The Project Gutenberg eBook of Robin of Sun Court

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Title: Robin of Sun Court

Author: Eleanora H. Stooke

Illustrator: Isabel Watkin

Release date: April 3, 2025 [eBook #75785]

Language: English

Original publication: United Kingdom: National Society's Depository, 1908

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROBIN OF SUN COURT ***

Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

"GOING TO PUT YOU IN A PICTURE?" CRIED DICK FARRANT.

ROBIN OF SUN COURT

BY

ELEANORA H. STOOKE

AUTHOR OF

"ONE CHRISTMAS TIME," "LITTLE SUNBEAM," ETC.

WITH FRONTISPIECE BY ISABEL WATKIN

LONDON

NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY

19, GREAT PETER STREET, WESTMINSTER

NEW YORK: THOMAS WHITTAKER, 2 & 3 BIBLE HOUSE

1908

[All rights reserved]

PRINTED BY

SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE

LONDON

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

——————————

LITTLE SUNBEAM. Price 1s.

GRANFER, AND ONE CHRISTMAS TIME.

Price 1s.

——————————

NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY

19, Great Peter Street, Westminster, S.W.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. MORNING IN SUN COURT

II. ROBIN IN REQUEST

III. ROBIN'S FIRST EARNINGS

IV. ROBIN'S PLAN

V. AN AWFUL BLOW

VI. ROBIN'S HEART SOFTENS

VII. A POLICEMAN IN SUN COURT

VIII. MISS MAGGS IN SUN COURT

IX. POOR FATHER!

X. THE DAWN OF A HAPPIER TIME

XI. AT NEWLYN

XII. CONCLUSION

ROBIN OF SUN COURT

CHAPTER I

MORNING IN SUN COURT

SUN COURT was generally spoken of as one of the worst slums in Plymouth. Its name had been ill-chosen, for the sunlight only peeped into it early in the morning, and then only for an hour or so; during the rest of the day the place was dull and cheerless in the extreme. The houses surrounding the court were squalid and dilapidated for the most part. But some few looked better kept; and decorating a certain downstair window, on the May morning on which this story opens, was a wallflower in full bloom in a pot—an object of beauty in the midst of much which was unsightly, and, as the sun's rays fell on the streaky, golden-brown blooms, their delicious scent seemed to grow stronger until their fragrance filled the air.

It was said that many of the shadiest characters in Plymouth lived in Sun Court. It may have been so; but as ill weeds cannot altogether choke the growth of some hardy flowers, so were there those in Sun Court who rose above the circumstances of their lives and kept straight and honest in spite of their surroundings. One of these was the owner of the wallflower in the pot, an old cobbler called Jasper Blamey, who spent most of his days at his cobbler's bench, exactly inside the downstair window of his house.

The sun rose in a cloudless blue sky on this bright May morning, and, just as its first rays found their way into Sun Court, a big stalwart-looking man of about forty stumbled through the narrow passage which led into the court and turned into the doorway next to the cobbler's. A few minutes later there was a commotion within the house he had entered, followed by silence.

The noise in the adjoining dwelling had disturbed the old cobbler and roused him from sleep, but it had by no means alarmed or even surprised him. As it was unlikely he would sleep again, however, he decided to rise and get to work early. Half an hour later he was whistling softly to himself as he bent his head over the shoe he was re-soling, whilst the scent of the wallflower wafted through the window he had opened before taking his seat.

"I say, Mr. Blamey, did you hear the row?" asked a voice in a cautious whisper.

Jasper glanced up quickly at the speaker—a small, slight boy of about ten years of age, with a pale, pinched-looking countenance and a pair of big grey eyes—who stood outside the window, peeping in at him.

"Yes, I heard it right enough," he answered; "it woke me up, in fact."

"Father came home drunk," said the boy; "he's been out all night. Mother waited up for him till past twelve o'clock, then she went to bed. He hit her because she wasn't up and dressed ready to get his breakfast—she's getting it now."

"I hope Mrs. Burt is not hurt, Robin?" questioned the old man, in a tone of anxiety. There was an expression of deep sorrow on his kind face, and sympathy shone in his eyes—dark brown eyes they were, rather sunken, but wonderfully bright and observant.

"He struck her here," Robin answered, indicating his chest, "but she didn't make much fuss about it; you know she never does. The noise you heard was father kicking over the chairs. I thought I'd better clear out for the time or he might make for me. I say, Mr. Blamey, can't I come in and talk to you for a bit?"

"Yes, do, my boy."

In another minute Robin was seated on a three-legged stool by the cobbler's bench. He and the old man were good friends, and many were the conversations they held together.

"How lovely that wallflower is!" exclaimed the little boy, after a brief silence. "We can smell it in our house, too. Mother noticed it yesterday; she said it made her think of her old home, where she used to live when she was young, you know."

"Ay," assented Jasper, with an understanding nod; "your mother was country-bred, I take it; I never heard her say so, but I can tell."

"How can you tell?" asked Robin curiously.

"Because she loves country things, and knows so much about them—animals, and birds, and flowers. I can see she wasn't reared in a place like this."

"She was brought up on a farm. I didn't know that till a few days ago, when she got talking about the time when she was a little girl; then she told me. She hardly ever tells me anything about herself; I wish she would. Oh, Mr. Blamey, do you know what I feel when I see father hit mother?"

The question was put with a sudden change of manner, and the boy's pale cheeks flushed with fierce anger as he spoke.

"No," was the response, in a troubled tone.

"I feel that I could kill him!" Robin declared passionately. "Oh, you don't half know how bad he is—how cruel! He nearly starves mother and me, sometimes, and sells our clothes just to spend the money in drink. Mother can't keep anything for him. When she's well enough to earn a little money he gets it from her and spends that on himself, too. Oh, how I wish mother and I could run away from him and never come back again! I hate him, that I do!"

"Hush! Hush, Robin! It's wicked to hate anyone," Jasper said, looking greatly distressed—"your own father, too—"

"He isn't my own father!" broke in Robin, eagerly. "He's only my stepfather. Ah, no wonder you're surprised! I was when I found it out, and oh, wasn't I glad! He's kind enough when he's sober, but that's not often nowadays. He gets worse and worse. Mother says my own father died when I was a little chap, and then she married him—that brute! She says he promised to be good to her and me, and see how he's kept his word. Look here!" he cried, his voice growing shrill with indignation whilst he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket and indicated several bruises on his skinny arm. "That's his doing, and there are others on my shoulders and back. But he shall never hit me again now I know he isn't my father. I'll run away, that I will, and if mother won't come with me, then I'll go alone!"

"Don't talk like that, boy," advised the old man; "you'll never desert your mother, I know. No, no; you'll never let yourself be such a coward as that."

"Coward?" Robin's expression was one of doubt. "I'm not going to let him strike me again," he said determinedly; "no, never again."

"I'm sure I hope he won't attempt it, Robin. But don't threaten to run away, there's a good boy. Stick to your post of duty—that's here in Sun Court. If you ran away, you'd only bring additional trouble into your mother's life—a life that's hard enough as it is, God knows. You're as the apple of her eye, and I think if you left her, it would well-nigh break her heart."

The expression of Robin's face changed to one of extreme tenderness as the old cobbler spoke, for his mother was very dear to him. They had shared each other's joys and sorrows ever since he could remember, and, if the sorrows had greatly outweighed the joys, that fact had but served to draw them closer together.

"I wish I had left school," Robin remarked by-and-by, "then I should be able to go to work and earn money, and I'd see father didn't get it. I heard yesterday of a place where a boy was wanted to clean boots, and I tried to get the job—I thought I could do the work out of school hours—but—but—"

"Well?" Jasper interrogated gently as Robin paused with quivering lips and misty eyes.

"I went to the house, but the people wouldn't have anything to do with me because I was so ragged. I told them my father had pawned my clothes, and they said that I must belong to a bad lot; and when they heard my home was in Sun Court, they said that settled the matter and that I shouldn't suit them at all. Oh, Mr. Blamey, wasn't it hard lines?"

"Very hard lines," was the sympathetic response.

"And the worst of it is, if mother works hard at charing and gets the money to take my suit out of pawn, the same thing will happen again, perhaps. Father will sell anything he can lay his hands on when he wants money for drink. Everyone calls me Ragged Robin, and it makes me so wild. Ragged Robin, indeed! But of course I am ragged," he admitted, with a doleful glance at his clothes and a deep-drawn sigh.

"Well, cheer up, and take no notice of what folks call you," said the old man; "there are always those who will be thoughtless and unkind, but the best way is to endure in silence, my boy. And, after all, Ragged Robin is not an ugly name. It's the name of a flower, and a very pretty flower, too, deep pink in colour. Dear me, the country lanes must be gay with ragged-robins now; they come after the primroses, with the wild hyacinths and the cuckoo flowers, when the hawthorn trees are in bloom. You ask your mother if ragged-robins are not pretty flowers."

"I will," Robin answered, looking interested. "How you do love the country, Mr. Blamey! You ought to live there instead of here in Sun Court."

"No, I'd rather live in Plymouth; it has always been my home."

"Then I suppose you were born here—in Plymouth, I mean?"

"Yes. I was born and brought up in the workhouse, where my mother died when I was a baby. When I was old enough to be put out in the world, I was apprenticed to a cobbler in this very house. He was a gruff old fellow, but he treated me fairly and taught me his trade; so at his death I took on his business. Sun Court's more of a home to me than any other place would be. For all that, I enjoy a holiday in the country, and get it sometimes. But I think my Master wants me here," he concluded thoughtfully.

"Your master?" said Robin in a tone of inquiry.

"The Lord Jesus Christ. I'm well known here, and folks will listen to me sometimes when I speak to them of Him; I can tell what Jesus has been to me—just the best master and friend ever man had. He never failed anyone, and His promises are sure. 'Take my yoke upon you,' He said, 'and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.' Ah, Robin, how I wish Jesus was your master and friend! Perhaps He will be some day." And Jasper looked at the little boy with an expression of great tenderness in his dark eyes as he spoke.

Robin made no response. He liked and respected the old cobbler, but it always made him uneasy to hear him "talk religion," for he was not religious himself, though his mother had taught him to be truthful and honest. Accordingly, at this point in the conversation, he remarked that he thought perhaps he had better go home and have breakfast with his mother and stepfather, or the latter might take exception to his absence.

"Very well," Jasper replied, "you know best. I hope your father—your stepfather I suppose I should say—has cooled down by this time. Dear, dear, what a sad pity it is he should break out like this! And he's such a pleasant-spoken, good-tempered fellow when he's sober, too!"

