Chapter XIX: An Accident to Edgar

"MOTHER has gone to see Aunt Mary to ask her to take me to Lynn next month," Edgar Marsh informed his cousin, as they passed out of the Grammar School building at about the same time that his mother was leaving Princess Street. "I say, Roger, shall you like me to go with you?" he asked eagerly.

"I don't know," Roger answered dubiously. "But how is it you aren't going for a holiday with Aunt Janie and Uncle John?" he inquired.

"Because father doesn't want to leave home till later. I hope you don't mind—" Edgar broke off in the midst of the sentence, and regarded his cousin anxiously.

"Oh, I don't mind. But, look here, I want to speak to you about Uncle John's Calais Noble. Such an odd thing has happened! Why, how queer you look!"

Well might Roger say so, for his companion had grown very pale, and was gazing at him with an expression of mingled dismay and alarm in his blue eyes; seeing which Roger was confirmed in the suspicion which had entered his mind as soon as he had heard of Cousin Becky's find. "Didn't you put the coin back that day you brought it to school?" he asked. "Did you lose it? What happened, Edgar?"

"I—I don't know what you mean," gasped Edgar.

"Why do you speak of the Calais Noble? What do you know about it?"

"Not so much as you do," Roger replied significantly, with a ring of scorn in his honest voice. "Why do you try to deceive me? I know you couldn't have put the coin back in the cabinet as you said you would, or it wouldn't have been found in your clothes."

"Found in my clothes!" cried Edgar, feeling more and more surprised and frightened. "Oh, Roger, don't go home yet! Come for a walk with me where we shan't be disturbed, and tell me what you have found out."

"Well, I will, if you'll promise to tell no more stories," Roger said relentingly, "not otherwise."

Edgar promised earnestly that he would speak no word which was not absolutely true; and, accordingly, his cousin accompanied him down a side street which made a short cut into the road leading to the clay works, and there, perched by the side of Roger on a five-barred gate, he explained in faltering tones that he had been unable to put the Calais Noble back in its rightful place for the simple reason that he had lost it; whereupon Roger informed him how and where the coin had been found, after which there was silence for some minutes.

"I'm in a pretty bad fix," Edgar remarked dejectedly, at length, heaving a deep sigh.

"Why?" asked Roger. "I should think Uncle John will be very glad to get his Calais Noble back. Aren't you glad it's found?"

"N-o-o, I'd rather not have heard anything more about it. Of course father missed it, but I—I didn't tell him I'd taken it; he didn't ask me if I had, so I held my tongue."

Roger stared at his cousin with deepening amazement; then an expression of contempt crossed his face.

"Father would have been so dreadfully angry if he'd known I'd taken the Calais Noble to school and lost it," Edgar proceeded excusingly. "He never guessed I had anything to do with it, he thought it had been stolen."

"What a coward you are!" Roger exclaimed in a tone which made the other wince. "Who did Uncle John think had stolen it? One of the servants, I suppose? What a shame of you to let him think that! I do feel disgusted with you. But he'll know the truth now."

"Yes," agreed Edgar with a groan of despair. "I wish I'd told him all about it at the time I lost the coin, but I never thought it would turn up again. There would have been a row, of course, but it would have all blown over long before now. You can guess what a state of mind I've been in lately."

Roger made no response. He could not understand the spirit of cowardice which had kept his cousin from confessing the truth; but he realised that the thought of the missing coin must have been a weight upon his conscience.

"I suppose Uncle Martin has given father the Calais Noble by this time," Edgar remarked mournfully by-and-by. "He will be sure to tell him where it was found."

"Sure to," Roger replied; "you'll have to own up, now."

"I see that. I suppose you think pretty badly of me, Roger, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," was the frank admission.

"You'd rather I didn't go with you to Lynn?"

"Well, you see, Edgar, you're not to be trusted," Roger said gravely, "and I hate having to do with a fellow I can't trust. I like my friends to 'act on the square,' as father says, but you know you don't do that."

"Then you won't ever be friendly with me again?" Edgar asked in dismay.

"I don't say that, because you're my cousin; but I think you've been a big coward to let your father believe the Calais Noble had been stolen, when you knew all the time you'd lost it. I didn't tell at home that you'd taken it to school because I'd promised you I wouldn't; but, of course, everyone will know about it now. I shan't hold my tongue any longer."

"I don't know what Polly will think of me," said Edgar dolefully; for, truth to tell, he was afraid of the little girl's sharp tongue. "Mother meant to call to see Aunt Mary this afternoon," he continued, "so I expect she knows by now that the Calais Noble is found. Oh, dear, what a to-do there will be when I get home! I do dread it. I wish I hadn't been a coward and had told father the truth, but—but he would have been so angry."

"I expect he'll be angrier now, won't he?" questioned Roger.

Edgar nodded, his eyes full of tears, a choking sensation in his throat. Much though his companion blamed him, he was sorry for him too, and when he spoke again his voice took a gentler tone.

"Father says if we do anything wrong it's always right and much easier to confess it at once," he said. "And Uncle John isn't very strict with you, he wouldn't be hard on you, I know."

