Chapter XII: Conclusion

WILLIAM BROWN wrote to Captain Foster that same night, and the first thing after breakfast the following morning Billy hastened to the village and posted the letter. Then he went into the post office, where he found Mr. and Mrs. Dingle in earnest conversation, both looking unusually grave.

"Oh, Billy," the latter began, "poor Harold's in trouble. He went to look at his marrow before breakfast and found it gone."

"Do you mean it has been stolen?" gasped Billy, aghast.

"Yes," she assented, "stolen! Oh, it's really too bad! We've told the policeman what's happened, but it's most improbable he'll be able to find the thief. The marrow must have been taken during the night."

"Yes," agreed John Dingle, "for it was all right last evening—I saw it myself after dusk."

"Oh, poor Harold!" cried Billy. "Where is he?" he asked.

"Out with May somewhere," replied Mrs. Dingle. "He's dreadfully upset about this. But what brings you to the village so early, my dear?"

Billy explained. When he had finished his tale Mrs. Dingle looked at her husband meaningly, and said—

"There! Now what did I say, John? Didn't I tell you mother was growing fond of Billy?"

"Yes, you certainly did," he answered, "and this proves you were right. You're glad to remain at Rowley Cottage, Billy?"

"Oh, Uncle John, I don't know what I should have felt if Granny had said I must go! Of course I knew Grandfer wouldn't want me to go, but I was so afraid Granny would. You can't imagine how glad I was to hear she didn't like the idea of my going! She was quite upset about it. I am so glad, so glad!"

After a little further conversation Billy left to return home. He had not gone far from the village when he heard, someone shouting, and, looking back, saw Harold running after him. He stopped immediately.

"Father said I should overtake you it I ran," Harold said, as he came up. "May and I came home just after you'd left—we'd been to the allotment field again, looking everywhere for my marrow, but of course we couldn't find a trace of it. You've heard what's happened?"

Billy nodded.

"I'm so sorry," he said simply, his voice full of sympathy; "it's a great shame!"

"I'd give a great deal to know for certain who's had it!" Harold cried fiercely. "I suspect that fellow Gibbs, and I believe father does too, though he doesn't like to say so. Gibbs believes his marrow will be the best exhibited at the show now, but he'll be mistaken! He doesn't know about yours, and we must take care he doesn't!"

"If mine gets the prize we'll divide the money," said Billy. "Five shillings it'll be, won't it?"

"Yes, but—oh, do you really mean it?"

"Of course I do! Half-a-crown each will be worth having, won't it?"

"Worth having? I should think so! But—but it wouldn't be fair to you if I took half your prize money."

"Oh, yes, it would be, because I should wish it."

The boys were walking on side by side now. There was a brief silence, then Harold suddenly exclaimed—

"You're a real brick, Billy. I've always been nasty to you about your gardening tools, and begrudged your having them—you must have seen it, yet you lent me your hand-fork when I broke mine, and—oh, it's been too mean of me! I'm sure if someone had stolen your marrow and I thought I was going to get the prize I shouldn't offer to divide it with you—at least, I don't think I should—"

"Oh, I expect you would!" Billy broke in. "Anyway, if I win the prize we go shares, mind! That's agreed."

The fields on the slope of the hill behind Rowley Cottage were now golden with corn as tall as the boys themselves, and ripening fast under the kisses of the hot August sun. The boys raced down the narrow foot-track behind each other, through the orchard, and into the garden. There they found William Brown whistling light-heartedly as he weeded his asparagus bed. He heard of the loss Harold had had with much concern.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am, Harold," he said; "it's a great disappointment for you. We must watch that Billy's marrow doesn't go in the same way."

"Yes," agreed both boys eagerly, "that we must!"

But Billy's marrow was undisturbed. It continued to grow and ripen till the morning of the show, when Grandfer cut it and the boys conveyed it between them to the large tent which had been erected on the Vicarage lawn, under which most of the exhibits of flowers, fruit, and vegetables were already on the stalls.

Billy's marrow was put on a stall with a lot of others. The boys had the satisfaction of seeing, at a glance, that it was the best marrow there, for shape, colour, and size. An ill-kept, sullen-looking man who was standing near saw this, too. He shot a scowling look from one boy to the other, and moved away.

