow himself in his mother's arms--passionately longing so to do--hisindignant pride held him back, and he stood with his head bent, as inobedience to her brother Mrs Lavington took his arm, and allowed him tolead her out of the office, weeping bitterly the while.
Don did not look up to meet his mother's yearning gaze, but for monthsand years after he seemed to see that look when far away in the midst ofperil, and too late he bitterly upbraided himself for his want offrankness and power to subdue his obstinate pride.
"He thinks me guilty!" he said to himself, as he stood with his headbent, listening, and unaware of the fact that some one was still in theroom, till a light step came towards him, his hand was caught, and hischeek rapidly kissed.
"Kitty!"
"Coming, father."
Then there was a rapid step, the door closed, and Don stood in the sameattitude, listening to the steps on the gravel, and then to the bang ofthe wicket-gate.
Alone with his thoughts, and they were many and strange.
What should he do? Go right away, and--and--
"Mas' Don."
He looked up, and Jem stood at the door.