Part 10 (2/2)

”Never mind; I dare say we shall be able to walk a little faster to-day,”

said Bella, ”and make it up. Margery said she would come to meet us.

I wonder if she will. She's dying to wear her pink frock like mine, but I don't s'pose Aunt Emma will let her. I shall be able to see as soon as we turn the last bend of the road. The pink will show out fine against the hedge. Oh dear, I wish we were there! I shall be glad to give these baskets up to father, these groceries weigh heavy,” and Bella sighed wearily.

”Only one more hill and two more bends, and we shall see him,” said Tom cheerfully, for one of the chief pleasures of their day was to catch sight of the milestone where their father had never yet failed to meet them, to take their baskets from them, and listen to their account of the day's doings.

”Only one more hill and two bends!” the thought sent them trudging on with renewed spirit, and the hill was climbed before they realised it.

Then one bend in the road was rounded, then the other, and there in the distance could be seen the milestone. But, except for the milestone, the road was empty!

”Why, father isn't there!” cried Bella disappointedly; ”he is late.”

”P'raps somebody has met him, and kept him talking,” suggested Tom; ”we shall see him hurrying along in a minute.” So they finished the rest of the distance with their eyes eagerly scanning the white road stretching away before them.

”We will have a rest here, shall we?” said Bella, placing her baskets on the ground by the old grey stone; ”he won't be more than a few minutes, I expect. Oh, I am so tired, aren't you?”

Tom, seated on the milestone, only nodded, his eyes never wandered from the road along which their father was to come. It was very still and quiet there, almost oppressively so. No one pa.s.sed, and no sound, except the voices of the birds and the distant mooing of a cow, broke the silence.

”P'raps after all we'd better go on,” said Bella at last, after restlessly fidgeting about, and staring along the dirty road until her eyes ached.

”It doesn't seem to be much use waiting,” said Tom quietly, and they started on their way again, but far less cheerfully now. Indeed, for such a trifling and easily explained incident, their spirits were strangely cast down. A dozen simple things might have happened to prevent their father's coming; he might have been detained at his work, or have met some one, and be staying talking to them; or he might have been busy and have forgotten the time.

Perhaps it was because they were over-tired and hungry, and in the state to look on the gloomy side of things, that they could not take a cheerful view of the matter, or shake off the feeling of depression which filled them.

Whether this was so or not, they felt anxious and troubled, and all the suns.h.i.+ne and pleasure seemed to have gone out of their day. It was almost as though a foreboding of the truth had come to them--that when they left the old milestone they were leaving their light-heartedness and childhood behind them, never quite to find them again. Never, at any rate, the same. When they left it they set their faces towards a long, dark road, with many a weary hill and many a desolate s.p.a.ce to cross, and with a heavier burden to bear than any they had yet borne.

Had they known, their hearts might have failed them altogether, perhaps, though the way was not to be all as dark and stony for their tired feet, as at first it had seemed to promise. There would be suns.h.i.+ne on the road for them too, and pleasant resting-places.

To them then, as they trudged along in silence, the road they had to tread seemed hard and gloomy enough, even though it was the road towards home.

Every yard seemed as six, and never a glimpse did they catch of their father, or Margery, or Charlie. Bella walked that mile often and often in the years that followed, but never again without remembering that afternoon.

At last, as they drew near the top of 'their own lane,' as they called it, they saw a woman standing; she had no hat on her head, and appeared to be waiting and looking eagerly for some one. When she caught sight of the children, she hurried forward to meet them. Bella soon recognised her, it was Mrs. Carter, Billy Carter's mother, and she wondered why she was there in her working-dress, and why her face was so white.

”Where's father?” asked Bella sharply. She never could tell afterwards why that question sprung to her lips, or why with a sharp thrill of fear she knew what the answer would be, before it was spoken.

”I've come to tell you, my dears,--your--your father's bad; there's been an accident, and--and you've got to be very quiet.”

”What is it? What's happened? What accident, oh, do tell!” cried Bella in an agony of alarm at once. It seemed to her then that she had known of this all along, or expected it.

”Is--he--dead?” gasped Tom, white and shaking.

Mrs. Carter seized on the question with some relief. It was one she could answer with some comfort for them. ”No, he isn't dead. He is hurt very bad, but the doctor thinks he'll get over it--in time--with care.

He's got to go to the hospital, though. Here, let me help you, dear.”

She took Bella's baskets from her, and putting her strong arm about the child's trembling body, helped her along.

”What happened?” gasped Bella through her poor white, quivering lips.

”A wall fell and crushed him.”

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