Part 11 (1/2)

”I am sure we shall get on well together,” Mrs. Andrews went on. ”I shall never forget that you were a friend to my boy when he was friendless in London.”

”It's all the t'other way, ma'am,” Bill said eagerly; ”don't you go for to think it. Why, just look what George has done for me! There was I, a-hanging about the Garden, pretty nigh starving, and sure to get quadded sooner or later; and now here I am living decent, and earning a good wage; and he has taught me to read, ma'am, and to know about things, and aint been ashamed of me, though I am so different to what he is. I tell you, ma'am, there aint no saying what a friend he's been to me, and I aint done nothing for him as I can see.”

”Well, Bill, you perhaps both owe each other something,” Mrs. Andrews said: ”and I owe you something as well as my son, for George tells me that it is to your self-denial as well as to his own that I owe this delightful surprise of finding a home ready for me; and now,” she went on, seeing how confused and unhappy Bill looked, ”I think you two ought to make tea this evening, for you are the hosts, and I am the guest. In future it will be my turn.”

”All right, mother! you sit down in this armchair; Bill, you do the rashers, and I will pour the water into the pot and then toast the m.u.f.fins.”

Bill was at home now; such culinary efforts as they had hitherto attempted had generally fallen to his share, as he had a greater apt.i.tude for the work than George had, and a dish of bacon fried to a turn was soon upon the table.

Mrs. Andrews had been watching Bill closely, and was pleased with the result of her observation. Bill was indeed greatly improved in appearance since he had first made George's acquaintance. His cheeks had filled out, and his face had lost its hardness of outline; the quick, restless, hunted expression of his eyes had nearly died out, and he no longer looked as if constantly on the watch to dodge an expected cuff; his face had always had a large share of that merriment and love of fun which seem the common portion of the London arabs, and seldom desert them under all their hards.h.i.+ps; but it was a happier and brighter spirit now, and had altogether lost its reckless character. A similar change is always observable among the waifs picked up off the streets by the London refuges after they have been a few months on board a training s.h.i.+p.

When all was ready the party sat down to their meal. Mrs. Andrews undertook the pouring out of the tea, saying that although she was a guest, as the only lady present she should naturally preside. George cut the bread, and Bill served the bacon. The m.u.f.fins were piled on a plate in the front of the fire as a second course.

It was perhaps the happiest meal that any of the three had ever sat down to. Mrs. Andrews was not only happy at finding so comfortable a home prepared for her, but was filled with a deep feeling of pride and thankfulness at the evidence of the love, steadiness, and self-sacrifice of her son. George was delighted at having his mother with him again, and at seeing her happiness and contentment at the home he had prepared for her. Bill was delighted because George was so, and he was moreover vastly relieved at finding Mrs. Andrews less terrible than he had depicted her.

After tea was cleared away they talked together for a while, and then Bill--feeling with instinctive delicacy that George and his mother would like to talk together for a time--said he should take a turn for an hour, and on getting outside the house executed so wild a war-dance of satisfaction that it was fortunate it was dark, or Laburnum Villas would have been astonished and scandalized at the spectacle.

”I like your friend Bill very much,” Mrs. Andrews said when she was alone with George. ”I was sure from what you told me that he must be a good-hearted lad; but brought up as he has been, poor boy, I feared a little that he would scarcely be a desirable companion in point of manners. Of course, as you say, his grammar is a little peculiar; but his manners are wonderfully quiet and nice, considering all.”

”Look what an example he's had, mother,” George laughed; ”but really he has taken great pains ever since he knew that you were coming home. He has been asking me to tell him of anything he does which is not right, especially about eating and that sort of thing. You see he had never used a fork till we came down here, and he made me show him directly how it should be held and what to do with it. It has been quite funny to me to see him watching me at meals, and doing exactly the same.”

”And you have taught him to read, George?”

”Yes, mother.”

”And something of better things, George?” she asked.

”Yes, mother, as much as I could. He didn't know anything when I met him; but he goes to church with me now regularly, and says his prayers every night, and I can tell you he thinks a lot of it. More, I think, than I ever did,” he added honestly.

”Perhaps he has done you as much good as you have done him, George.”

”Perhaps he has, mother; yes, I think so. When you see a chap so very earnest for a thing you can't help being earnest yourself; besides, you know, mother,” he went on a little shyly, for George had not been accustomed to talk much of these matters with his mother--”you see when one's down in the world and hard up, and not quite sure about the next meal, and without any friend, one seems to think more of these things than one does when one is jolly at school with other fellows.”

”Perhaps so, George, though I do not know why it should be so, for the more blessings one has the more reason for love and grat.i.tude to the giver. However, dear, I think we have both reason to be grateful now, have we not?”

”That we have, mother. Only think of the difference since we said good-by to each other last summer! Now here you are strong and well again, and we are together and don't mean to be separated, and I have got a place I like and have a good chance of getting on in, and we have got a pretty little house all to ourselves, and you will be able to live a little like a lady again,--I mean as you were accustomed to,--and everything is so nice. Oh, mother, I am sure we have every reason to be grateful!”

”We have indeed, George, and I even more than you, in the proofs you have given me that my son is likely to turn out all that even I could wish him.”

Bill's hour was a very long one.

”You must not go out of an evening, Bill, to get out of our way,” Mrs.

Andrews said when he returned, ”else I shall think that I am in your way. It was kind of you to think of it the first evening, and George and I are glad to have had a long talk together, but in future I hope you won't do it. You see there will be lots to do of an evening. There will be your lessons and George's, for I hope now that he's settled he will give up an hour or two every evening to study. Not Latin and Greek, George,” she added, smiling, seeing a look of something like dismay in George's face, ”that will be only a waste of time to you now, but a study of such things as may be useful to you in your present work and in your future life, and a steady course of reading really good books by good authors. Then perhaps when you have both done your work, you will take it by turns to read out loud while I do my sewing. Then perhaps some day, who knows, if we get on very flouris.h.i.+ngly, after we have furnished our sitting room, we may be able to indulge in the luxury of a piano again and have a little music of an evening.”

”That will be jolly, mother. Why, it will be really like old times, when you used to sing to me!”

Mrs. Andrews' eyes filled with tears at the thought of the old times, but she kept them back bravely, so as not to mar, even for a moment, the happiness of this first evening. So they chatted till nine o'clock, when they had supper. After it was over Mrs. Andrews left the room for a minute and went upstairs and opened her box, and returned with a Bible in her hand.

”I think, boys,” she said, ”we ought to end this first happy evening in our new home by thanking G.o.d together for his blessings.”