Chapter I: Travelling Companions

"OH, do you think the train is running away?"

The startled question came from a little dark-eyed, pale-faced boy of about ten years of age, who was making the journey from Paddington to Exeter by the fastest train which runs. He occupied a corner seat in a third-class compartment, his only companions being an elderly gentleman and a young soldier at the other end of the compartment. It was the young soldier who answered him.

"No, sonny," he said, smiling; "it's all right, I assure you. I've been over this line many times, and the train always puts on speed about here."

He moved along the carriage as he spoke, and took the place opposite the little boy. He was quite a lad himself, barely twenty, but tall and strongly made, with a bronzed complexion and very blue eyes. He peered out of the window for a minute into the mist—it was a dull November day—then gave his attention to the little boy again.

"Was that your father who saw you off at Paddington?" he asked pleasantly.

"Oh, no!" the little boy replied. "My father died years ago. That was the master of—of the Institution where I've been staying since—since my mother was killed. She was killed in the Zeppelin raid last month. She—she—"

He broke off with a choking sob, whilst a tear rolled down his cheek. He brushed the tear away with the back of his hand, and bit his quivering lip.

"Oh, I am sorry!" exclaimed the young soldier. "I've a mother myself, and I know what I should feel—" He stopped abruptly and turned again to the window. "Poor kiddie!" he muttered to himself.

"What's your name?" he asked, after a brief silence, looking at the little boy again.

"William Brown. I was called after my father, and he was called after his father. Mother always called me Billy."

"I like the name Billy," declared the young soldier. "My name's Tom—Tom Turpin. I've got leave from 'somewhere in France' for a few days, and am on my way home—that's a farm some miles from Exeter. My father's a farmer. I was to have been a farmer too but the year after I left school on came the war, and I enlisted right away in the Devons. I've been in several engagements already, and so far have come off without so much as a scratch."

"How glad you must be!" exclaimed Billy.

Tom Turpin nodded.

"I am," he said simply, "and more grateful to God than I can express. It would be a blow to my parents if anything happened to me—they not having another child; but they'd bear it bravely if it came to them, knowing it was for the best."

"Oh, how could it be for the best?" cried Billy. "Was it for the best that my mother was killed? I can't think that!"

"Not now, perhaps, but you may some day—though perhaps that day won't be till you see God face to face and understand—oh, a lot of things that are just one big mystery now!"

The young soldier looked at Billy very kindly, with a world of sympathy in his clear blue eyes. When he spoke again it was to say—

"If I live to see the end of the war I shall most likely lay aside the sword for the plough, for I love everything to do with the country—from being country born and bred, I suppose. You're town-bred, aren't you?"

"Yes," assented Billy, "I've always lived in London; but my father came from Devonshire, and now I'm to live in Devonshire, too."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, with my grandfather—my father's father. He's going to meet me at Exeter. I've never seen him, and I've been wondering what I shall do if I can't find him."

"Oh, he'll find you, I expect. But don't worry—it is always a bad plan to go to meet trouble. We shall find your grandfather all right, I've no doubt. Have you any idea what he's like?"

"No. I think he must be kind, for he used to write to mother sometimes and send her money—I suppose he knew she was very poor. And he'd always tell mother not to mention the money when she wrote—because, he said, he particularly didn't wish to be thanked."

"He must be a rather good sort, I should say."

"Oh, I hope so!"

The train was swaying less now, and Billy was no longer in fear that it was running away. He grew very confidential with Tom Turpin. By-and-by he spoke of the Zeppelin raid again.

"I don't remember much about it," he said. "It seems now just like a dream—a very bad dream. It was in the night, you see. I didn't know at the time that mother was killed, because I was stunned. I didn't know anything till I woke up in the hospital. I thought mother might be there, too, but she wasn't—she was dead. Then they took me to the Institution—that's the workhouse—and, afterwards, I told them about grandfather, and now—"

"And now I hope your troubles are nearly over," broke in the young soldier. "Come, cheer up! By the way, have you any sisters or brothers?"

Billy shook his head. "There was only mother and me," he replied with a stifled sob.

The mist was lifting slightly, so that they could see they were approaching beautifully wooded country. Tom Turpin's eyes smiled as they noted this.

