Chapter II: Breaking the News to Dick

"YOU have not told him yet."

The speaker was Captain Gidley, who stood on the verandah outside their bungalow. He spoke in an anxious tone, and glanced at his wife uneasily. Brave soldier as he was, he felt an abject coward at that moment at the thought of the parting which must soon take place in his little family circle, for the next boat which sailed from Calcutta to England was to bear his only child across the wide waters to his own and his wife's native land.

"No, I have not told him yet," she replied to her husband's question. "Dozens of times I have been on the point of speaking to him on the subject; and then my heart has failed me—and—and—" Mrs. Gidley broke down completely at this point, and, clinging to her husband's arm, wept without restraint.

"Listen to me, Margaret," he said tenderly, "you are run down and out of health yourself, and I really think you must make up your mind to go to England with the boy!"

"And leave you!" she cried reproachfully, hastily drying her eyes. "Oh, Richard, that is impossible!"

"Not at all! We should not be parted for long. The regiment's ordered home next year; and if you will consent to take Dick home—"

"No, no! I cannot think of it! I shall remain with you most certainly! Did I not tell you ten years ago, when we were first married, in the words of Ruth of old, 'Whither thou goest I will go!' And do you think I did not understand then what that might mean some day? No, our little Dick must go to England alone, and Uncle Theophilus and Aunt Mary Ann will be good to him for my sake first of all, and later, when they grow to know him better, for his own. Dear Richard, don't try to dissuade me from remaining in India with you. Indeed, I have quite, quite made up my mind, and to-morrow, all being well, I will tell Dick!"

"The boy ought to be told something of his relations, Margaret!"

"Yes," she agreed; "I think he should be told about your father."

"Not what a hard, unforgiving man he is, and that he has refused the shelter of his home to his grandson—my son!"

"No, dear, not that, certainly; only that Sir Richard lives near Holton, and that he is your father."

"There is no need to tell him anything else."

Captain Gidley heaved a sigh of relief. The fact was, his father, Sir Richard Gidley, had never forgiven him for marrying the orphan niece of the village doctor, and would have disinherited him if that had been possible; but his property was strictly heirship, and he could not will it out of the direct line. However, he had refused to make his son an additional allowance on his marriage, so that Captain Gidley and his wife were very poorly off for their position. When the Indian climate began to tell on the health of their little son, and they had realised they would not be able to keep him with them much longer, Captain Gidley had written to Sir Richard asking him to make a home for the boy, which request had been curtly refused. Then Mrs. Gidley had written to her aunt and uncle at Holton, the village on the south coast of England where she had spent her youth, and in due course received an answer from the former which ran as follows:—

"No. 8 FORE STREET, HOLTON," "May 5, 189—."

"MY DEAR NIECE,—I am writing immediately on receipt of your letter to tell you how grieved we are to hear that Dick is so unwell. I fear, my dear Margaret, that you have no choice but to bravely face the trouble which presents itself to most English mothers in India— that God will call upon you to give up your boy to the charge of those who are strangers to him at an age when he most wants his mother's care. Of course I agree with you that your place is with your husband, at any rate as long as your health will stand the climate."

"I am not surprised that Sir Richard has refused to take little Dick, though your uncle Theophilus and I agree that your husband was right in applying to the child's grandfather first; but since the old man declines to accept the precious charge, we gladly offer a home to our dear great-nephew. It is many years since we had a child in the house— not since you were one yourself, and we feel quite excited at the prospect of welcoming your little son! Need I tell you we will do our best for his welfare and happiness? Send him to us, and, please God, Holton air will soon make him strong and well. Your uncle, Theophilus, is in good health; but I think he finds the night journeys more troublesome than he used to, though he never complains. Except for a touch of rheumatism occasionally, I am very well myself. We have much to be thankful for!"

"You will be able to picture your dear boy in your old home. I do not think the place has much changed since you left. God bless you, dear Margaret; may He keep and console you and your husband in your coming trial, and may He assist us to take good care of your little son."

"With much love from your Uncle Theophilus and myself, and kind regards to Captain Gidley, believe me, my dear niece, I am, as ever, your affectionate aunt,"

"MARY ANN WARREN."

Mrs. Gidley had no fears anent the welcome Dick would receive from the writer of this letter, for she well knew from experience how good and kind was Aunt Mary Ann, who had stood in the place of a mother to her in her own young days, and who, though she had never married herself, and had many old-maidish ways, yet understood children, and could enter into all their sorrows and joys. No people in Holton were better liked or more respected than Dr. Warren and his sister— Mrs. Gidley's Uncle Theophilus and Aunt Mary Ann.

"Never speak of sending me home with Dick again," Mrs. Gidley said earnestly to her husband. "I shall be perfectly satisfied to know he is with Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Theophilus. And do not trouble because your father refused to have the boy," she added. "Of course, I would not have said a word against Dick's going to the Manor House if Sir Richard had wished it; but I cannot help feeling glad matters are as they are."

At that moment a voice was heard calling, "Mother, mother, is that you?"

"Dick is awake!" Mrs. Gidley exclaimed hurriedly. "Shall I go in and tell him now?"

"Yes, do so, my dear," her husband answered. "He must be told sooner or later, and he ought to have a little while given him to get accustomed to the idea of separation from us."

Captain Gidley remained where he was whilst his wife passed through the doorway which led from the verandah into her little boy's room, her heart appealing to God to show her the best method of breaking the news she had to impart. She found Dick sitting up in bed; and she chided him gently as she rearranged his pillows and smoothed the light counterpane.