"Oh, he's all right when he isn't in drink," Robin allowed. "By the way, Mr. Blamey, you haven't asked me my name—my surname I mean. It's Rodway. Don't you think Robin Rodway sounds much better than Robin Burt? I do. Mother says my own father was a real good man. I'm glad of that. Well, I must really be going, I suppose. Thank you for letting me come in and talk to you."

"I'm always glad of your company. If you don't find everything right at home you can come back again and have breakfast with me."

"Oh, thank you. Oh, there's mother calling me." Robin rose from the three-legged stool as he spoke and turned to the door. "It's sure to be all right or she wouldn't call me," he said. "Good morning, Mr. Blamey."

"Good morning, my boy," the old man returned. "So Richard Burt's only his stepfather," he muttered as his visitor disappeared; "and he's called Rodway. Surely I've heard the name 'Robin Rodway' before?"

CHAPTER II

ROBIN IN REQUEST

"MOTHER, mother, here's news—such good news!"

Robin's voice was full of joy and excitement as he hurried into the kitchen, where his mother was seated close to the window which looked into the court. It was the afternoon subsequent to the day on which Richard Burt had returned home the worse for drink and had served his wife so brutally.

"Good news?" echoed Mrs. Burt, a faint, incredulous smile flitting across her pale, careworn face. "Good news for 'us,' Robin?"

"Yes, indeed, mother. But you're ill!" he cried, in accents of concern, as he noticed her countenance bore signs of pain.

"I'm not well," she admitted; "you know, dear, I haven't felt very strong of late; I get a pain here." She pressed her hand to her side as she spoke. "No, it's not where he hit me," she continued hastily, as she observed a wrathful gleam in her little son's eyes; "he bruised me a bit, but I don't take much notice of a few bruises nowadays. Tell me your news, my dear."

"Oh, yes! You'll be so pleased, mother. Something wonderful has happened. It was like this. You know Sam Brown, and how he always bullies me just because he's older and stronger than I am? Well, I was coming home from school this afternoon when Sam overtook me and began cheeking me, calling me names, and laughing at my clothes—oh, mother you needn't look so sorry; really I didn't mind—that is, not much. A lady we met heard what Sam was saying, and she stopped and looked at him, and he cleared out as quick as he could. She was such a pretty lady, with beautiful brown eyes, and her voice sounded so kind—"

"Then she spoke to you, Robin?" Mrs. Burt interposed, her interest now thoroughly aroused.

"Yes. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, 'So they call you Ragged Robin, do they?'

"And I said, 'Yes, ma'am.'

"She looked at me very hard and smiled, and I got very red, because I was wondering what she thought of my shabby clothes.

"'I've a little boy of my own about your age,' she said. 'Where do you live?'

"I told her. She said she didn't know Sun Court, but she expected she would be able to find it, and she asked me my name and if I'd like to earn some money out of school hours. I told her I wanted to get a job, but it was very difficult to find one that I could suit, although I could shine boots and clean knives as well as any boy.

"'Well, I'll engage you for a model, and I'll pay you a shilling an hour,' she said. 'Can you come for a couple of hours twice a week? I want to put you into a picture, and you'll have to keep very still whilst I take your likeness—that's being a model, you know.'

"I was so surprised I didn't know what to say, but I felt I could have jumped for joy, and I think she saw I was very, very glad. She's coming to see you to-morrow; and, oh, mother, don't you call this good news?"

"Yes, dear, indeed it is," Mrs. Burt replied. Her face had brightened considerably whilst her little son had been talking. "Did the lady tell you her name?" she inquired.

"No. But she wrote down your name on a card, and asked me all sorts of questions about you, mother. I told her that you hadn't been well lately, and—and that father treated you badly—"

"Oh, Robin! You should not have mentioned that."

"Why not? It's true." The boy met his mother's reproachful gaze with one of defiance; then his expression softened, and he continued:

"I don't know what made me tell her, I'm sure, but she looked so kind I felt I could tell her anything. I thought if she wanted to put me into a picture she'd like me to wear better clothes, so I told her I was sorry I hadn't another suit; and then she said she meant to take my likeness just as I am. Fancy that! And fancy her offering me a shilling an hour to do nothing—only to keep still!"

"I expect you'll find it rather trying doing that," Mrs. Burt remarked with a smile; "you're usually such a restless boy."

"Anyway, I do hope I shall get the job, mother."

"I'm sure I hope so too, dear. Are you ready for tea? The kettle's on the oil-stove; it will boil directly."

"Where's father?" Robin inquired.

"Gone to Devonport to see if he can get work at the dockyard. He's ashamed of himself to-day. I haven't done much myself this afternoon; I've felt too weak and dispirited to stir about, and I haven't seen a creature to speak to but old Mr. Blamey, who came to the door to know how I was; he's always very attentive and kind."

"Yes," assented Robin; "folks say he's mazed, but I don't think he is."

"Mazed?" exclaimed Mrs. Burt. "To my mind he's a deal more sane than most people," she declared emphatically.

"They say so because he's so very religious," Robin explained.

"He's a good man, Robin, and I'm certain the love of God is in his heart, for he's always ready to put himself out of the way to do anyone a kind turn; and he's happy—so few people are that in this world!"

"He says one can't be happy without Jesus," remarked Robin, thoughtfully.

"He's right, my dear. I think there's no doubt that our old neighbour has found Jesus, and you know the Bible tells us that 'they that seek the Lord shall not want any good thing.' Mr. Blamey reminded me of that this afternoon; his words came in season, for I've been very troubled and unhappy of late, and I've kept my sorrows to myself instead of laying them before the Lord. I fear I've been a faithless woman. Ah, Robin, Sam Brown little guessed that he was doing you a good turn by jeering at you this afternoon. I expect it was really the unkind remarks he was making which drew the lady's attention to you."

"I hope she won't change her mind about me," said Robin uneasily; "perhaps she will find out that Sun Court isn't a nice place," he added, with a sigh.

"Don't meet trouble half way," advised his mother; "I've an idea that the lady will prove as good as her word."

Mrs. Burt was right in her surmise, for the following afternoon the expected visitor arrived. The old cobbler looked after her with approving eyes as she passed his window, for seldom was such a sweet face seen in Sun Court. She introduced herself to Robin's mother as Mrs. Groves, and explained that her home was at Newlyn, in Cornwall, and that she and her little son had been lodging in Plymouth for the past month, and would in all probability remain several weeks longer.

"My boy is an only child, like yours," she said, "and I think the two must be about the same age. How old is Robin?"

"Ten years and a few months, ma'am," Mrs. Burt replied.

"Gilbert—that is my little boy's name—is not quite ten. Unfortunately, he is far from being a strong child; his health has always been a cause of anxiety to me. He was very ill a short while since, and my reason for coming to Plymouth was that he might be treated by a celebrated doctor. My husband is an artist, and he has several pupils at Newlyn, so he could not possibly leave to be with us here. I am an artist, too, and the instant I saw your little son I longed to paint him. He is just the model I want. You will let him come to me, will you not?"

"Oh yes, ma'am, thank you," Mrs. Burt hastened to respond, with mingled thankfulness and gratitude in her voice, "and I do hope he'll keep still and give you every satisfaction. I'm sure he'll try to do so. He's really a very good, obedient boy, ma'am, and—and the greatest comfort I have," she concluded with a break in her voice.

"I can well understand that. He looks a dear little fellow, and he has a frank way of speaking, which I noticed at once."

Mrs. Groves did not mention Robin's stepfather, and he was not at home during her call, having been successful in obtaining work as a labourer at Devonport dockyard.

By the time Robin returned from school it had been settled that he was to present himself on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, after four o'clock, at the house on the Hoe where Mrs. Groves was lodging, and that he was to have his tea there and serve as a model for a couple of hours afterwards.

How gratified Robin felt as he accompanied Mrs. Groves to the entrance of the court, where a cab was waiting for her. A group of boys who had stood by, staring in amazement at him and his companion, accosted him as the cab drove off.

"I say, you're looking up in the world, young 'un," remarked a big lad called Dick Farrant, with a knowing wink.

"Who's the swell, Robin?" asked another.

"A lady who's going to put me into a picture," Robin replied, in a dignified manner; "I'm to be her model. She's been to see my mother," he added, with a touch of pardonable pride in his tone.

"Going to put you into a picture!" cried Dick Farrant, sceptically. "Get on! You don't expect us to believe such an unlikely wheeze as that, do you?"

"It's quite true," declared Robin, his earnest voice carrying conviction with it; "but you can believe it or not as you like. She's an artist, and her name is Mrs. Groves, and she's the prettiest and nicest lady I ever spoke to in my life."

The boys looked at Robin in amusement and laughed derisively. Some ladies had queer fancies, they no doubt thought. The idea of anyone wanting to paint a likeness of Robin, with his pale, thin face and solemn grey eyes!

"And she's so kind and generous," proceeded Robin; "she's going to pay me a shilling an hour just to stand still and do nothing. I shall earn four shillings a week."

"Humph!" ejaculated Dick Farrant, in evident surprise. "I suppose she'll dress you up?" he suggested curiously, his eyes travelling meaningly over the little boy's shabby clothes.

Robin shook his head; whereupon the others exchanged amazed glances, then burst into roars of laughter again. It struck them all as exceedingly funny that the lady, so handsome and well-dressed herself, should be desirous of painting their insignificant neighbour in his rags.

Robin flushed angrily, but he was in too good spirits to feel annoyance long, and there was no cloud on his face when, a few minutes later, he rejoined his mother. To his delight he found her waiting for him with a smiling face.

"What do you think of her, mother?" he inquired, of course referring to their late visitor.

"I think she's a kind, good lady, my dear," Mrs. Burt replied; "she talked to me so pleasantly, and spoke so nicely of you. Who is that?" she asked, as a knock was heard at the door.

"It's Mr. Blamey," said Robin, going to look. "Oh, Mr. Blamey, do come in and let mother tell you all about the lady!" he cried excitedly, drawing the old cobbler into the kitchen and giving him a chair. "It's all been arranged," he continued; "I'm to be her model and earn a shilling an hour. Isn't it splendid?"

"Yes, indeed," Jasper responded, "and I'm very, very glad to hear it."

He sat down and listened whilst Mrs. Burt gave him an account of Mrs. Groves's visit. When she had finished, he nodded his head and said:

"I congratulate you, Robin. It won't be so easy being a model as you think, but it will teach you patience, and that's a lesson good for everyone to learn. I saw the lady, and I liked her face—it was very pleasant and kind."

"Yes," agreed Mrs. Burt, "I noticed that, too. She said that she thought her little boy was a bit taller than mine, and if so some of his cast-off clothes might fit Robin, and she promised he should have them; but she's going to paint him in the suit he has on; she says she does not want him to look spick and span in the picture. I do wonder what the picture is to be!"

