CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
CANADA AGAIN--AND SURPRISING NEWS.
It is most refreshing to those who have been long cooped up in a city tofly on the wings of steam to the country and take refuge among thescents of flowers and fields and trees. We have said this, or somethinglike it, before, and remorselessly repeat it--for it is a grand truism.
Let us then indulge ourselves a little with a glance at the farm ofBrankly in Canada.
Lake Ontario, with its expanse of boundless blue, rolls like an ocean inthe far distance. We can see it from the hill-top where thesweet-smelling red-pines grow. At the bottom of the hill lies Branklyitself, with its orchards and homestead and fields of golden grain, andits little river, with the little saw-mill going as pertinaciously as ifit, like the river, had resolved to go on for ever. Cattle are there,sheep are there, horses and wagons are there, wealth and prosperity arethere, above all happiness is there, because there also dwells the loveof God.
It is a good many years, reader, since you and I were last here. Then,the farm buildings and fences were brand-new. Now, although of coursenot old, they bear decided traces of exposure to the weather. But thesemarks only give compactness of look and unity of tone to everything,improving the appearance of the place vastly.
The fences, which at first looked blank and staring, as if wondering howthey had got there, are now more in harmony with the fields theyenclose. The plants which at first struggled as if unwillingly on thedwelling-house, now cling to it and climb about it with the affectionateembrace of old friends. Everything is improved--Well, no, noteverything. Mr Merryboy's legs have not improved. They will not moveas actively as they were wont to do. They will not go so far, and theydemand the assistance of a stick. But Mr Merryboy's spirit hasimproved--though it was pretty good before, and his tendency touniversal philanthropy has increased to such an extent that the peopleof the district have got into a way of sending their bad men and boys towork on his farm in order that they may become good!
Mrs Merryboy, however, has improved in every way, and is more bloomingthan ever, as well as a trifle stouter, but Mrs Merryboy senior,although advanced spiritually, has degenerated a little physically. Thefew teeth that kept her nose and chin apart having disappeared, hermouth has also vanished, though there is a decided mark which tellswhere it was--especially when she speaks or smiles. The hair on herforehead has become as pure white as the winter snows of Canada.Wrinkles on her visage have become the rule, not the exception, but asthey all run into comical twists, and play in the forms of humour, theymay, perhaps, be regarded as a physical improvement. She is stone deafnow, but this also may be put to the credit side of her account, for ithas rendered needless those awkward efforts to speak loud and painfulattempts to hear which used to trouble the family in days gone by. Itis quite clear, however, when you look into granny's coal-black eyes,that if she were to live to the age of Methuselah she will never beblind, nor ill-natured, nor less pleased with herself, her surroundings,and the whole order of things created!
But who are these that sit so gravely and busily engaged with breakfastas though they had not the prospect of another meal that year? Twoyoung men and a young girl. One young man is broad and powerful thoughshort, with an incipient moustache and a fluff of whisker. The other israther tall, slim, and gentlemanly, and still beardless. The girl islittle, neat, well-made, at the budding period of life, brown-haired,brown-eyed, round, soft--just such a creature as one feels disposed topat on the head and say, "My little pet!"
Why, these are two "waifs" and a "stray!" Don't you know them? Lookagain. Is not the stout fellow our friend Bobby Frog, the slim one TimLumpy, and the girl Martha Mild? But who, in all London, would believethat these were children who had bean picked out of the gutter?Nobody--except those good Samaritans who had helped to pick them up, andwho could show you the photographs of what they once were and what theynow are.
Mr Merryboy, although changed a little as regards legs, was not in theleast deteriorated as to lungs. As Granny, Mrs Merryboy, and the youngpeople sat at breakfast he was heard at an immense distance off,gradually making his way towards the house.
"Something seems to be wrong with father this morning, I think," saidMrs Merryboy, junior, listening.
Granny, observing the action, pretended to listen, and smiled.
