Part 13 (2/2)

”Five minutes!” muttered Mr Willoughby, ”why, I seem to have waited here for a whole hour.”

In a first-cla.s.s compartment of this late train--still at some considerable distance--sat three gentlemen. Brown were they in complexion as the waters of a mountain burn, and just as vivacious.

”Now, Frank,” said one, ”I do wonder what your father will think of you when he sees you.”

”We've hardened him off properly,” said the other, laughing. Frank smiled, his thoughts just then wandered away down to a certain s.h.i.+re in Wales. He was wondering what his betrothed--what Eenie would think of him, and whether she herself would be much changed.

Half an hour afterwards all three were rattling off in the carriage, to the home of the Willoughbys. Need I say that that evening the fatted calf was killed, or that Frank was the hero there for weeks.

Heigho! but time _will_ fly. I have kept my trio well in hand through all their years of wandering in wild places, but now at last the wizard power of pen must fail, our friends must scatter. It was very pleasant for a time roaming over the lovely fields and moors, gun in hand, dogs ahead, in the bright, bracing September days. The dinners in the evening at Willoughby Place were pleasant, too, and yet after one of the best of these, all of a sudden, during a lull in the conversation--

”Father,” said Frank, ”I'm off to-morrow, like a bird, away down to Penmawhr Castle.”

”You young dog,” replied his father, laughing; ”I've been expecting to hear this every day for the last week.”

”Filial affection prevented me,” said Frank, ”from making up my mind before.”

”Oh! that just reminds me,” said Chisholm O'Grahame, ”that I sail for Australia next week.”

”And, oh!” cried Fred Freeman, ”that puts me in mind. I'm off about the same time to the Russian Steppes.”

”What!” exclaimed Mr Willoughby, ”all bent on the same errand? Well, well, boys will be boys. But, I will miss you all sadly.”

”I say, though,” said Frank, ”there is one thing I do look forward to, and that is, when Fred and Chisholm return--I, of course, am going no distance--we may have a grand re-union, here at old Willoughby Place.”

”Yes,” said his father, ”If we are all spared I'm sure I'll be delighted; and there is one thing you mustn't forget, that is, if you can find them; namely, to bring with you the companions of your adventures in the backwoods.”

”Oh! never fear, sir,” Frank replied; ”we'll ferret them out--ay, and Lyell as well.”

”That will be delightful,” said Mr Willoughby, rubbing his hands in joyous antic.i.p.ation of the hoped-for event.

”And,” he continued enthusiastically, ”up on the hill, near the ruins of the ancient home of our fathers, on the night of the re-union, I'll kindle such a bonfire as never blazed on the heights before.”

One short week after this conversation took place my three heroes were--

”--Severed far and wide By mountain, stream, and sea.”

And this just reminds me that my tale is wonderfully near its close, for, dear me! you know an author who has lost his heroes is just like a bird who has lost its eggs, there is not a bit of good in trying to sing any more. Besides, they have all gone in different directions, and I can't be in three places at once; and even if I could, my presence would doubtless be deemed an intrusion, for I'll warrant they are all happy enough.

But did the re-union ever take place, and did the bonfire blaze fierce on the hill-top? Both events came off, reader, I'm glad to tell you.

And here they all are with happy beaming faces, seated around the table in the banquetting hall of the home of the Willoughbys: Fred, and Frank, and Chisholm O'Grahame, each with their wives by their side. Ay, and brave Captain Lyell, too, though he has got no wife by his side--his lot is to be a rover, his home is on the deep. And here is brawny Dugald McArthur and honest John Travers, the bold hunters of the backwoods.

And here is precisely the place to drop the curtain. Let it descend then, and slowly hide the happy scene.

Yet one word. My chief reward in having written these ”Wild Adventures,” rests in a _thought_ and in a _hope_. The thought is, that I may have sometimes interested and amused you; the hope, that we may-- for stranger things have happened--meet again another day.

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