"That's Gibbs!" Harold whispered to Billy excitedly. "He's brought his marrow, but it's smaller than yours. I thought it was, but I couldn't be sure till I saw them together. Doesn't he look sold—and guilty?"

"Hush!" admonished Billy, "Someone may hear you. If we're right in what we think we can't prove it, you know."

Gibbs had slunk out of the tent and disappeared. He did not return when the exhibits were being judged, nor did he come near the show again. Apparently his whole interest in it had gone.

The show opened at two o'clock. It was well attended, nearly every one in the parish being present. Mrs. Brown, who seldom left home, was there under the escort of her husband and Billy. She was in high good humour, for Billy's marrow had won the prize; and when she came to the stall on which the wild flowers were being exhibited, there, in the centre, was a beautiful bouquet bearing a card on which was written: "First Prize—May Dingle." She felt, as she said, quite proud to be connected with two prize-winners.

The prizes were distributed by the Vicar. Next day all the vegetable exhibits, by agreement of the exhibitors, were packed carefully and sent off as a gift to the Fleet, whilst the flowers were returned to their owners. May gave her bouquet to her grandmother, and for several days it graced the round table in the middle of the parlour at Rowley Cottage.

Corn harvest was now commencing. Billy took great interest in Farmer Turpin's "reaper and binder," which he thought the most marvellous piece of machinery there could possibly be. One day it arrived to cut the corn in the fields near Rowley Cottage, and he spent hours in watching it as it worked, gathering the corn into a sheaf and cutting the stalks and tying them, then throwing the sheaf out on the ground, and going through the same programme continuously as it went on. Billy followed it till he was tired, then sat down on a big stone near the gateway leading into the road, and watched it from there.

So closely did it chain his attention that he failed to notice a khaki-clad figure coming towards him, and started up in joyful surprise when a well-remembered voice cried—

"Well met!"

The next instant he was shaking hands with Tom Turpin, back on leave from France again.

"Is there room for two on that stone?" asked the young soldier, and, Billy assenting eagerly, they sat down together. "I arrived home the day before yesterday," he continued, his blue eyes looking lovingly across the valley to Mount Farm on the opposite hill. "I can tell you it's good to be home, my boy! How beautiful everything is! 'The pastures are clothed with flocks; the valleys also are covered with corn; they shout for joy, they also sing.' This is a blessed land, Billy. Where I have come from there will be no harvest—all is desolation and ruin. Here there is plenty, and oh, the peacefulness of it all!"

There was a note of sadness in Tom's voice, whilst his eyes had a wistful expression in them. For a minute his face was clouded, then it cleared, and he went on—

"Father's behind, talking to your grandfather, but he'll join me presently. Meanwhile, tell me about yourself. I've heard of the great marrow you grew. I wish I'd been home in time to see it. I've just come from your grandfather's garden. It's a picture worth looking at. Your grandfather always grew good vegetables, but this year they're just splendid."

"I helped plant some of them," said Billy proudly.

"So I've heard," smiled Tom Turpin; "your grandfather says you've done a lot of real hard work."

"Thanks to your tools!" exclaimed Billy. "I couldn't have done half so much without them. I've taken great care of them, Mr. Turpin; they are as bright as bright!"

Tom Turpin looked pleased.

"You seem remarkably 'fit,' Billy," he said; "you're rather different now from the timid little chap I remember. You've grown a couple of inches, I should say, and your face is almost as brown as mine. You look happy, too."

"I am happy," Billy said earnestly. "When mother was killed I never thought I should be happy again; but, oh, I am! And things which used to frighten me don't frighten me any longer now. I pray your prayer, 'Be not Thou far from me, O Lord,' and that helps me to be brave—you understand."

"I do understand, my boy."

"I love being here," Billy continued; "I love the hills, and the river, and the woods, and, most of all, I love Grandfer's garden. It was so wonderful in the spring to see everything coming to life. You see I was never in the country, in the spring, before this year. I suppose that's why I thought it so wonderful. Everything—the river, the woods, the grasses in the fields, seemed to be whispering—always saying the same!"

"What was that?" Tom Turpin asked. "Is it a secret?"

"Oh, no!" Billy answered. "I'll tell you. I told little May, and she said she could hear it, too. It was 'The gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ, our Lord.' Just that, over and over again."

THE END.

LONDON: PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.