CHAPTER SIX.
JEM WIMBLE TALKS SENSE.
"May I come in?"
Don nodded.
"The master's gone, and took the ladies 'long with him. Why, don't looklike that, my lad. Your uncle don't think you took the money?"
Don nodded.
"But your mother don't, sir?"
"Yes, Jem, she believes me guilty too."
"I never did!" cried Jem, excitedly. "But sure-_lie_ Miss Kitty don't?"
"Yes, Jem, they all think I'm a thief. Everybody does," cried Don,passionately.
"No, everybody don't," said Jem, fiercely; "so don't talk like that,Mas' Don. Why, even I couldn't ha' stole that money--me, as is onlyyard-man, and nothing o' no consequence t'other day. So if I couldn'tha' done it, I'm quite sure as you, as is a young gentleman born andbred, couldn't."
"But they think I did. Everybody thinks so."
"Tell yer everybody don't think so," cried Jem, sharply. "I don't, andas for them, they've all got dust in their eyes, that's what's thematter with them, and they can't see clear. But didn't you tell 'em asyou didn't?"
"Yes, Jem," said Don, despondently; "at first."
"Then why didn't you at last, too? Here, cheer up, my lad; it'll allblow over and be forgotten, same as the row was about thatsugar-hogshead as I let them take away. I don't say shake hands 'causeyou're like master and me only man, but I shakes hands with you in my'art, my lad, and I says, don't be down over it."
"You couldn't shake hands with a thief, you mean, Jem," said Don,bitterly.
"Look here, Mas' Don, I can't punch your head because, as aforesaid,you're young master, and I'm only man; but for that there same what yousaid just now I hits you in my 'art. Thief indeed! But ah, my lad, itwas a pity as you ever let Mike come into the office to tell you hislies about furren parts."
"Yes, Jem, it was."
"When you might ha' got all he told you out o' books, and the storieswouldn't ha' been quite so black."
"Ah, well, it's all over now."
"What's all over?"
"My life here, Jem. I shall go right away."
"Go? What?"
"Right away. Abroad, I think."
"And what'll your mother do?"
"Forget me, I hope. I always was an unlucky fellow Jem."
"What d'yer mean? Run away?"
"Yes, I shall go away."
"Well, that's clever, that is. Why, that's just the way to make 'emthink you did it. Tshah! You stop like a man and face it out."
"When everybody believes me guilty?"
"Don't be so precious aggrawatin', my lad," cried Jem, plaintively."Don't I keep on a-telling you that I don't believe you guilty. Why,I'd just as soon believe that I stole our sugar and sold bundles oftobacco-leaves to the marine store shops."
Don shook his head.
"Well, of all the aggrawatin' chaps I ever did see, you're 'bout theworst, Mas' Don. Don't I tell you it'll be all right?"
"No, Jem, it will not be all right. I shall have to go before themagistrates."
"Well, what of that?"
"What of that?" cried Don, passionately. "Why, that scoundrel Mike willkeep to his story."
"Let him!" cried Jem, contemptuously. "Why, who'd ever believe him i'preference to you?"
"My uncle--my mother--my cousin."
"Not they, my boy. They don't believe it. They only think they do.They're sore just now, while it's all fresh. To-morrow by this timethey will be a-hanging o' themselves round about your neck, and a-askin'of your pardon, and kissin' of you."
"No, Jem, no."
"Well, I don't mean as your uncle will be kissin' of you, of course; buthe'll be sorry too, and a-shaking of your hand."
Don shook his head.
"There, don't get wagging your head like a Chinee figger, my lad. Takeit like a man."
"It seems that the only thing for me to do, Jem, is to tie up a bundleand take a stick, and go and try my luck somewhere else."
"And you free and independent! Why, what would you say if you was me,tied up and married, and allus getting into trouble at home."
"Not such trouble as this, Jem."
"Not such trouble as this, my lad? Worser ever so much, for you don'tdeserve it, and I do, leastwise, my Sally says I do, and I suppose I dofor being such a fool as to marry her."
"You ought to be ashamed to talk like that, Jem."
"So ought you, Mas' Don. I've often felt as if I should like to do asyou say and run right off, but I don't do it."
"You have felt like that, Jem?" cried Don, eagerly.
"Yes, often, my lad."
"Then let's go, Jem. Nobody cares for us here. Let's go right away toone of the beautiful foreign countries Mike told me about, and begin anew life."
"Shall us, Mas' Don?"
"Yes; why not? Get a passage in some ship, and stop where we like. Hehas told me of dozens of places that must be glorious."
"Then we won't go," said Jem, decidedly. "If Mike Bannock says they'refine spots, don't you believe him; they're bad 'uns."
"Then let's go and select a place for ourselves," cried Don.
"Lor! I do wonder at you, Mas' Don, wantin' to leave such a mother asyou've got, and asking me to leave my wife. Why, what would they do?"
"I don't know," said Don, sadly. "They care very little for us now.You can do as you like; I shall go."
"Nay, nay, you won't, my lad."
"Yes, Jem, I think I shall."
"Ah, that's better! Think about it."
"I should have thought that you'd be glad to come with me, Jem."
"So I should, my lad; but there's a some'at as they calls dooty as allusseems to have hold on me tight. You wait a bit, and see how things turnout."
"But I shall have to appear before the magistrates, and be called athief."
"Ah, well, that won't be pleasant, my lad, of course; but wait."
"Then you wouldn't go with me, Jem?"
"Don't tempt a man, Mas' Don, because I should like to go with you, andcourse I shouldn't like to go with you, because I shouldn't like you togo. There, I must get on with my work."
At that very moment came the call of a shrill voice--
"Jem!"
"There I told you so. She see me come in here, and she's after mebecause I haven't got on with my casks. Oh, how sharp she is!"
Jem gave Don an intelligent nod of the head, and moved out, while thelad stood gazing at the opposite window and listened to the sharp voiceaddressing the foreman of the yard.
"Poor Jem! He isn't happy either!" said Don, sadly, as the voices diedaway. "We might go right off abroad, and they'd be sorry then and thinkbetter of us. I wish I was ten thousand miles away."
He seated himself slowly on his stool, and rested his arms upon thedesk, folding them across his chest; and then, looking straight beforehim at the door, his mental gaze went right through the panels, and hesaw silver rivers flowing over golden sands, while trees of the mostglorious foliage drooped their branches, and dipped the ends in theglancing water. The bright sun shone overhead; the tendrils and wavinggrass were gay with blossoms; birds of lovely plumage sang sweetly; andin the distance, on the one hand, fading away into nothingness, were theglorious blue mountains, and away to his right a shimmering sea.
Don Lavington had a fertile brain, and on the canvas of his imaginationhe painted panorama after panorama, all bright and beautiful. Therewere no clouds, no storms, no noxious creatures, no trials and dangers.All was as he thought it ought to be, and about as different from thereality as could be supposed. But Don did not know that in his youthfulignorance, and as he sat and gazed before him, he asked himself whetherhe had not better make up his mind to go right away.
"Yes, I will go!" he said, excitedly, as he started up in his seat.
"No," he said directly after, as in imagination now he seemed to begazing into his mother's reproachful eyes, "it would be too cowardly; Icould not go."