Chapter III: Doris Maxwell's Letter

A MASS of correspondence awaited Sir Herbert's perusal, and amongst the heap of letters was one addressed to him in a round, childish hand.

Something unusual about the envelope caused him to open this letter first of all, and he was in the midst of reading it, when Gerald made his appearance in the breakfast room, on the morning which followed his disgrace.

A curt greeting was all that Sir Herbert bestowed on the child, but as he folded his letter, and put it back into the envelope, he looked at the boy with a softened expression in his eyes, and felt a slight pang of reproach, as he marked the pale cheeks and heavy eyes of the little lad.

Gerald proceeded with his breakfast in silence, for he knew better than to interrupt Sir Herbert during the reading of his correspondence, besides which he was too sore at heart for conversation.

The business letter having been disposed of, Sir Herbert once more took up the childish epistle, and read it through carefully. The spelling was somewhat quaint, but then so was the little writer, and cold and worldly as he was, he could not fail to be touched with the sincerity of the letter. It was as follows:—

"DEER SIR HERBET,—pleese do not be angery with gerild, it was all my
folt that we went into your libery and looked at the little idle what
you wership. gerild was afrade to disobey you, only I made him come.
Pleese let us be frends still, and we wont never do it again. Nurse is
helping me to spell the long words, as I cant rite a letter all alone.
Good bye sir herbet.—Yours truely, DORIS."

Somehow this letter pleased him, and he felt quite kindly disposed towards the little writer, although her reference to the "idle" somewhat puzzled him. He determined however to get to the root of the matter.

"What made Doris so anxious to go into my library yesterday?" he demanded of his nephew.

Sir Herbert required the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and the least deviation from this path was ever a matter of the keenest annoyance to him.

Gerald hesitated a moment, thinking that were his uncle to know all that Doris had said, he would indeed be angry.

His mother's precepts again seemed to ring in his ears, and truth prevailed.

"Because, uncle, she wished to see the idol."

"How came she to know I possessed one?"

"She did not know, only 'spected it."

"But what made her suspect such an extraordinary thing?"

Sir Herbert felt that there was a mystery somehow, and he was more than ever determined to unravel it.

"Because—" and here the boy's voice trembled a little, for fear of the effect his words would have upon his questioner—"because her grandfather said—"

"Said what? Speak out."

"You were a heathen."

There was perfect silence, and at length Sir Herbert, finishing his breakfast somewhat abruptly, rose from the table; then turning to the child, he said quite gently, "There is an old French saying, my boy, which means, translated into English—'Do the right, come what may.' If you continue to go on as you have begun, I shall one day be proud of my nephew."

Gerald was utterly astounded. These were the first words of commendation he had yet received from his uncle, and the boy, who had expected nothing less than an outburst of wrath, in return for his candour, was immensely relieved.

Shortly after this event, preparations were made for Sir Herbert Weston's return to his country home, The Towers, which was situated in a picturesque village in the county of Suffolk.

With a childish love of variety, Gerald was quite looking forward to seeing the beautiful home, about which Mrs. Webster had told him.

His tutor was to accompany him, as Sir Herbert considered regularity in lessons a most important part in his system of education, and he had great faith in Mr. Marmaduke Trevor's abilities.

The first breath of autumn was in the air, and the leaves quivered on the branches, as though they knew their summer prime was over.

In the days which followed, Gerald saw but little of his uncle, as there were frequently large shooting parties at The Towers. Mr. Trevor employed much of his leisure time in studying up for an examination; thus, the boy felt his life to be somewhat of a lonely one.

His spirits, owing to the healthy life which he led, were higher than in other days. And occasionally, he resented even Mrs. Webster's control, although fear of his uncle made him most submissive when he was near.

Hilda was not at all satisfied with the change in her young charge.

"He's getting that masterful, I soon shan't be able to manage him at all," she complained to Mrs. Webster.

"Nonsense, Hilda, he is only growing a bit more 'spirity,' like other boys. He wants companions, only of course the master thinks, and rightly too, there are no children about here for him to associate with." Thus spoke Mrs. Webster who had grown to love the lonely child.