"You ought to be asleep, Dick! You will be so tired and languid to-morrow!"

"It's so hot, mother!" he cried. "I can't get to sleep, and I thought I heard your voice outside—father's too!"

"Yes, father's too!" By the subdued glimmer of the night-light she noticed the boy's face was flushed, and his eyes shining feverishly.

She sat down on the edge of the bed whilst he flung his arms around her neck, and laid his cheek against hers. "Why cannot you sleep, Dick?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't know, mother, but I can't! I've kept on saying my prayers—'Our Father,' and 'Gentle Jesus'—over and over again; but the sandy man won't come to my eyes! It's so dreadfully hot!"

"Yes, dear, so it is! Do you know what father and I have been talking about? Of course you cannot guess, but I am going to tell you! We've been speaking of sending you to England, to the dear old aunt and uncle who brought me up. They will be so good to you, Dick; and you will grow a strong healthy boy, please God! Colonel Blair and his wife are going home soon—you know he has sick leave—and they have promised to take charge of you on the voyage. Then, next year, I hope your father and I may be returning to England, too; and think how joyful we three shall be to meet again!"

Mrs. Gidley had spoken rapidly, in tones which she had tried to render cheerful; but her voice faltered as she concluded the sentence, whilst the clasp of Dick's arms around her neck tightened. He made no reply for a moment; but at last he burst forth,—

"Mother, mother, you don't mean it, you can't! I am not going to leave you! You are not going to send me away from you and father? Oh, mother, say you don't mean that? Oh, I don't want to go to England! I want to stay here with you, and then next year we can all go to England together! Oh, please, say you don't mean what you said!"

"I cannot say that, for it would not be true. We want you to go to England because if you remain longer in India you will be a sickly, unhealthy child, and both father and I hope you will grow into a strong man. How often have I heard you say that when you grow up you mean to be a soldier? Well, a soldier must not be a weakling, and a soldier must learn to do his duty! It is your duty now to be a brave boy, and not to make things harder for father and me than they are already. We would rather keep you with us; but it is our plain duty to send you to England, and it is your plain duty to go willingly. You will find a happy home awaiting you, and God will be with you, my darling, always," and Mrs. Gidley mingled her tears with her little son's, whilst he sobbed bitterly.

Presently, however, he began to realise how much he was adding to his mother's distress, and manfully sought to subdue his grief. He was facing sorrow for the first time in his life; but though his little frame was puny at present, he owned a brave heart of his own, and by-and-by he whispered lovingly,—

"Don't cry any more, mother, and I'll try not to!"

She kissed him, and then, when both were calmer, she began to talk of her childhood's home in the little English sea-side village. Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Theophilus were familiar names to his ears; but presently she spoke to him of his grandfather, of whose existence he had never heard before.

"Why, mother!" he exclaimed, "do you mean that my father has a father?"

"Yes," she said, smiling at his way of putting it. "He is a very old gentleman, and he lives at the Manor House, which is not far from Holton. His name is Sir Richard Gidley. You were called after your father and him. I think he must be a very lonely old man now, because he has only servants to look after him. His wife, your grandmother, died many years ago, and your aunt—Aunt Arabella—is a widow, living in London. I do not know if you will see her or not, but you will be sure to see your grandfather. You must treat him with great respect, and, if you find him crotchety and cross, don't mind; at the same time you must not be afraid of him—you need never be afraid of any one so long as you do nothing to be ashamed of; remember that!"

"I will remember," the boy replied obediently, "but I hope I shall not go to England very soon. I don't think I much like the thought of a grandfather! And a Sir, too! I suppose he is a very grand man indeed?"

Mrs. Gidley made no direct reply; instead, she spoke of the time when she and her husband hoped to join their little son in England.

"You'll be a good boy, will you not?" she questioned. "And you'll obey Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Theophilus? I know you will when you think how they loved your mother when she was a little girl. If you find Aunt Mary Ann is fussy, you must remember she has a heart of gold, full of kindness and sympathy for others. And now, my dear boy, we have talked long enough, and you must go to sleep."

"Yes," Dick replied, "I will try."

After all, he thought, the day of his departure for England had not arrived yet, and, like most children, he had the happy knack of dismissing unpleasant thoughts from his mind. Why think of separation when his mother was still with him? Therefore he suffered her to kiss him good-night, and, whilst she sat watching him, fell asleep with his hand in hers. So Captain Gidley found the two when he peeped anxiously into the room later.

Mrs. Gidley gently relinquished the boy's hand, and, crossing to her husband's side, slipped her arm through his. Together they approached the bed, and stood looking on their sleeping child.

"Well?" Captain Gidley whispered.

"I have told him," she replied. "He was terribly upset at the thought of leaving us at first, but, on the whole, he bore the news better than I expected. I appealed to his sense of duty, and that told; he is a true soldier's son! But I did not tell him how soon the parting will be. Oh, Richard, it is hard!"

"It is," he agreed huskily, "more especially as he is our only child."

"Let us pray for him," his wife said gently. "Let us ask God to take care of him when he will be far away from us!"

So husband and wife knelt down by the little bed, and commended their darling to their Father in Heaven; and though their hearts were still sore, they arose comforted.

"He is the child of many prayers," Mrs. Gidley said softly, as they quietly left the room, "and we must be content to place him in God's hands."

"It is harder for you than for me, Margaret," Captain Gidley replied tenderly. "Like so many other mothers out here, you have had to choose between husband and child. I trust we may not be separated from our dear boy long!"