"He's either unusually jolly or unusually savage--a little more tea,mother," said Tim Lumpy, pushing in his cup.
Tim, being father-and-motherless, called Mr Merryboy father and thewife mother. So did Martha, but Bobby Frog, remembering those whom hehad left at home, loyally declined, though he did not object to call theelder Mrs Merryboy granny.
"Something for good or evil must have happened," said Bobby, laying downhis knife and fork as the growling sound drew nearer.
At last the door flew open and the storm burst in. And we may remarkthat Mr Merryboy's stormy nature was, if possible, a little moreobtrusive than it used to be, for whereas in former days his toes andheels did most of the rattling-thunder business, the stick now came intoplay as a prominent creator of din--not only when flourished by hand,but often on its own account and unexpectedly, when propped clumsily inawkward places.
"Hallo! good people all, how are 'ee? morning--morning. Boys, d'ee knowthat the saw-mill's come to grief?"
"No, are you in earnest, father?" cried Tim, jumping up.
"In earnest! Of course I am. Pretty engineers you are. Sawed its ownbed in two, or burst itself. Don't know which, and what's more I don'tcare. Come, Martha, my bantam chicken, let's have a cup of tea. Botherthat stick, it can't keep its legs much better than myself. How areyou, mother? Glorious weather, isn't it?"
Mr Merryboy ignored deafness. He continued to speak to his mother justas though she heard him.
And she continued to nod and smile, and make-believe to hear with moredemonstration of face and cap than ever. After all, her total loss ofhearing made little difference, her sentiments being what Bobby Frog inhis early days would have described in the words, "Wot's the hodds solong as you're 'appy?"
But Bobby had now ceased to drop or misapply his aitches--though hestill had some trouble with his R's.
As he was chief engineer of the saw-mill, having turned out quite amechanical genius, he ran down to the scene of disaster with muchconcern on hearing the old gentleman's report.
And, truly, when he and Tim reached the picturesque spot where, at thewater's edge among fine trees and shrubs, the mill stood clearlyreflected in its own dam, they found that the mischief done wasconsiderable. The machinery, by which the frame with its log to be sawnwas moved along quarter-inch by quarter-inch at each stroke, was indeedall right, but it had not been made self-regulating. The result wasthat, on one of the attendant workmen omitting to do his duty, the sawnot only ripped off a beautiful plank from a log, but continued tocross-cut the end of the heavy framework, and then proceeded to cut theiron which held the log in its place. The result, of course, was thatthe iron refused to be cut, and savagely revenged itself by scrapingoff, flattening down, turning up, and otherwise damaging, the teeth ofthe saw!
"H'm! that comes of haste," muttered Bob, as he surveyed the wreck. "IfI had taken time to make the whole affair complete before setting themill to work, this would not have happened."
"Never mind, Bob, we must learn by experience, you know," said Tim,examining the damage done with a critical eye. "Luckily, we have aspare saw in the store."
"Run and fetch it," said Bob to the man in charge of the mill, whosecarelessness had caused the damage, and who stared silently at his workwith a look of horrified resignation.
When he was gone Bob and Tim threw off their coats, rolled up theirsleeves to the shoulder, and set to work with a degree of promptitudeand skill which proved them to be both earnest and capable workmen.
The first thing to be done was to detach the damaged saw from its frame.
"There," said Bob, as he flung it down, "you won't use your teeth againo
n the wrong subject for some time to come. Have we dry timber heavyenough to mend the frame, Tim?"
"Plenty--more than we want."
"Well, you go to work on it while I fix up the new saw."
To work the two went accordingly--adjusting, screwing, squaring, sawing,planing, mortising, until the dinner-bell called them to the house.
"So soon!" exclaimed Bob; "dinner is a great bother when a man is verybusy."
"D'ye think so, Bob? Well, now, I look on it as a great comfort--specially when you're hungry."
"Ah! but that's because you are greedy, Tim. You always were too fondo' your grub."
