Part 17 (1/2)

”Well, go then, my boy; and, see, take these two ten-pound notes to your poor sister. It is not fair that all the burden should fall upon you.

These notes will at any rate keep her from want for a time; she can put them into safe keeping with her landlady. And tell her”--here his voice faltered--”that they are sent her with her father's love, and that there is a place for her here in her old home still.”

”Oh, thank you, thank you, dear father,” cried Amos; ”you _have_ made me glad!”

”Yes,” continued the squire, ”tell her that from me; yet, of course, that does not include _him_.”

”Oh no! I thoroughly understand that,” replied his son; ”and I see, of course, many difficulties that lie in the way; but still, I believe that brighter and happier days are coming for us all.”

”May it be so, my dear boy,” said the other, again drawing him closely to him. ”It will not be _your_ fault, at any rate, if they do not come.”

So that morning Amos left on his work of love.

He had not been gone many minutes, when Walter knocked at his aunt's door. ”Aunt Kate,” he began, when he had seated himself at her feet, ”I want your advice about a little scheme of mine. It's a good scheme, and perhaps a little bit of moral courage on my part will come out of it.”

”Well, my dear boy, let me hear it.”

”Father, I know, has been talking to you about Amos,” he went on; ”all about his n.o.ble and self-denying conduct towards my poor dear sister, and that he is going, in consequence of that horrid letter, to see her and those children of hers. I gather this partly from a few words I had with Amos before he started. But then, n.o.body knows where Julia lives, and n.o.body knows what that scamp of a fellow may be up to against my dear good brother.”

”Yes, Walter,” said his aunt, ”I understand all that; and I must say that I feel a little anxious about your brother, though I know that he is in better hands than ours.”

”Well, auntie, shall I tell you what I have thought of?”

”Do, dear boy.”

”If father will let me, I should like to go and keep guard over Amos till he comes back.”

”But how can you do that?” asked Miss Huntingdon. ”You said just now that no one knows where your poor sister lives except Amos himself; and it would hardly do for you to overtake him, if that could be done, and join yourself to him whether he would or no.”

”No, Aunt Kate, that is not my idea. Now, though n.o.body but Amos knows where Julia lives, I think I know.”

”What do you mean?” asked the other, laughing.

”Why, just this. I don't know properly. I'm not supposed to know, and so I take it for granted that I don't know; and yet really I believe I do know.”

”My boy, you speak in riddles.”

”Ah yes, Aunt Kate, I do; and I see you will never guess the answers to them, so you must give up, and I will tell you. You know that for some time now it has been Amos's place to unlock the post-bag of a morning and give out the letters. The other day, however, he made a mistake, and threw me two which were really directed to him. I gave them back to him, and I saw him turn red when he saw the mistake he had made. I couldn't help noticing the post-mark at the time, and I thought I knew the handwriting on one of the envelopes. The post-mark was the same on each. I am sure now that one was directed by my sister; I know her handwriting well, for I have two little hymns in my desk which she wrote out for me before--before she left us, and I often look at them. And so, putting two and two together, I believe the other was most likely directed by the person in whose house she is living.”

”And what was the post-mark?”

”Ah, auntie, I don't think I ought to tell, not even you. It seems like a breach of confidence towards Amos, though it really is not. At any rate, I am not sure that he would like me to tell.”

”Quite right, my dear Walter; I had no idle curiosity in asking; and if Amos wishes it still to be a secret, of course you ought not to disclose it.”

”Thank you, auntie, for looking at it in that light. Now it can be no breach of confidence on my part to go over to that place from which the letters came, as shown by the post-mark, and just keep my eyes and ears open, and see if I can get within sight or hearing of Amos without making myself known. I would not intrude myself into my poor sister's house if I can find it out, but I would just keep a bit of a watch near it, and look if I can see anything of that miserable man who has given us so much trouble; and then I might be able to give him a little of my mind, so as to induce him to take himself clean off out of the country.

At any rate, I would watch over Amos, that no harm should come to him.

What do you think?”

”Well, dear boy,” replied his aunt, ”it is very generous of you to make such a proposal, and good might come out of your plan; but what will your father say to it?”

”Ah, that's the point, auntie. I must get you to persuade him to let me go. Tell him how it is--tell him I'll be as prudent as a policeman, or a stationmaster, or any one else that's particularly prudent, or ought to be; and, if I don't find Amos where I imagine he will be, I'll be back again before bed-time to-morrow.”