"I expect I shall soon find that out, mother," said Robin; "I feel curious about it, like you."

The old cobbler now rose to go. "I think, from what I have heard, that God has raised up a friend for you," he observed, addressing Mrs. Burt.

"I am very grateful to Him for having done so," she answered earnestly.

And Robin from the depths of his heart was grateful, too.

CHAPTER III

ROBIN'S FIRST EARNINGS

"MOTHER, don't you think Robin must have finished his tea by this time? Shall I go downstairs and see? Do let me. Miss Maggs says she doesn't mind my coming into the kitchen."

Gilbert Groves, a handsome, blue-eyed boy, clad in a sailor suit, turned from the window from which he had been watching the passers-by as he spoke, and looked at his mother with an eagerness of expression which brought a smile to her face. The scene was a pleasant upstairs sitting-room in a lodging-house on the Hoe, facing the sea, where Mrs. Groves and her little son were waiting for Robin, who was having his tea downstairs, Miss Maggs, the landlady of the establishment, having readily consented to his taking that meal in her kitchen.

"Wait a few minutes longer, my dear," Mrs. Groves replied. "I don't wish the poor child to be hurried, for I daresay he is hungry. How curious you are to see him, to be sure!"

"You'll let me talk to him, won't you, mother? I want to ask him about that boy who you said was teasing him and calling him Ragged Robin."

"Oh, yes, you may certainly talk to him. But don't ask him too many questions to begin with, for I expect he'll be a little shy at first. I think perhaps now you may see if he is ready."

Gilbert did not wait to hear the conclusion of the sentence, but darted out of the room and down the stairs at a great rate. This was Robin's first visit, and as yet Gilbert had not seen him; for, acting on his mother's instructions, Robin had gone around to the back of the premises, where he had been admitted into the house by a servant and given his tea at a table in the kitchen.

Robin had nearly appeased his hunger, and was beginning to feel somewhat nervous, he scarcely knew why, when the kitchen door opened to admit a tall, spare, elderly woman, who scrutinised him for several minutes in silence, and then addressed him:

"Humph!" she ejaculated. "So you're the little boy Mrs. Groves has engaged for a model, eh? I hope you're as honest as you look."

"I—I hope so, ma'am," stammered Robin, considerably taken aback and growing crimson as he spoke.

"Have you made a good tea?" she questioned.

"Yes, ma'am, thank you!"

"You needn't thank me, child; I sha'n't be the one to pay for it. It's Mrs. Groves you have to thank. I'm only Miss Maggs, who keeps this lodging-house—Eliza Maggs, one of the hardest-worked women in Plymouth. You come from Sun Court, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Humph! I've heard of Sun Court—nothing to the credit of the place. And you've a drunken stepfather, Mrs. Groves tells me. I pity your poor mother, that I do. Are you her only child?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I hope you'll prove a good son to her. Ah, here comes Master Gilbert to fetch you! He'll take you upstairs."

Robin rose from his chair as Gilbert appeared, and as he met the glance of the handsome, well-dressed boy, he felt painfully shy and more than ever conscious of his shabby clothes. How smart, he thought, was the navy-blue sailor suit which Gilbert wore!

"You're Robin, I know," said Gilbert, with a most friendly smile. "If you've quite finished your tea, my mother is ready for you. Are you sure you have had enough?"

"Oh yes, thank you, that I have," answered Robin.

"Come, then."

Gilbert led the way from the kitchen, and Robin followed him silently up a flight of steep stairs into the entrance-hall, then up a wider staircase into Mrs. Groves's sitting-room. The artist greeted her model with the greatest kindness, and immediately placed him in the position in which she wished him to stand. Then she turned to her easel and set to work, whilst Gilbert took up his post at the window and began to talk volubly, for he was a regular chatterbox. By-and-by he asked Robin a question; but Robin did not like to answer it, fearing that he might not be permitted to talk. He looked at Mrs. Groves dubiously, and she met his glance with an understanding smile.

"I don't want you to be silent, Robin," she told him; "only keep your present position, that is all."

"I asked you about that boy mother heard teasing you," said Gilbert. "What is he called, and does he often bully you?"

"He's called Sam Brown, and he leads me a dreadful life sometimes," Robin admitted. "He's older and bigger than I am, you see."

"Does he live in Sun Court?" inquired Mrs. Groves.

"No, ma'am, and I'm glad he doesn't."

"I noticed several boys about the entrance of the court on the afternoon I went to see your mother," remarked Mrs. Groves. "I suppose some of them are friends of yours?"

"No," Robin replied, shaking his head. "I know them all, but I don't have much to do with them because it makes mother unhappy if I do. They use bad language and bet—at least, some of them do. There's one boy called Dick Farrant who drinks too. He's sixteen years old, but he doesn't do regular work—just picks up a living about the streets somehow."

"How can he do that?" inquired Gilbert.

"He'll sell newspapers, or drive cattle, or take around commercial travellers' samples to the shops on a handcart. Oh, he's always got money in his pocket, and if he can't earn it, he gets it all the same."

"Not by fair means, I'm afraid," said Mrs. Groves, whilst Gilbert looked decidedly puzzled.

"No, ma'am," Robin agreed. "That's what mother says. The police keep a watch on him, people say, but he's never been caught doing anything wrong yet. He lives in the house opposite ours with his father and mother and a lot of sisters and brothers; he's the eldest of the family himself."

"Are his parents respectable people?" asked Mrs. Groves.

"I don't know, ma'am. Mrs. Farrant is a great gossip, and I don't think she likes mother because mother won't let her come in and chatter whenever she likes. We have only one friend in Sun Court; he lives next door to us."

"The old cobbler I saw at work inside the window with the wallflower on the sill?" questioned Mrs. Groves, her face, which had grown very serious during the last few minutes, lighting up with a smile.

"Yes, ma'am. Jasper Blamey he's called. He's lived most of his life in Sun Court, and he's a first-rate cobbler."

"Tell us about him, do," said Gilbert.

Robin complied very willingly, explaining all he knew about the good old man. Mother and son both listened with great interest, and Robin was much gratified at being able to entertain them. By-and-by he was allowed a short rest, during which he joined the other boy at the window, and their conversation turned to the sea and ships. Gilbert pointed out the various craft in sight on the water, and told him what they were.

"You know a lot about ships," remarked Robin, regarding his companion with growing admiration and respect.

"Oh, yes," Gilbert responded carelessly. "We live at Newlyn, you know, and that's by the sea. I'm very friendly with an old sailor called Rodway, and he taught me how to tell the different vessels. A jolly old chap is Rodway!"

"Rodway!" repeated Robin. "Why, that's my name! Robin Rodway I'm called."

"Oh, how strange! Old Rodway's called Robin, too! But perhaps you're related to him?"

"I don't suppose I am."

"Oh, you might be without knowing it. I shall ask him when I get home. Mother, do you hear that Robin is called Rodway?"

Mrs. Groves acquiesced. She looked thoughtful as she stood surveying the canvas on the easel; evidently her mind was in her work, and she was paying little attention to the boys' conversation.

"I should like to be a sailor when I grow up," Gilbert said confidentially, "but I don't know if I shall be strong enough. I love the sea."

"I want to be a sailor, too," Robin acknowledged, "but I'm afraid mother won't like to part with me. Often when father's going on badly I think I'll run away and go to sea; perhaps I may some day."

"No, no," said Mrs. Groves, "that wouldn't be right. You ought to stay with your mother and take care of her; besides, you will be too young to go to sea for a long while. Come, I'm ready for you again."

Robin now returned to his former position. He would have liked to see how Mrs. Groves was getting on, but she did not offer to let him. At the end of another hour she laid her brushes aside and told him she had finished with him for the time; then she took out her purse and gave him a two-shilling piece, and he left the room the proudest and happiest boy in Plymouth. Gilbert accompanied him down to the hall, and said good-bye to him there; after which Robin descended to the kitchen, where Miss Maggs was cooking at the stove.

"Well, how do you like being a model?" she inquired, turning her hot face towards him.

"Very well, thank you, ma'am," he replied.

Miss Maggs was a plain woman, with irregular features set in somewhat grim lines, but the expression of her face was kindly as she surveyed the little boy with her head on one side.

"You don't look too well fed," she remarked, "and yet you've no sisters or brothers to share with. Times are hard with you and your mother, I guess. It's always the way when the head of a family drinks. Here, take this. I've wrapped it up ready for you. It'll make you a good supper at any rate." She placed a brown-paper parcel in his hands as she spoke.

"Oh, thank you, ma'am!" he said, gratefully, realising that it was food she had given him.

"No need to thank me," she replied. "It's the remains of a leg of mutton which my lodgers won't want sent up again. The maid and I can't eat all the scraps."

Robin hastened home as quickly as he could, feeling unusually light-hearted. He found his stepfather had returned from his day's work, and Mrs. Burt was laying the supper-cloth as he entered the kitchen. The little boy immediately unwrapped the brown-paper parcel and exhibited its contents. There was a nice cut of mutton left on the bone, and Mrs. Burt declared she had the appetite to eat a bit, whilst her husband, whose face had been looking gloomy, brightened in anticipation of a good meal.

Richard Burt was by no means a disagreeable man when he had not been drinking. He was quite sober to-night, so that whilst, during supper, Robin recounted his experiences of the last few hours, he listened with every appearance of interest.

"It's easy work being an artist's model, I should think," he remarked by-and-by; "and good pay, too!"

"Yes, but it's tiring standing still," Robin reminded him. "I got so stiff and achey, and wasn't I glad to be told that I could move!"

The little boy was rather afraid that his stepfather might want a share of his earnings, and he was greatly relieved in mind to find he did not. After supper the master of the house strolled into the court to converse with some of his neighbours; and then, being alone with his mother, Robin seized the opportunity to press his two-shilling piece into her hand.

"No, no, dear!" she cried, expostulatingly. "I cannot take it from you. You earned it and you must keep it."

"Oh, mother, I would so much rather give it to you!" he declared; and she saw he meant it. "I want you to have it because it is the first money I have earned."

She clasped him in her arms and kissed him tenderly, and then she fetched her workbox from a shelf of the dresser and locked the money away in it, "for a nest-egg," as she said. This proof of her little son's love for her touched her very deeply.

"God bless you, my boy!" she said, as she put the workbox back in its place. "Who is that?" she asked, hearing footsteps close to the window.

"Father, I think," Robin replied. He went to the window and looked out as he spoke. "Yes, he's just outside," he reported. "Oh, mother, I wish he was always like he is to-night! If only he would give up drink!"

"That is my constant prayer, Robin; maybe it will be granted some day."