And Hilda was silenced, but not convinced.

"I wish I could go fishing, Hilda," said Gerald one sunny September morning.

"'Taint no use wishing, Master Gerald," answered the girl; "you know the master wouldn't let you go."

"Mother would let me go if she was here."

"Pity she ain't, Master Gerald; maybe you'd be a bit more easy to manage if she was."

"Do you think I am 'really' a naughty boy, Hilda?" inquired Gerald, rather anxiously.

"Not exactly naughty, Master Gerald, only you are a bit too fond of your own way."

Gerald was silent for a time, thinking out the matter. If his mother were but near, he thought, how he would fling his arms around her neck, and tell her he had tried to be good, only somehow it was so hard.

Never once had he forgotten his prayers, and it was a well-known fact in the household that "Master Gerald spoke the truth," but the little lad had yet to learn the fact that whatever might happen, God was watching over him.

The foregoing conversation took place in the orchard, under an old spreading tree, where a swing was placed. This was a very favourite spot of Gerald's, and he spent much of his leisure time there.

"Don't your little brothers go fishing?" he inquired, returning to the first subject of conversation.

"Yes, my brother Bob is a real good little fisherman."

"How does he manage it, Hilda?"

"Well, he has a rod and line and a little tin of worms. Ugh! Nasty things. He baits his hook with dough sometimes, but more often with them wriggling worms."

To the town-bred child, the idea of a rod and line and a day's fishing seemed the most perfect enjoyment possible, and his enthusiasm reached such a pitch that he determined to ask his uncle to let him go.

"No, certainly not," was the crushing reply when he proffered his request. "That's how your father fooled away his time, as a young man. Stick to your lessons, boy; they are better for you than fiddling with a rod and line."

Never dreaming but that he would be implicitly obeyed, Sir Herbert thought no more of the matter.

A week passed away, and to Gerald's delight, his old friend Mr. Wilfrid Sharpe came down to see his uncle, and lunched at The Towers.

The old lawyer complimented Sir Herbert on the appearance of the child, and indeed Gerald Weston looked a very different specimen from the pale-faced boy he had met only a few months previously.

"He looks well, certainly," said Sir Herbert, with a pleased expression on his face.

It was Saturday afternoon, and therefore a half-holiday, and Gerald, thinking that his uncle and Mr. Sharpe would be engaged in business matters, considered his opportunity had arrived at last for a fishing expedition.

Already, without saying a word to anyone, he had bought himself a little rod and line with his pocket money.

The worms, however, had been a more difficult matter, but Jones the gardener had managed this, after a little persuasion. Thus equipped with all the necessaries for juvenile fishing, Gerald crept by stealth out of the garden gate, and making his way through the meadows, he soon reached the stream where the fish were swimming merrily, unconscious of their fate.

Several other lads, whose ages varied from eight to twelve, were there already, and Gerald, joining the little party, soon commenced operations.

To his intense delight, he caught several perch and gudgeon, during the happy hours-which followed.

At length, feeling both tired and hungry, he began to think of tea-time.

Sir Herbert and Mr. Sharpe were wending their way across the meadows deep in conversation.

"Yes, Sharpe," Sir Herbert was saying, in a smoothly complacent tone of voice, "the boy will do; he has the making of a man in him. He has more 'grit' than his father ever had, and I have fully decided to make him my heir."

"I'm right glad, Sir Herbert," answered the lawyer. "I took to the child from the first. He has grown into a noble-looking boy, and certainly does you infinite credit."

"Yes," said the baronet, with a smile of self-satisfaction. "I am quite satisfied with my method of training; he is ever most obedient and submissive to my will."

At this moment, turning a corner of the meadow, Sir Herbert and Mr. Sharpe came suddenly upon the little group of fishermen.

"I've caught another!" cried a clear young voice, in a tone of ecstasy.

Alas! In a moment Sir Herbert recognised it to be that of his young nephew.

Suddenly catching sight of the two gentlemen, Gerald let fall his rod and line (from which dangled a poor helpless little gudgeon), and grew white to the lips, convicted of an act of wilful disobedience.