"Come, Bob, no slang. You know that mother doesn't like it. By theway, talkin' of mothers, is it on Wednesday or Thursday that you expect_your_ mother?"
"Thursday, my boy," replied Bob, with a bright look. "Ha! that _will_be a day for me!"
"So it will, Bob, I'm glad for your sake," returned Tim with a sigh,which was a very unusual expression of feeling for him. His friend atonce understood its significance.
"Tim, my boy, I'm sorry for you. I wish I could split my mother in twoand give you half of her."
"Yes," said Tim, somewhat absently, "it is sad to have not one soul inthe world related to you."
"But there are many who care for you as much as if they were relations,"said Bob, taking his friend's arm as they approached the house.
"Come along, come along, youngsters," shouted Mr Merryboy from thewindow, "the dinner's gettin' cold, and granny's gettin' in a passion.Look sharp. If you knew what news I have for you you'd look sharper."
"What news, sir?" asked Bob, as they sat down to a table which did notexactly "groan" with viands--it was too strong for that--but which washeavily weighted therewith.
"I won't tell you till after dinner--just to punish you for being late;besides, it might spoil your appetite."
"But suspense is apt to spoil appetite, father, isn't it?" said Tim,who, well accustomed to the old farmer's eccentricities, did not believemuch in the news he professed to have in keeping.
"Well, then, you must just lose your appetites, for I won't tell you,"said Mr Merryboy firmly. "It will do you good--eh! mother, won't atouch of starvation improve them, bring back the memory of old times--eh?"
The old lady, observing that her son was addressing her, shot forth sucha beam of intelligence and goodwill that it was as though a gleam ofsunshine had burst into the room.
"I knew you'd agree with me--ha! ha! you always do, mother," cried thefarmer, flinging his handkerchief at a small kitten which was sportingon the floor and went into fits of delight at the attention.
After dinner the young men were about to return to their saw-mill whenMr Merryboy called them back.
"What would you say, boys, to hear that Sir Richard Brandon, with atroop of emigrants, is going to settle somewhere in Canada?"
"I would think he'd gone mad, sir, or changed his nature," respondedBob.
"Well, as to whether he's gone mad or not I can't tell--he may havechanged his nature, who knows? That's not beyond the bounds ofpossibility. Anyway, he is coming. I've got a letter from a friend ofmine in London who says he read it in the papers. But perhaps you maylearn more about it in _that_."
He tossed a letter to Bob, who eagerly seized it.
"From sister Hetty," he cried, and tore it open.
The complete unity and unanimity of this family was well illustrated bythe fact, that Bob began to read the letter aloud without asking leaveand without apology.
"Dearest Bob," it ran, "you will get this letter only a mail before ourarrival. I had not meant to write again, but cannot resist doing so, togive you the earliest news about it. Sir Richard has changed his mind!You know, in my last, I told you he had helped to assist several poorfamilies from this quarter--as well as mother and me, and Matty. He isa real friend to the poor, for he doesn't merely fling coppers and oldclothes at them, but takes trouble to find out about them, and helpsthem in the way that seems best for each. It's all owing to that sweetMiss Di, who comes so much about here that she's almost as well-known asGiles Scott the policeman, or our missionary. By the way, Giles hasbeen made an Inspector lately, and has got no end of medals and a silverwatch, and other testimonials, for bravery in saving people from fires,and canals, and cart wheels, and--he's a wonderful man is Giles, andthey say his son is to be taken into the force as soon as he's oldenough. He's big enough and sensible enough already, and looks twicehis age. After all, if he can knock people down, and take people up,and keep order, what does it matter how young he is?
"But I'm wandering, I always do wander, Bob, when I write to you! Well,as I was saying, Sir Richard has changed his mind and has resolved toemigrate himself, with Miss Di and a whole lot of friends andwork-people. He wants, as he says, to establish a colony of like-mindedpeople, and so you may be sure that all who have fixed to go with himare followers of the Lord Jesus--and not ashamed to say so. As I hadalready taken our passages in the _Amazon_ steamer--"
"The _Amazon_!" interrupted Mr Merryboy, with a shout, "why, thatsteamer has arrived already!"