CHAPTER IV

ROBIN'S PLAN

IT was Sunday afternoon, and old Jasper Blamey sat at his bench in front of the open window. His tools had been put aside out of sight on the previous night, and before him was his open Bible, from which he was reading, repeating the words in a loud whisper as was his custom.

"'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.'"

The old man stopped suddenly, interrupted by a knock at the door, and, his finger marking the place where he was reading, said, "Come in."

The door opened immediately and admitted Robin; but ragged Robin no longer, for he was clad in a navy-blue sailor suit of clothes which was quite sound and appeared but little the worse for wear. A beaming smile was on the boy's face, and there was a colour in his thin cheeks.

"Why, how fine you look!" cried Jasper, his eyes travelling slowly over the slight serge-clad figure with mingled surprise and pleasure.

"Do I?" said Robin, much gratified. "I'm glad you think so, Mr. Blamey. Mother said the same, and I believe father thought it, too, though he didn't say. Mrs. Groves gave me this suit last night. It's one that Master Gilbert has grown out of, but it just fits me—I'm a little shorter than he is. I went to church this morning—the first time I've been for a month; I was so shabby before that I couldn't bear to be seen. I know you'll say God doesn't mind, but—" And Robin paused expressively, then looked down over himself, a moment later, with marked approval. "I'll take good care father doesn't get this suit from me," he went on; "I'll keep it under my bed at night. Feel the material, Mr. Blamey. Isn't it a good quality serge?"

"The best, I should say. Did your mother go to church with you, Robin?"

"No; she wasn't well enough. I don't know what's amiss with her; she seems very poorly, but she won't see a doctor."

"Your stepfather's been going on pretty well lately, hasn't he?"

"Pretty well. He's in regular work now, and I do hope he'll keep it. He isn't such a bad sort, you know, when he's sober, and sometimes I think he's ashamed of the way he's treated mother and me."

"He'd be a different man if he'd give up the drink altogether, Robin."

"I'm sure I wish he would; mother's asked God to make him; she told me so. But I don't believe myself that father will ever change."

"You can't tell that. God's love may reach him yet."

"Oh, he's not religious," began Robin; but the old man interrupted him:

"No, my boy, I know that well enough; but listen," and turning to his Bible, he read aloud slowly and solemnly:

"'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.'

"I think we're apt to forget that. Sit down on the stool there and let us have a talk together."

Robin took his accustomed seat and began to speak of the picture Mrs. Groves was painting. He had served as a model for her twice a week for nearly a month, and she had made good use of the time.

"I didn't see what she was doing till last week," the little boy said, "but then she showed me. Oh, Mr. Blamey, she's got me in her picture exactly, rags and all! There I am, standing against a hedge, reaching up to pick some flowers, and what do you think the flowers are? You'll never guess, so I'll tell you. Why, they're ragged-robins. I didn't know what they were called till she told me, then I remembered what you had said about them. Oh, how I wish you could see the picture!"

"So do I," said the old man, vastly interested; "has Mrs. Groves given it a name?"

"Oh, yes. It's called 'Ragged Robins.' Mother's to go and see it one day soon, although it isn't finished; but Mrs. Groves and Master Gilbert will be leaving Plymouth before very long, for Master Gilbert's nearly well. I'm glad of that, of course, but I'm so sorry they're going, not only on account of the money. You can't tell how kind they've been to me. They live at Newlyn—"

"Newlyn?" the cobbler broke in. "You mean Newlyn in Cornwall, I suppose?"

"Yes; it's by the sea—a very pretty place, Master Gilbert says."

"So it is. I spent a week there a few summers ago; you know I always go away for a short holiday every year. There are a lot of artists at Newlyn."

"Yes, Master Gilbert told me that. He's not going to be an artist, though; he's quite made up his mind to be a sailor."

"Has he now? I thought he was very delicate?"

"Yes, but he may grow up stronger, mayn't he? He knows such a lot about ships; he says he learnt it all from an old sailor who's called the same as I am—Robin Rodway."

"Why, of course," exclaimed Jasper, a sudden light breaking across his mind; "I remember him well. I couldn't think where I'd heard the name before. Dear me, my memory must be beginning to fail. I recollect Robin Rodway now; he was a fine, hale old man with a sunburnt complexion and thick iron-grey hair. Now, I wonder—you are related to him?" he questioned.

"That's what Master Gilbert wanted to know. I told him I didn't suppose I was; but afterwards I asked mother—"

"What did she say?" the cobbler asked eagerly, as Robin paused with a slightly troubled expression of countenance.

"That it was very possible, as my father was a Cornishman and his relations were all seafaring people; then she began to cry, so I did not like to say anything more about it. Master Gilbert says he shall tell his Robin Rodway all about me when he gets home, but perhaps he will forget."

Jasper made no response. He sat with his eyes fixed searchingly on his companion's face, trying to trace a resemblance between it and the weather-beaten visage of the old Cornish sailor, but he could see none.

"Do you know, I've earned more than ten shillings," Robin proceeded after a brief pause; "Mother has the money put away for me. I gave her my first two shillings; but she says the rest must be my own, and she's taking care of it for me. Mr. Blamey, can you keep a secret?"

"I reckon I can, Robin."

"Then I'll tell you one. I'm saving my money for a holiday—a holiday for mother and me. Well go on the moor, and, oh, what a splendid time we'll have! If all's well, I shall earn a few shillings more, so we shall have plenty of money. I heard mother say the other day that she believed a breath of her native air would do her more good than all the medicine in the world; that's why I think it would be better to go on the moor than anywhere else. The farm where she lived when she was a little girl was close on Dartmoor. I haven't told her what I've planned yet, though I've been thinking of it some time."

"A long day on Dartmoor would be a rare treat for her, and no mistake," was the hearty response.

"Yes," nodded Robin; "I do hope she'll agree to go, and that she won't think it extravagant to spend the money that way."

"I don't fancy you'll want to spend all your money, for you'll be able to take excursion tickets, and they are very cheap. I'll find out all about them for you if you like."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Blamey! I should be so glad if you would!" Robin cried, his face one broad beam of delight as he allowed his mind to dwell on the prospect of a holiday amidst the Dartmoor tors, which he had only seen in the distance.

That night the little boy confided his plan to his mother. At first she was disinclined to fall in with it, having scruples, as he had feared she would have, about spending his earnings in pleasure; but when she read the keen disappointment in his face she admitted that it would indeed be a great treat to spend a long day far away from Sun Court.

"It's years and years since I was on Dartmoor," she said wistfully. "I should like to go back there—to the little village where I used to live. My uncle who brought me up—I was left an orphan in infancy—was a small farmer; he's dead now, and I've lost touch with his family. He was always kind to me; but my aunt and cousins were not, so when I was old enough to earn my own living, I came to Plymouth and took a situation as a servant, and then I met your father, and a year or so later we were married. He was employed as a rivetter at the dockyard, and earned good wages, and we had a dear little home. I was so proud of it; and then you were born, and I thought my cup of happiness was full."

"And soon after that my father died, didn't he?" said Robin, who had been listening with the closest attention.

"Yes. He died when you were only six months old. I was nearly broken-hearted, Robin; but I was obliged to put my shoulder to the wheel, as the saying is, and earn money for our support, so I paid a neighbour who took in children to nurse to look after you by day, and went out as a charwoman. That lasted about two years; then I married again; I meant to do the best I could for myself and you, but—" She paused for a minute, an expression of intense sadness on her worn countenance. "It's no good going back over the past," she proceeded; "let us speak of the future. About your plan, Robin, now I come to think it over I don't see why we shouldn't carry it out."

"Oh, mother, I'm so glad to hear you say that. Then it's settled, isn't it?"

"Yes; that is, we'll have our holiday providing all goes well. As Richard has permanent work and is keeping steadier I see no reason why we should not give ourselves this treat. We don't owe money to anyone, for, however short things have been with us, I've always managed to keep free from debt, so I think we're justified in spending a little on ourselves. Oh, I do believe a day on the moor would do me a lot of good. Oh, Robin, my dear boy, how much we have to be thankful to God for! I hope you remember that when you kneel down to pray, and do thank Him. See the friends He's raised up for us! There's Mrs. Groves, and that kind Miss Maggs, who seems to take an interest in us, judging by the gifts she sends us every now and again. When I go to see Mrs. Groves's picture I must thank Miss Maggs—"

"She won't let you, mother," Robin broke in; "she'll say, 'No need to thank me,' or something of that sort. She told me one day that she disliked being thanked, and I believe she meant it. She's a funny old body with a queer, sharp way of speaking. I didn't understand her a bit at first, but I'm beginning to understand her now. I like her ever so much, and so does Master Gilbert. He goes downstairs in the kitchen and talks to her when she isn't busy—that's after she's cooked her lodgers' dinners—she always does that herself. I'm sure you'll get on with her, mother."

"I hope so, my dear. I feel very grateful to her. I'm sure she's a good soul."

Robin nodded. "Mrs. Groves says she's a real Christian," he said gravely; "that means she loves Jesus, doesn't it? I think people who love Jesus are always kind."

CHAPTER V

AN AWFUL BLOW

"ROBIN, I want to speak to you, my dear."

Robin, who had been holding a conversation with old Jasper Blamey through the latter's open window, turned at the sound of his mother's voice addressing him from the doorway of their home, and answered:

"I'll be in presently, mother." Then he met his mother's eyes, and became aware of the fact that she had been weeping. "I'll come at once," he added quickly, and immediately followed Mrs. Burt into the house.

"Is anything wrong?" he inquired with anxiety. "You're looking very white, and you've been crying. Are you feeling ill, mother?"

"No, dear," she answered, "and there's nothing wrong; quite the contrary. I admit I've been shedding tears, very foolishly, I know, but I've been so depressed to-day."

"Oh, you'll be in better spirits after we've had our holiday, mother," he broke in.

She sank into a chair with a weary sigh, and turned her face away from him for a minute. When she looked at him again, she had forced a smile to her lips.

"I want to tell you about a letter I've received," she said—"a letter from Newlyn."

"Oh, Mrs. Groves has written!" cried the little boy excitedly. "Fancy her writing so soon! You'll answer her letter won't you, mother? She said she would want to know how we were getting on."

It was nearly midsummer now, and Mrs. Groves and her little son had left Plymouth the week previously. Consequently Robin jumped to the conclusion that the letter his mother referred to, which she held in her hand, must be from the lady who had been so kind to him. But he was soon undeceived.

"No, I've not heard from Mrs. Groves," his mother replied, "but from—from your grandfather." Her lips trembled as she spoke and her eyes filled with tears.

"My grandfather?" echoed Robin, in amazement. "Why, I never knew—oh, mother, is my grandfather the Robin Rodway Master Gilbert talked so much about?"