"Of course not; but, you see, I had no right to touch his coins."

"There now, that's what father says," said Roger, "it's doing wrong that makes us cowards. If you'd taken the Calais Noble with Uncle John's consent you wouldn't have been so afraid to tell him you'd lost it. But, I say," he proceeded with an abrupt change of the subject as several carts passed them laden with black clay, "look at the stuff in those carts! Did you ever see clay like that before?"

"Yes, I saw the pit it comes from the other day; it's the best clay, father says, and will burn quite white. He hopes there's a big vein of it; they are at work on one shaft now."

"Let us go on, Edgar, now we're so near the works, and have a look round, shall we?" Roger suggested.

Edgar hesitated. He was wishful to assent to the proposition, which would delay his return home for a short while; but he had been forbidden to visit the clay works—a fact of which his cousin was unaware. He glanced at his watch—a present he had received from his parents on his last birthday—and asked:

"Have we time? It is already half-past four."

"I don't want to be home before five," Roger answered, "and I can run home in quarter of an hour; and as for you—well, I suppose it doesn't matter to five minutes or so what time you get back, does it?"

Edgar admitted that it did not; and, accordingly, the two boys went on, passed the cottages, and entered the clay works. Roger was particularly anxious to see the pit from whence the black clay was procured, and Edgar felt a sense of importance at being able to tell him all about it. Several men were at work in the shaft, but they were so busily employed that for some time they did not notice the two boys standing on the edge of the pit watching them; at last, however, one chanced to glance up, and immediately shouted a warning to be careful.

"All right," Roger replied, moving back at once. "We'd better not go too close, Edgar. Come away."

There had been heavy rain during the night, consequently the ground was very cloggy, and as Roger looked back to ascertain if his cousin was coming, he was horrified to see Edgar, who had turned around to follow him, slip, and with a piercing yell of terror fall backwards into the mouth of the pit.

In a moment the scene was one of the greatest confusion, for the accident had been witnessed by several men engaged in loading carts with clay, and they one and all rushed to the spot where the unfortunate boy had fallen, shouting questions to those below. For a minute Roger was too shocked to move, and when he would have joined the group at the edge of the shaft, someone caught him by the arm and stopped him.

"Let me go to him!" Roger implored. "Oh, poor, poor Edgar! He must have been killed. Oh, please, let me go to him!"

"No, sir," replied a familiar voice, and, looking quickly at his captor, the little boy recognised Caleb Glubb. "You wait here with me till we hear more about what's happened. My mate's gone to find out if your cousin's much injured, or—" The man paused with a shudder. "You can't do any good if I let you go," he added, "you'd better wait, it won't be for long."

Roger's teeth chattered with fright, and his legs trembled so much that he could scarcely stand, but he tried to restrain his emotion, whilst a wild prayer of agony to God rose from his heart. Oh, how awful if Edgar should have been killed! Who would tell the harrowing news to Aunt Janie and Uncle John? So engrossed was he in contemplating the horrors of what might be that he never noticed the arrival of his uncle's dog-cart, nor did he see his uncle hurry past him to the mouth of the pit; but, presently, he became aware that Caleb Glubb was speaking again.

"They've brought him up, Master Roger," Caleb said. "He's unconscious, but they say he isn't dead; maybe, after all, he's not very badly hurt."

"Let me go and find out," Roger said huskily, moving forward. There was a mist in front of his eyes, but he saw several figures bending over the inanimate form of his cousin at a little distance. "Is he dead?" he asked with a sob. "Oh!" he cried as he caught sight of Edgar's pallid face and closed eyes. "Tell me he is not dead!"

"No, no," someone answered, "and no bones are broken; the injury seems to be to his head. He fell on a piece of timber and stunned himself."

Roger did not hear the completion of the sentence, for suddenly he found himself confronted by his uncle's familiar figure.

"Uncle John!" he gasped, terror-stricken by the sight of Mr. Marsh's countenance, which was ghastly in its pallor. "Oh, Uncle John!"

His uncle took him by the arm and drew him aside so that they could not be overheard.

"How is it you are here?" he demanded sternly. "Did you persuade Edgar to come?" Then, as Roger assented, never dreaming of explaining how little persuasion had been required, he continued, "I thought as much. Go home and keep out of my sight. I never wish to see you again. You are a worse boy than I thought. Go."

"But is Edgar much hurt?" asked Roger, too full of anxiety on his cousin's account to resent his uncle's words. "Oh, Uncle John, tell me, do!"

"I don't know myself," Mr. Marsh replied. "I have sent for a doctor and a carriage to convey my poor boy home. The best thing you can do is to go home yourself."

Roger obeyed without further demur; and half an hour later he turned the corner of Princess Street, and caught sight of Polly's face at the sitting-room window. She saw at once that something had happened, and met him at the front door; but he brushed past her into his mother's presence, and flung himself, weeping bitterly, into his mother's arms. It was such an unusual sight to see her brother in tears that the little girl was struck with mingled awe and dismay; but when, between his sobs, he explained what had happened, she no longer wondered at his emotion, but cried bitterly too.