"So it has," said Bob, becoming excited; "their letter must have beendelayed, and they must have come by the same steamer that brought it;why, they'll be here immediately!"
"Perhaps to-night!" exclaimed Mrs Merryboy.
"Oh! _how_ nice!" murmured Martha, her great brown eyes glittering withjoy at the near prospect of seeing that Hetty about whom she had heardso much.
"Impossible!" said Tim Lumpy, coming down on them all with hiswet-blanket of common-sense. "They would never come on without droppingus a line from Quebec, or Montreal, to announce their arrival."
"That's true, Tim," said Mr Merryboy, "but you've not finished theletter, Bob--go on. Mother, mother, what a variety of faces you _are_making!"
This also was true, for old Mrs Merryboy, seeing that something unusualwas occurring, had all this time been watching the various speakers withher coal-black eyes, changing aspect with their varied expressions, andwrinkling her visage up into such inexpressible contortions ofsympathetic good-will, that she really could not have been more sociableif she had been in full possession and use of her five senses.
"As I had already," continued Bob, reading, "taken our passages in the_Amazon_ steamer, Sir Richard thought it best that we should come onbefore, along with his agent, who goes to see after the land, so that wemight have a good long stay with you, and dear Mr and Mrs Merryboy,who have been so kind to you, before going on to Brandon--which, Ibelieve, is the name of the place in the backwoods where Sir Richardmeans us all to go to. I don't know exactly where it is--and I don'tknow anybody who does, but that's no matter. Enough for mother, andMatty, and me to know that it's within a few hundred miles of you, whichis very different from three thousand miles of an ocean!
"You'll also be glad to hear that Mr Twitter with all his family is tojoin this band. It quite puts me in mind of the story of the PilgrimFathers, that I once heard in dear Mr Holland's meeting hall, long ago.I wish he could come too, and all his people with him, and all theladies from the Beehive. Wouldn't that be charming! But, then,--whowould be left to look after London? No, it is better that they shouldremain at home.
"Poor Mr Twitter never quite got the better of his fire, you see, so hesold his share in his business, and is getting ready to come. His boysand girls will be a great help to him in Canada, instead of a burden asthey have been in London--the younger ones I mean, of course, for Molly,and Sammy, and Willie have been helping their parents for a long timepast. I don't think Mrs Twitter quite likes it, and I'm sure she'salmost breaking her heart at the thought of leaving George Yard. It issaid that their friends Mrs Loper, Mrs Larrabel, Stickler, andCrackaby, want to join, but I rather think Sir Richard isn't very keento have them. Mr Stephen Welland is also coming. One of Sir Richard'sfriends, Mr Brisbane I think, got him a good situation in the Mint--that's where all the money is coined, you know--but, on hearing of thisexpedition to Canada, he
made up his mind to go there instead; so hegave up the Mint--very unwillingly, however, I believe, for he wantedvery much to go into the Mint. Now, no more at present from your lovingand much hurried sister, (for I'm in the middle of packing), Hetty."
Now, while Bob Frog was in the act of putting Hetty's letter in hispocket, a little boy was seen on horseback, galloping up to the door.
He brought a telegram addressed to "Mr Robert Frog." It was fromMontreal, and ran thus: "We have arrived, and leave this on Tuesdayforenoon."
"Why, they're almost here _now_," cried Bob.
"Harness up, my boy, and off you go--not a moment to lose!" cried MrMerryboy, as Bob dashed out of the room. "Take the bays, Bob," he addedin a stentorian voice, thrusting his head out of the window, "and thebiggest wagon. Don't forget the rugs!"
Ten minutes later, and Bob Frog, with Tim Lumpy beside him, was drivingthe spanking pair of bays to the railway station.