"Yes, my dear, you have guessed aright. Perhaps I've been wrong in never having spoken to you about him before; but since my marriage with your stepfather, I've neither seen nor heard anything of your father's relations; that has been my fault, not theirs. When your father died, your grandfather and grandmother at Newlyn offered to take charge of you, but I couldn't give you up. I daresay that was selfish of me—"

"No, no!" broke in Robin. "You mustn't say that."

His mother's face brightened, and she regarded him almost gratefully. "No, I couldn't give you up," she reiterated, "and I hardly think your grandmother and grandfather expected it of me; but when I married secondly they repeated their offer, and I refused it again. You see, Robin, I did not guess how things would turn out."

"Of course not, mother," he responded, as she paused and looked at him deprecatingly.

"Your grandmother died soon after that. It was she who used to write to me, for your grandfather isn't much of a scholar," she explained. "Well, when I found out what your stepfather was—different from what I had thought him," she continued, speaking hesitatingly, "I was so ashamed that I let my first husband's people drop. Things went from bad to worse; sometimes Richard was in work, but oftener he was out, and then we came here to live because the rent was cheap, and of late I've kept myself to myself, and got out of touch with everyone I was friendly with during your father's lifetime. Your grandfather didn't know what had become of you and me until he heard of us from Mrs. Groves and her little son."

"What does my grandfather say in his letter?" Robin asked eagerly, the bright light of intense excitement in his grey eyes.

"The letter has evidently been written by a friend for your grandfather. It is very kindly worded. Your grandfather wishes to have you in his charge, Robin, in which case, he promises to bring you to a trade when your schooling is finished, and thus give you a fair start in life. His idea is that it would be best for you to make your home with him at Newlyn for the present."

"Then I should see Master Gilbert again, shouldn't I? And my grandfather would teach me all about ships and take me out fishing? He has a boat of his own; Master Gilbert told me so. Oh, mother, how delightful it would be And you—and you—" He broke off, regarding her dubiously.

"And I should remain here in Sun Court," she said; "but I shouldn't mind that. At least, I don't think I should, if you were happy and well cared for. I've seen lately that this is not the place for you. I daresay it would have been better if I'd given you up years ago; but I did not know then how matters would be. I hoped that Richard would be almost like your own father to you, and that was why I didn't tell you he was only your stepfather; he promised so fair. You would like to go to Newlyn to live, then, Robin?"

"Yes, mother, if you could go too," he answered.

"That is impossible, my dear," she told him—"quite impossible."

"I suppose it is," he admitted.

"It's a good thing your earnings have not been touched, Robin; they will come in useful now."

"But we must have our day on the moor together, mother. I was talking about it to Mr. Blamey when you called me; he's found out all we want to know about the trains."

"He has been most kind, as usual; but we must give up the idea of our moorland trip. If you go to Newlyn your money will be required to purchase several things you will want."

Mrs. Burt spoke with composure, though her heart was very sore at the prospect of parting from her boy; but she was unselfish enough to see what was best for him. For a long while after she had ceased speaking, he kept a contemplative silence, but at last he asked:

"What will you do if father comes home drunk, and I'm not here to stand by you? He'd be worse to you if I wasn't here; you've often said that yourself. See how quiet he became last Saturday night when I said I'd fetch the police! He knew I meant it, and that I wasn't afraid of him as I used to be. I've never let him treat me as he liked since you told me I wasn't his son. I'm growing up fast now, and I won't let him hit you any more." The boy clenched his fists and looked quite fierce as he spoke. "No, I'm not going to Newlyn," he proceeded. "I'm not going to leave you. Mr. Blamey says it's my duty to stay with you, and here I shall stop."

"Oh, Robin, my darling boy!" cried Mrs. Burt, clasping him in her arms. "I love to hear you say that, but I want you to go—yes, I wish it. That day I went to look at your picture, I told Mrs. Groves who you were, and begged her to speak to your grandfather about you, and this is the result. I want to send you away from Sun Court, so that you may have a better chance of making a good man."

"But you won't send me away if I don't wish it? And why shouldn't I make a good man here? I'll try to be good, and you know I don't tell lies and swear like the other boys in the court. Look at Mr. Blamey! He's lived most of his life in Sun Court, and you're always praising him and saying what a true Christian he is. He says if we love Jesus we're as well and safe in one place as in another; only Jesus must be in our hearts. I think he knows, don't you? He has been talking to me a great deal about Jesus lately. I used not to like listening, but I do now, and I've made up my mind I'm going to be His servant and serve Him with my whole heart. Mother, I see you're glad!"

"Very, very glad, my darling!"

"You won't send me away from you, will you?" he said, pleadingly. "I should love it at Newlyn if you were there, but I don't think I could be happy without you, mother, and I'm certain I should never be easy in my mind. Please, please don't make me go!"

"I'll think about it," Mrs. Burt replied. "I don't know what's right. I need not answer your grandfather's letter for a day or so, I daresay; so we'll weigh the matter well and discuss it again. I must ask God's guidance, too."

They were silent for a long while after that. How could he leave his mother? the little boy asked himself. His stepfather, after several weeks of sobriety, had returned home intoxicated on the previous Saturday night, and but for Robin's interference would have ill-treated his long-suffering wife. The boy had stood between the couple, and, surprised at his stepson's attitude, Richard Burt had been overcome with a sudden sense of shame and had gone quickly to bed. The next day he had been unusually subdued in his manner, and had shown regret, which had apparently been sincere, for his behaviour the night before.

Mrs. Burt watched her little son's thoughtful face with mingled feelings in her heart. She knew his grandfather to be a good, upright man, one who would command Robin's respect and love, and be very kind to him without spoiling him by indulgence, and she realised that it would be a healthier life for him in every respect at Newlyn than in Plymouth. The spiritual atmosphere in the old sailor's Cornish home was so much purer than that of Sun Court. But if Robin left her, how she would miss him! The one joy of her life would be gone. To hide the strong emotion which this reflection caused her she rose from her chair, and, remarking to Robin that she would put his grandfather's letter in safety, she moved to the dresser and took her keys from her pocket to unlock her workbox. A minute later she uttered a shrill cry of mingled horror and amazement, and stood wringing her hands in dire distress.

"What is it, mother?" questioned Robin, in alarm, hastening to her side.

"Oh, Robin, Robin!" she cried. "Look, look!"

She pointed as she spoke to her workbox, which stood in its accustomed position in one corner of a shelf on the dresser. She had put the key into the lock, but had been unable to turn it, and the briefest of examinations had disclosed the fact that the lock had been forced and Robin's earnings taken.

"What is it, mother?" Robin repeated, failing to grasp the situation.

"Oh, my poor, poor boy!" she gasped. "Oh, don't you see? Don't you understand? Your money's all gone—stolen! Someone has broken open the box! Some thief—"

She paused, her face ghastly in its pallor, her eyes full of a great horror. The only person who had known what the box contained, as far as she was aware, had been her husband. Could he, under the influence of drink, have fallen so low as to rob his stepchild? He was incapable of committing such an act in his sober senses, she was certain; but she could not answer for his conduct if he was intoxicated. The same suspicion flashed through the minds of mother and son simultaneously, and, their eyes meeting, each recognised that the other had formed the like conclusion—that Richard Burt had been the thief.

"He did it! Yes, he did it!" burst forth the boy, his voice hoarse with passion, his eyes gleaming, his face positively distorted in his ungovernable rage. "I'll never forgive him—never! I'll never see him or speak to him again! Oh, how I hate him—the wicked, cruel man!" And, without heeding his mother's pleading eyes or her wailing cry of sorrow, he made a rush for the door, and thus abruptly quitted the house.

Left by herself, poor Mrs. Burt sank into a chair, in a state of misery too great for tears. She felt as though her heart must break. This was indeed an awful blow.

CHAPTER VI

ROBIN'S HEART SOFTENS

IT was about seven o'clock in the evening when Robin, his heart full of bitterness and rage, turned his back on Sun Court. His mind was in a whirl of excitement, and his pale little face was set and stern as, heedless of the direction he was taking, he passed through the crowded Plymouth streets, and at length found himself on the Hoe, overlooking the sea, a great sheet of silvery blue with scarcely a ripple on its surface.

The poor child wandered about aimlessly for a while; then, weary in body and mind, he sat down on an empty seat, every pulse and nerve in his body throbbing painfully. He was not as yet sufficiently composed to think with anything like calmness; but on one point he had come to a determination, and that was that he would never sleep another night beneath his stepfather's roof. No, he would go to his grandfather. He was sure it would not take him many days to walk to Newlyn, and he would beg his bread by the way and sleep out of doors in sheltered nooks in the woods or under hedges, and God would take care of him.

Never, surely, had anyone been treated so cruelly before! His stepfather had known the purpose for which he had saved his money, and had even expressed approval of the holiday plan. Then why had he served him thus? Oh, he could never forgive him! He felt he should hate him as long as he lived. His brain seemed a fire as he dwelt on this great trouble which had befallen him, and he rested his aching head in his hands, whilst tears gushed from his eyes and his slender form was shaken with sobs. He had taken so much pleasure in saving his money, and the thought of how he would spend it had occupied his mind for weeks. He had intended that his mother should have such a happy time; and now a treacherous hand had robbed him, and he was enduring the heaviest disappointment he had ever been called upon to face during his ten years of life.

His heart ached sorely as he thought of his mother and remembered the look of anguish he had seen on her face when she had made the discovery that his earnings were gone. Poor mother! She had had more than enough to bear.

"Well, and pray what may you be doing here?"

Robin uncovered his face and raised his head with a start at the sound of a familiar voice addressing him, and encountered the concerned gaze of Miss Maggs. He made no answer, so she proceeded:

"It's about time you went home, I should say. Do you know that it's past eight o'clock?"

"Yes," admitted Robin dejectedly. "I suppose it must be; but I'm never going back to Sun Court any more."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Miss Maggs. She seated herself by the little boy's side, and gave him a long, steady look. "Humph!" she grunted by-and-by. "You're in trouble, I see."

"Yes," he assented, with a sob he could not restrain.

"And you've made up your mind to run away from the trouble, I suppose—to turn your back on it? I'm surprised—yes, very surprised. I thought there was real grit in you, though you're only a peaky little chap to look at; I thought—but it seems that I was mistaken—that you were made of staunch stuff."

"Oh, let me tell you what's happened, and then I'm sure you won't blame me for deciding not to go home again," broke in Robin, who saw that Miss Maggs looked sympathetic, though her words sounded otherwise; and forthwith he poured into her ears the story of the great wrong which had been done him.