"Nearing home!" he murmured to himself. Then, hearing the little boy sigh, he said, "You're nearing home, too, and I hope it's going to be a very happy home indeed."

"I don't think I shall ever be happy again!" declared Billy.

The young soldier was silent for several minutes, evidently not quite knowing what to say.

"Look here," he said at length, "there's just one thing I should like to ask you. Are you a Christian? Do you believe in Jesus Christ?"

"Why, yes," was the surprised answer, "of course I do."

"Well, then, you ought to know that you're only separated from your mother for a time. 'The gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.' You'll be with your mother through all Eternity."

Billy looked at Tom Turpin with a brightening countenance. Why had he not thought of this before?

"I'd forgotten," he murmured, "quite forgotten."

"Thought you had!" said Tom. "Ah! Here's actually a gleam of sunshine, and very welcome it is, too. We shall soon reach Exeter now! You stick by me till you see your grandfather."

This Billy was very glad to do. When, the train having slackened speed gradually and stopped, he and Tom Turpin alighted on the platform at Exeter, he kept close to his new-found friend, whilst he looked about him anxiously. There were not a great many people on the platform, and in a minute he noticed a middle-sized man of about sixty, with a ruddy, good-tempered countenance and grizzled hair, who was clad in corduroy breeches and thick leggings, going from carriage to carriage, apparently in search of someone. The instant Tom Turpin caught sight of this individual he stepped up to him and clapped him on the shoulder, whilst he exclaimed—

"I'm back again like a bad penny, you see! How are you, Brown?"

The ruddy-faced man turned quickly, then caught the young soldier's hand and wrung it.

"Master Tom!" he cried, evidently delighted. "Ah, how glad your parents will be!"

"Won't they?" smiled Tom. "But I'm keeping you! Are you going on?"

"No, sir. I'm here to meet my grandson—my dead son's little boy—who's just lost his mother, poor child!"

"Oh, please, that's me!" cried Billy, stepping forward.

The ruddy-faced man gazed at the boy earnestly a minute, then gave a satisfied nod.

"Aye," he said, "I see the likeness to your father."

He took one of the little boy's hands in his work-hardened palm, and pressed it affectionately.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Tom Turpin. "Now, why didn't I guess who he was? But he didn't say you lived at Ashleigh! And there are so many Browns! Why, we've travelled down from Paddington together and got quite friendly. And, now, how are you going to get home—by train?"

"No, sir. I've Jenny and the market trap outside the station."

"Oh, I see! Well, I'm going by train—shall be home before you most likely. Good-bye, both of you! See you again, Billy!"

"Oh, how splendid!" cried Billy. "Good-bye, Mr. Turpin! Good-bye!"

He and his grandfather watched the alert khaki-clad figure run up the stairs to get to another platform, then they looked for and found Billy's luggage—a box which William Brown shouldered quite easily. Three minutes later found them outside the station.

"Here's Jenny!" said William Brown. "Tired of waiting, eh, old girl?"

Jenny was a big white donkey, harnessed to a smart little market cart. She was very fat and very well groomed, and seemed, Billy thought, to understand what was said, for she turned her head slowly, and, having given her master a shrewd glance, fastened her gaze on his companion.

"We're going now, my beauty," William Brown told her, as he placed Billy's box in the back of the cart. "She doesn't like boys," he explained; "they tease her."

"I promise I won't!" exclaimed Billy. "What a fine donkey she is! I never saw such a large one before. Please, may I stroke her, Grandfather?"

"If you like. But don't let her nip you—she's quite capable of doing it."

Billy spoke to the donkey softly, and patted her on the side. To his grandfather's surprise Jenny stood quite still, and allowed herself to be caressed.

"She knows I won't hurt her," the little boy said. "What a long, grave face she has! And how thoughtful she looks! I am sure she is very wise."

"Aye, that she is!" William Brown agreed, taking the reins in his hand and climbing into the market cart. "Get in, Billy! The afternoons are short now, and we've nigh seven miles to drive. As it is it'll be dark before we get home. If we're late for tea the Missus will have a word to say about it. Here, give me your hand!"

Billy obeyed. The next moment found him seated by his grandfather's side, a rug thrown across his knees. Jenny gave a toss of her head and a little pleased snort, then started for home.