Chapter V: A Strange New World

THAT drive was one long bewilderment to Jock. He saw the people and the houses, but noticed nothing. Jane was sorry for him, and said a comforting word, but he could only reply—"Don't."

At the station she gave him over to a tall, elderly gentleman, and a thin angular lady, and Jock just submitted to be given over. He heard them talking to Jane, and did not know what they said.

"Mummie wasn't gone," he kept repeating to himself. "She wasn't—wasn't—gone." He would go back presently, and would find her at home—just as usual.

"Come, my boy—get in," a kind voice said, and Jock got in.

It was a first-class compartment, already half-full of rugs, bags, shawls and papers. Jane stepped in also, and settled him in a farther corner, putting by his side a basket of sandwiches and fruit. She stole one good-bye kiss from the boy, and Jock didn't mind even that. He was still saying to himself—"Mummie isn't—isn't—gone."

But he knew that she was gone. For the train was moving, and they were off. Jane was out of sight.

Jock felt himself in a new world—new and lonely. He sat like a little image, gazing out on the rushing landscape, seeing and hearing nothing that went on. By-and-by it dawned upon him that the elderly gentleman, Mr. Royle, was seated in the corner just opposite himself, and that the lady at the opposite end of the carriage seemed to be scolding her maid. Jock vaguely wondered what it could all be about.

And—after what felt like a very long interval—he found himself looking up into the face of the elderly man opposite. He met a pair of eyes gazing quietly into his own, such very blue eyes, and such kind ones.

Mr. Royle leant forward. "Feel cold, my boy?"

Jock said "No—" without thinking. He was cold, very cold all over, and shivering, but he had not found it out.

"Feel queer?" Jock nodded this time. "Want something to eat?" Jock shook his head.

"Ah, well—never mind. You'll soon be hungry—a little chap like you! If you were seventy years old, now, that would make a difference."

Jock could not help smiling.

"Had to say a lot of good-byes this morning?"

One good-bye, not a lot. At least, the lot did not count. But Jock could not say this.

Mr. Royle stood up, letting his wraps slide down on the floor.

His wife called out—"What are you doing?"

But he paid no attention. He took hold of Jock, and made him lie flat on the cushioned seat, covering him with a thick travelling-rug and putting under his head a rolled-up shawl for a pillow.

"That's better," the kind voice said. "Now—mind—you are to go to sleep. Don't think and fret. Things won't be half so bad as they seem just now. It will all come right in the end."

He patted the boy's head and went back to his seat.

Jock gave one grateful look, and shut his eyes. The train made such a roaring that at first he could attend to nothing else. But soon he grew used to it, and began to lose himself in half-dreams. The night had been a short one, and he had eaten very little breakfast. Sounds grew distant, and soon he was off. For two full hours he never stirred. Then he woke up slowly, wondering at first where he could be, till recollection dawned, and he sat up.

"Better?" Mr. Royle asked.

"I'm quite well," Jock said.

"That's right. Now will you have some sandwiches?"

And Jock found that he actually could enjoy them. The queer sick feelings were gone, and, though the great sense of loss was with him still, he could meet it now with more courage.