"I never thought he was wicked enough to steal the money, or I'd have hidden it," he said in conclusion, after he had given vent to his wrath against his stepfather in a flow of bitter words; "but no one else could have taken it."

"Are you certain of that?" Miss Maggs asked thoughtfully.

"Oh, yes! No one else knew where the money was kept, not even Mr. Blamey."

"Humph! I expect your stepfather was the worse for drink when he took it—'if' he took it, I should say. The case is not proved against him to my mind; but, of course, you may be right. I admit it looks as though he's the culprit. And your mother suspects him, too?"

"Oh, yes! She didn't say so, but I read what she was thinking in her face."

"Oh, what a curse drink is!" exclaimed Miss Maggs, knitting her brows into a heavy frown. "Tell me, Robin, if you're not going back to Sun Court; what do you intend to do? You've made some plan, I suppose?"

Robin explained about his grandfather's letter, and that he meant to go to Newlyn, where he was confident that he would receive a hearty welcome upon his arrival.

"I couldn't have left mother but for this," he said, his voice tremulous, his eyes once more dim with tears; "but I must go now—yes, I must! Do you think I could live with my stepfather after his serving me this cruel trick? I don't want ever to see him again. I can't forgive him, and I hate him, though I suppose it is wicked of me. 'He' has made me wicked then! He has been such a brute!"

"A brute? Yes. The drink's made him that; it's sure to slay the humanity in everyone it masters. Can't you find it in your heart to be a little sorry for him? Sorry because he's been so weak and led so far astray? I'll be bound to say that, if he stole your money, he repents having done so by this time, poor man!"

"Poor man!" echoed Robin. "How can you pity him, Miss Maggs?"

"Because he's wandered away from Christ's fold. Don't you think the Good Shepherd grieves for him? I am sure He does. 'The Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy.' Ay, indeed he is! And surely all true Christians must have some reflection of His love for even the worst of sinners in their hearts. There's one verse in particular in the Bible I like to remember—this:

"'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.'

"There's hope and comfort in that."

"Why, how strange! Mr. Blamey reminded me of that verse one day when he and I were talking of father."

"Who is Mr. Blamey?" inquired Miss Maggs.

"An old cobbler who lives next door to us, ma'am. He's a very kind neighbour, and has done us many a good turn before now. Folks—that is, some folks who don't understand him—call him mazed because he talks to them about Jesus; he knows they do, but he goes on talking to them all the same."

Miss Maggs nodded her head comprehendingly. "Does he talk to your stepfather?" she inquired.

"Sometimes, but not often. Father keeps out of his way as much as he can. He knows Mr. Blamey hears him when he comes home the worse for drink and kicks up a row, and I believe he feels ashamed to face him. Oh, Miss Maggs, you don't realise what mother and I have had to put up with from father! Why, not two months ago he pawned my one sound suit of clothes; so, you see, if he never robbed me of money before, he has robbed me of other things, and I can't forgive him, I really can't!"

"I am sorry to hear you say that, Robin," Miss Maggs responded. "I think, at any rate, that you should try to forgive him."

"It's no good trying; I know I can't." Robin's tone was firm.

"I don't, as a rule, go out at this time of day," remarked Miss Maggs after a brief silence, during which she had studied her companion's woebegone countenance with much concern; "but after I'd cooked my lodgers' dinner to-night the sweet summer air enticed me out. How beautifully blue and calm the sea is! You haven't noticed it, perhaps? Well, look at it now. Isn't it a peaceful scene? I'm so glad we've met and had this talk, Robin; it's always better to speak of a trouble than to keep it to oneself. And now I want you to do something to please me; will you?"

"If I can," Robin replied, thinking of the many kindnesses he had received from her, and quite eager to be able to do something to please her in return.

"You can. I want you to promise me to go home. Don't put an additional weight of trouble upon your poor mother. You can go to your grandfather in due course, but I beg you to return to Sun Court to-night. Will you promise me to do so?"

"Yes," the little boy said, very reluctantly, after a few minutes' hesitation. "I will promise that. I don't want to make mother unhappier than she is already," he added, with a sob.

"I am sure you don't. You mustn't imagine that I don't fully sympathise with you, my boy, or that I can't enter into your feelings. I know what it is to be robbed myself. I shouldn't be working hard for my daily bread now if I'd been fairly treated in the past. There was someone very nearly related to me—my own brother, in fact—who spent all my money."

"Was it a great deal?" Robin ventured to inquire, as Miss Maggs stopped abruptly, with a sigh, and looked dreamily out over the sea.

"Yes," she assented, "many hundreds of pounds."

"Many hundreds of pounds!" he echoed. "Oh, Miss Maggs, how wicked of your brother!" Then, after a brief reflection, he inquired, rather timidly. "And have you forgiven him?"

"Yes," she answered. "Else, Robin, how could I ever say the Lord's Prayer and ask God to forgive me?"

The little boy's head drooped and his colour rose. "I never thought of that," he murmured.

"Well, think of it now," advised Miss Maggs. She rose as she spoke, and Robin followed her example. "I must be going," she said, "and so must you. I expect it's nearly your supper-time."

For a short distance their way was the same, and when they parted, it was with the understanding that Robin was to go straight home. He was beginning to wonder what he would say and how he would act on meeting his stepfather. He knew that it was bound to be a painful meeting.

The evening was drawing to a close now, and it was quite dusk before Robin reached Sun Court. At the entrance of the court he was accosted by Dick Farrant, who, with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his lips, looked a picture of indolence.

"Hulloa, youngster, what's up?" cried Dick, not unkindly. "You've been blubbing!" He pulled his right hand out of his pocket as he spoke and grasped Robin by the shoulder. "What's the trouble?" he asked.

"Nothing I can tell you," Robin answered. "Let me go!"

"Has the old man been walloping you?" By 'the old man' Dick meant Richard Burt.

Robin shook his head.

"No, it's not that; it's something worse than that."

"Well, out with it! You may as well. I sha'n't let you go till you do."

Robin gave a wriggle to try and free himself from the other's grasp, but in vain. Dick held him firmly, and only laughed at his attempt to escape.

"Has that bully Sam Brown been hitting you about?" he questioned. "If so, he'd better not show himself near Sun Court, or it will be the worse for him. I know his tricks!"

"Oh, you're quite wrong!" broke in Robin. "I haven't seen Sam Brown to-day."

"Then what's amiss?"

"I—I've been robbed."

"Robbed!" Dick's grasp on the other's arm suddenly slackened. "Robbed!" he repeated.

"Yes—of the money I earned by being a model for that lady who came here to see my mother. Don't you remember? You saw her. Well, someone's stolen all the money she paid me; it was more than ten shillings. And now I sha'n't be able to take mother for the holiday I had planned to give her for a treat, and—oh, isn't it hard?"

Dick withdrew his hand from Robin's arm and stared at him in silence.

"I had given mother the money to keep," the little boy proceeded, "and she had put it away in her workbox on the dresser, where we thought it would be safe, and this evening we found the lock of the box had been forced, and—and all the money's gone!"

He turned aside and brushed his sleeve across his eyes to wipe away his tears. No word of sympathy did Dick Farrant speak; instead, he slipped quietly past his companion, who, a minute later, looked round to find himself alone.

CHAPTER VII

A POLICEMAN IN SUN COURT

ROBIN was naturally greatly astonished at Dick Farrant's erratic conduct, but it was a relief to find that the lad had gone; for, though he had told him of the robbery, he had had no intention of saying whom he believed to be the thief, and, very probably, he reflected, Dick would have asked him if he had any idea who had taken the money. Robin did not altogether dislike Dick, though he was fully alive to his bad qualities, which were indeed apparent to everyone. But Dick generally had a friendly greeting for his little neighbour on meeting him, and on more than one occasion he had interfered when Sam Brown had been bullying him. There was nothing cruel about Dick Farrant; but the good that existed in his character was overshadowed by so much that was evil that it very seldom shone forth.

"Well, I suppose I'd better go home," thought Robin; "I expect father's returned by this time. I wonder what mother's said to him—if she's told him we've found out what he's' done?"

He ran down the dark passage and into the court. No one was about; but as he passed by the cobbler's, he glanced into the downstair window, the blind of which was up, and saw Jasper reading his Bible by the light of a candle. It was later than he had imagined, he concluded, for the old man had evidently had his supper and was reading his evening portion of the Holy Scriptures before going to bed.

Robin had reached his own door now. He had his hand on the handle when the door was opened from within, and he found himself standing face to face with his stepfather, who looked decidedly relieved at the sight of him.

"Your mother's been in a fine state of mind about you," said the man, as he drew aside and Robin entered the kitchen. "Where have you been?" he asked, closing the door.

Robin made no answer.

His mother, who had been seated in a chair by the table, had risen at the sound of her husband's voice addressing him, and greeted him with a look which told how thankful she was that he had returned. Her eyes were red with weeping, and her lips quivered nervously. How could he have dreamed of leaving her? the little boy asked himself.

"Where have you been?" Richard Burt repeated. "You have given your mother quite a scare. She thought you had run away—"

"I did mean to run away," Robin broke in; "I meant never to come home again; but, but-oh, father, how could you have done it?" he cried, a wail of sorrowful reproach in his voice.

"I didn't do it, Robin," the man said solemnly. "No, I declare I did not," he continued, as the little boy regarded him with incredulous eyes. "I know no more who has stolen your money than your mother or yourself. I really do not. Surely you'll take my word?"

"Oh, Robin," cried Mrs. Burt, "I am certain he is speaking the truth. If you had seen how surprised and shocked he was when I showed him my workbox you wouldn't doubt him."

"I'm a bad lot," admitted Richard Burt, in accents which were unaccountably tremulous, seeing that he was quite sober, "and when I've had a drop of drink I often do things I wouldn't dream of doing at other times, but I never touched your money, Robin; if I had, I would say so."

"Then—then who took it?" gasped Robin. It was beginning to dawn on him that it was possible he had done his stepfather an injustice.

"That I can't say," replied Richard Burt, "and probably we shall never find out, for it appears nothing has been taken but money, and that can't be traced. However, I'll go to the police-station presently and give notice of the theft; there's nothing else to be done as far as I can see. Someone must have found out where your savings were kept, Robin; I daresay you've told folks, haven't you?"

"No, I haven't," declared Robin, "I've never told anyone. Mr. Blamey knew mother was keeping my money for me, but I did not tell even him where she had put it."

Robin was feeling utterly bewildered and found it difficult to believe that he had misjudged his stepfather, and yet Richard Burt had not the appearance of a guilty man. The little boy glanced dubiously at his mother, and met her anxious gaze. It was evident that she now believed in her husband's innocence in spite of the fact that she, too, had been quick to suspect him of the theft.

"You and your mother both seem to have formed a pretty bad opinion of me," observed Richard Burt, after a few minutes' silence; "well, that's my own fault, I suppose. When I married your mother, Robin, I meant to be a good father to you, but I haven't been. I realise that. It would have been better for you if your mother and I had never met. It's no use saying I'm sorry I haven't been steadier, for I don't suppose you'd believe me—though it's so. I've never ill-treated either of you in my sober senses, have I? It's always been the drink that's been to blame."

"Why don't you give up the drink?" said Robin eagerly, surprised beyond measure at the earnestness of his stepfather's tone.

"It's too late in the day," was the gloomy response; "what's done can't be undone."

"Are you thinking of—of the money?" asked the little boy hesitatingly.

"Ah, you still believe I took it!" exclaimed the man.

"Robin, I am positive he did not," said Mrs. Burt; "like you, I thought at first that he had; but he has quite convinced me that he knows nothing whatever about it. Do believe him, my dear!"

"It's too much to expect of him," said her husband; "he thinks me capable of anything, and he hates me—little wonder if he does," he added with a sigh. Then, as Robin did not contradict him, he addressed himself to him again and said, "Your mother's been telling me of the letter she's received from your grandfather, and the offer he's made to take you to live with him. Well, you'd better go to Newlyn—it will be best for you. One thing I'll promise which 'll make you more satisfied to leave your mother, and that is that I'll never lift my hand against her again. God help me to keep my word," he supplemented, in a lower tone.

"Oh, do you mean that?" cried Robin. "Oh, father, if you ask God, He 'will' help you to keep your word! Oh, father, I don't hate you! I thought I did, but I don't." And, overcome with the intensity of his feelings, the little boy burst into tears. "I don't want to go to Newlyn now," he sobbed; "I can't leave mother, and—and when you're like this, I don't want to leave you. If you'd only give up the nasty drink we might be so happy together—we three."

"What, when you think that I've robbed you?" said Richard Burt somewhat bitterly.

"I don't think it—now," Robin answered. "Oh, how glad I am I came home to-night! What a good thing it was I met Miss Maggs."

"Miss Maggs?" echoed Mrs. Burt. "Where did you see her, my dear?"

"On the Hoe, mother. We sat on a seat for a long while, and talked."

"Did you tell her about the loss of your money?" inquired Mrs. Burt.

"Yes;" Robin coloured and glanced deprecatingly at his stepfather. "But she couldn't believe father had taken it," he continued eagerly, glad to remember that, "and she made me promise to go home. To-morrow I'll call at her house and—and explain everything," he concluded in some confusion.

Richard Burt made no remark, but a minute later he took up his hat and went out. Mother and son were silent until the sound of his footsteps had died away, then the former said:

"He's gone to the police-station, I expect. He's dreadfully upset about this business. He seemed quite stunned when I showed him my workbox.

"'Oh, poor little chap!' he exclaimed, meaning you, of course. He was thinking of your disappointment about the holiday.

"Oh, Robin, we were wrong to believe the worst of him so quickly! We ought not to have jumped to the conclusion that he had taken the money. If only you had not rushed off in that impetuous way and we had talked the matter over, how much wiser it would have been!"

"Yes," admitted Robin. "Did father mean what he said about my going to Newlyn to live with my grandfather?" he inquired a minute later.

"I hardly know; I think perhaps he did. He didn't say much when I told him about your grandfather's letter, only that we should miss you if you went. You had better have your supper now and go to bed. You're looking very, very tired."

"I don't want any supper," Robin replied.

He was too excited to be hungry, but his mother cut him a slice of bread and a small piece of cheese, which, to please her, he ate. He had just finished doing so when his stepfather returned, accompanied by a policeman, who examined Mrs. Burt's workbox very carefully, asked a lot of questions, made several notes in his notebook, and then left, remarking that he feared there was no chance of discovering the thief.

The news that a policeman had been seen to enter the Burts' house had caused a great sensation amongst those inhabitants of Sun Court who happened to be at home, and the officer of the law was observed with mingled curiosity and dislike as he took his departure by a group of men, women and children, who had assembled near the entrance of the court, whilst from a top window of the Farrants' house Dick Farrant watched him, with bated breath and a sickening feeling of dread. Dick had reasons of his own for the awe with which he always regarded a member of the police force.

As soon as the policeman had gone, Mrs. Burt told Robin to go to bed, and, having said good-night to her and his stepfather, he obeyed. He lay awake for a long while, listening to the murmur of voices in the kitchen below, and grew quite feverish wondering what was being said, for he guessed that his grandfather's offer was under discussion. He scarcely knew what he wished himself, though a short while before he had been so eager to turn his back on Sun Court for ever. He had experienced a strong revulsion of feeling during the past hour, and had spoken the truth when he had said that he did not think his stepfather had robbed him, for there had been something convincing in the man's manner and earnest words.

"I thought I hated him," he mused, quite surprised at the discovery he had made that there was a tender spot in his heart for his stepfather after all, "but I believe I'm really very fond of him. I can remember lots of times when he's been good to me."

Memory was busy with him now. He recollected an illness—some childish complaint—he had had, and long nights when his stepfather had watched by his side, always patient and ready to anticipate his wants, though he had been fretful, he knew. He could not remember an occasion on which Richard Burt had been other than kind to him, or to his mother either, unless he had taken too much to drink, though he had frequently ill-treated them both when in a state of intoxication, generally because his wife had reproached him for his condition.

"God's love may reach him yet," Jasper Blamey had said, and, as the old man's words returned to Robin's mind to-night, they brought with them a sense of hope, and he prayed for his stepfather with all the fervour of his heart. He was grieved that he had misjudged him that day, and he was—oh, so thankful that he had not followed his impulse to run away from home, and that God had sent Miss Maggs to point out his duty to him!

At length he told himself he really must think no more but try to go to sleep; but then he thought of the empty workbox and a flood of misery swept over him. Gone was the hope of a holiday with his mother on the moor; he had saved his earnings in vain. Oh, it was cruelly hard! He pulled the bedclothes over his head to stifle the sound of the choking sobs which he could not restrain, and wept passionately; and, by-and-by, utterly worn out, he cried himself to sleep.

Robin was lying in a heavy slumber when, a short while later, his mother, candle in hand, crept softly into his room. She was followed by her husband; and, as she drew back the sheet to press a kiss on her son's flushed cheek, they both noticed that his pillow was wet with tears.

"Poor little chap," murmured Richard Burt huskily, "it's a terrible disappointment for him. Poor little chap!"

CHAPTER VIII

MISS MAGGS IN SUN COURT

"GOOD afternoon. Will you kindly tell me where Mrs. Burt lives?"

Jasper Blamey glanced up from the shoe on which he was engaged in placing a neat piece, and saw a tall, gaunt, elderly woman, clad in rusty black, who had paused directly outside his window. It was the day subsequent to the one on which the discovery of Robin's loss had been made.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied courteously, "she lives in the house at the left; but she's not at home, she's gone out to do a few errands."

"Then I'm afraid I sha'n't see her this afternoon, for I haven't much time to spare and sha'n't be able to wait long. You're Mr. Blamey, I presume?"

"Yes," assented Jasper, looking surprised; "I wonder how you know that?" he added with a smile.

"Oh, I've heard of you from Mrs. Burt's little son. You may perhaps have heard of me—Eliza Maggs?"

"To be sure, ma'am! Robin has often spoken of you to me." Jasper's tone expressed both interest and cordiality. "Will you come in and wait for Mrs. Burt?" he inquired.

Miss Maggs shook her head. "No, thank you," she replied, "I'll stay where I am for a few minutes, and then if Mrs. Burt has not returned, I must go home, for I've two dinners to prepare and cook before seven o'clock. Humph!" she exclaimed, glancing around the court. "This seems a quiet place—dull and stuffy, of course, and not too clean, but it might be worse."

"That's true, ma'am," agreed Jasper.

"You've lived here most of your life, I understand?" interrogated Miss Maggs. She had a sharp way of putting questions, which some people resented, but the old cobbler had heard enough about her from Robin to know that beneath a decidedly unpolished manner she hid a heart of gold.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, "and now I shouldn't care to live anywhere else."

"Humph!" Miss Maggs looked as though she thought he had peculiar taste. "You know the Burts well?" she asked.

Jasper nodded. "Yes," he said; "Mrs. Burt's a very worthy woman, who's bringing up her boy the right way; I've seen enough of her to know that."

"What about the man?"

"He's all right at heart, ma'am, but undependable like everyone who drinks; I don't believe, though, that he stole the youngster's money."

"You don't? I'm glad to hear that—more glad than I can say."

Miss Maggs looked it. The grim expression of her countenance had given place to one of satisfaction. "I met Robin on the Hoe last night," she proceeded to explain, unaware that her companion had already been informed of that fact by Robin himself, "and he seemed certain that his stepfather had robbed him; but this morning he came to see me, and appeared equally confident that the money had been taken by some outsider. I did not know what to think, so I decided I'd come and see Mrs. Burt, and hear what she has to say. Perhaps you'll consider it's no business of mine, and of course it isn't, but I take an interest in Robin and his mother, and, indirectly, in him who's been the cause of their troubles."

Jasper nodded understandingly. "I believe some outsider must have found out where the money was kept and waited for an opportunity to get at it," he said; "I don't suppose we shall ever know who the thief was, for there's no likelihood of the money being traced. I wish it could be, for, unless it is, Richard Burt will always be credited with having taken it. He reported the matter to the police himself, but from remarks that have been made to me by the neighbours to-day I quite see that he is believed to have been the thief."

"You have your reasons for thinking him not guilty?" said Miss Maggs questioningly.

"Yes, ma'am; the fact is if he'd had money to spare in his pocket, he'd have had a drinking bout for certain." Jasper looked very sad as he spoke. "I've tried many a time to induce him to take the pledge," he continued, "but it was all no use; and lately I haven't spoken to him about it, for I've noticed he's kept out of my way, and I don't want him to shun me."

"He's incorrigible, I fear."

"I won't go so far as to say that, ma'am. I've known many a worse man than he is repent and turn to God. When I see I'm doing harm instead of good by interfering with folks, I just hold my tongue—that's the best plan, I find, but I pray for them all the same."

Miss Maggs nodded her head in approval. "There's a deal of power in prayer," she remarked, "and I agree with you—if one can't see one's way to help people one must leave them to the Lord. Our Father in Heaven knows what's best, and I don't believe He ever turned a deaf ear to the feeblest prayer offered in a right spirit. Ah, here's Mrs. Burt!"

Mrs. Burt was extremely surprised to see Miss Maggs, who greeted her very cordially and accompanied her into her house for a few minutes' private conversation.

"And have you decided whether or not to let Robin go to his grandfather?" inquired Miss Maggs, after the subject of the robbery had been fully discussed.

"Yes, ma'am. We have talked the matter over and decided that he must go. I have not written to his grandfather yet, but I shall do so to-morrow if all's well. I do not know how I shall get on without him, but I am sure it will be better for him to be at Newlyn. He does not wish to leave us, although he did think of running away the other night when you found him on the Hoe. Yes, but for you I believe he would have gone." Mrs. Burt's eyes were full of gratitude as she looked at her visitor.

"Ah, poor child!" exclaimed Miss Maggs. "I do indeed sympathise with him over the loss of his money. How sorry Mrs. Groves would be if she knew!"

"It has been a great blow to him," said Mrs. Burt. She was near the window, and, glancing out, she saw her little son crossing the court.

Robin was looking pale and heavy eyed, but his countenance brightened as he entered the kitchen and saw Miss Maggs, who was on the point of leaving. He begged her to stay a little longer, but that she was unable to do; so he asked if he might walk a short distance with her on her way home.

"I shall be glad of your company," she told him; and, having said good-bye to Mrs. Burt, she preceded her young escort out of the house.

The old cobbler was still at work inside his open window. He glanced up with marked interest in his expression as Miss Maggs and Robin passed by. The former nodded and smiled at him, and afterwards remarked to Robin that she was glad his neighbour was such a nice old man.

"I made myself known to him this afternoon," she said, "and we had a little talk which I shall not forget. Why, goodness me, what have we here?" she cried sharply, with a sudden change of tone.

They had reached the passage leading from the court, where they had come across two big boys—one, Dick Farrant, the other, a boon companion of his—engaged in a game of "pitch and toss." This was no unusual sight for Robin, but it filled Miss Maggs with intense indignation, and she immediately addressed herself to Dick, the elder of the two lads.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you great, strong fellow, you, to be idling away the precious hours like this," she cried, shaking a rebuking finger at him; "playing a gambling game, too! Have you no work to do?"

"What's that to you?" demanded Dick, not angrily, but with a sort of good-humoured insolence. "Oh, I see," he went on, "you're the person who was talking to old Jasper Blamey just now, you're one of his sort, I suppose—and a friend of Robin's too. I'm not in your way, ma'am. You can pass on."

"No, I can't," said Miss Maggs, "because I've a word to say to you two." She nodded from one to the other of the lads, and forthwith proceeded to lecture them roundly on the vice of gambling.

"Look here," broke in Dick, "you'd better mind your own business—"

"Just what I'm doing," declared Miss Maggs, interrupting in her turn; "it's the business of every Christian to protest when they see folks doing wrong."

"Oh, so you're a Christian, are you?" said Dick, whilst the other boy, who was not an inhabitant of the court, slunk along the passage and out into the street.

"I hope I am," she replied. She paused momentarily, and looked searchingly at Dick. "You appear a good-tempered lad," she observed, and then she asked him again if he had no work to do.

"Oh, he really does work sometimes!" Robin cried eagerly. "Don't you, Dick?"

"Sometimes," grinned Dick, who still appeared more amused than angry at the scene in which he was playing such a conspicuous part. He shuffled his feet uneasily, and his eyes fell beneath Miss Maggs's searching gaze, which seemed to be summing him up, so he thought.

"I don't see why you need have interfered with us," he remarked; "why couldn't you have passed on? We weren't doing any harm."

"I'm not so sure of that," she told him; "gambling in any shape or form is harmful. That's been my experience. You take my advice, my lad, and give it up. Now, I've told you my mind—if I hadn't, it would have troubled me afterwards. Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon," Dick returned. It was not until she and Robin were gone that he wondered why he had answered her, and then he laughed at the remembrance of her concerned countenance. Nevertheless he could not forget her earnest, warning words.

When Robin, having accompanied Miss Maggs nearly to her own door, returned home, he found Dick Farrant standing at the entrance of the court, evidently on the watch for him, for he greeted him with the question:

"I say, who's that queer old body?"

"She's called Maggs,' replied Robin; she keeps a lodging-house on the Hoe, and Mrs. Groves lodged with her. She's a very nice woman."

"Oh, is she? Shouldn't have thought it. Did she come to Sun Court to see you?"

"To see my mother. She's a real good sort, Dick. You'd say so, too, if you knew her better."

"Don't wish to know her better," Dick responded, with a grimace. "I can't bear people like that," he added.

"People like what?" questioned Robin, rather puzzled.

"People who interfere with others. You heard what a lecture she gave me? Old Blamey said pretty much the same to me the other day. Impertinence I call it. I can't bear Christians."

"Oh, Dick!"

"Well, I can't. They give me an uncomfortable feeling. I daresay I'm bad—I know it, for that matter—but I don't want to think about it."

He seemed about to add more, but, catching sight of a policeman approaching them, abruptly turned on his heel and disappeared into the court.

CHAPTER IX

POOR FATHER!

"WHAT do you think of Miss Maggs, Mr. Blamey?" asked Robin, some hours later, as he leaned against the cobbler's window-sill. It was between eight and nine o'clock, and the atmosphere in Sun Court was less close than it had been all day; indeed, Jasper had remarked a few minutes previously that he had caught a whiff of sea breeze.

"She appears a very straightforward sort of person," replied the old man; "a true friend, I'll be bound to say."

"Yes," nodded the little boy. He proceeded to recount what had taken place between Miss Maggs and Dick Farrant, and then went on: "I don't believe Dick's done any work for nearly a week. I heard his mother talking about it this morning."

"What did she say?" inquired Jasper, his tone betokening interest.

"That she didn't know where he got his money." Robin glanced around to make certain that no one was near to overhear him, and continued: "Of course, I know Dick's a bad boy, Mr. Blamey—mother's often said that the less I have to do with him the better—but somehow I can't help liking him; he's really kindhearted, and he's not a bully like Sam Brown."

"He has his good qualities, I have no doubt, Robin. By the way, has your stepfather returned yet?"

"No; he's working long days now. He'll be home about nine o'clock, I expect. Mother's beginning a letter to my grandfather; she asked me to leave her by herself, so I thought I'd come and have a word with you. Oh, Mr. Blamey, I don't know how I feel about going to Newlyn! I've begged mother to let me stay with her, but she seems quite determined to send me to my grandfather. Do you think I really ought to go? I remember your saying once that my post of duty was here in Sun Court."

"Circumstances alter cases, Robin. When I said that, you were talking wildly about running away from home. If you go to your grandfather now, it will be a different matter altogether. Your first duty is to obey your mother. She knows what's best."

"Things are very hard!" sighed Robin. "It is so dreadful that my money should have been stolen. I don't suppose mother and I will ever have a holiday together now." He blinked away a tear as he spoke.

"We never know what's in store for us, my boy," Jasper observed, his dark, bright eyes tender with sympathy. "We must just take the days as they come, and make the best of them. Maybe there's a happier time coming for you and your mother, too. Your stepfather has certainly been much steadier of late. That shows he could give up drink altogether if he liked, and I am hopeful that he will."

"Are you?" said Robin, in surprise. "I know mother's often tried to get him to take the pledge, and so have you, haven't you, Mr. Blamey?"

"Yes, but I never speak to him about it now because I found I was doing more harm than good. I don't forget to pray for him though, Robin, nor must you. When I was talking to your friend Miss Maggs this afternoon, she said that there was a deal of power in prayer, and she's right. Why, it's the greatest power in the world! It's the link between earth and Heaven—between God and His children. If you can't do anything else to help people, you can always pray for them."

The cobbler had been gathering together his tools as he talked, and, having tidied his bench to his satisfaction, he went to a cupboard and took out a loaf of bread and a pat of butter. Seeing he was preparing for supper, Robin was turning away, when he called him back.

"I wonder if you'd fetch a couple of bloaters for me?" said the old man. "I feel I could relish one to-night."

"Oh, yes! I'll go now," answered Robin, "and I'll be back in no time."

"Oh, there's no great hurry!" smiled Jasper. "Here's the money—two for three halfpence, I expect they'll be." He handed Robin a sixpenny-bit as he spoke.

The little boy went off on his errand, and five minutes later found him making his way along the pavement of the narrow street which adjoined Sun Court. Being a back street, in a low-class district, the shops on either side had nothing very attractive in their windows; so Robin was somewhat surprised at finding quite a crowd before a corner shop where only newspapers were sold. Curiosity impelled him to linger to try and ascertain what was going on, but he could not get sufficiently close to the window to see anything; so he presently pursued his way, and, having made his purchase of the bloaters at a grocer's, was retracing his footsteps when someone laid a hand on his arm, and he looked up into the face of Dick Farrant, which wore its most good-humoured expression.

"Hulloa, youngster, where are you off?" asked Dick.

"I've been on an errand for Mr. Blamey to buy some bloaters for his supper," explained Robin, noticing that the other's eyes were resting inquiringly on his parcel. "What are all those folks waiting outside the newspaper shop for?" he questioned.

"Oh, they're waiting to see if they've made their fortunes!" laughed Dick, with a knowing wink.

"I don't understand what you mean," said Robin, much puzzled.

"I daresay not; you're such a little innocent! Well, in plain language, they're waiting to find out the result of a horse-race. Presently a telegram will be stuck up in the window, giving the name of the winner of the race. It's no great interest to me, for I don't happen to have any money on it."

"Oh!" cried Robin comprehendingly. He looked at his companion with an inscrutable expression in his big grey eyes.

"I'll put you up to a thing or two when you're a bit older, young 'un," said Dick, in a patronising manner.

"No, no!" cried Robin. "Oh, Dick, what a pity you should bet! You know it's wrong!"

"Don't know any such thing! Look here!" Dick thrust his hand into his trousers pocket, and drew out a shilling. "That's for you," he said.

But, contrary to his expectation, Robin's face showed no sign of pleasure, nor did the little boy attempt to possess himself of the coin.

"I don't want it, thank you!" he exclaimed quickly. "No, I really can't take it," he went on, "though it's very kind of you to wish to give it to me, but—no, thank you!" His tone was decided.

"Oh, nonsense!" Dick's manner grew suddenly most unaccountably embarrassed. "Look here, do have it!" he said, almost imploringly. "I-I've been sorry for you about—about the loss of your money, you know. I—I've thought of it a good deal, and I—I wish I could make it up to you. Do take this shilling, Robin! I daresay I shall be able to give you another in a few days. Come, between friends, you know—" He broke off, an expression of marked anxiety on his face.

But Robin was not to be persuaded to accept the gift, though it really distressed him to refuse it.

"Don't be vexed with me," he said, observing that Dick looked both annoyed and disappointed. "I feel it's very, very kind of you!"

"It isn't!" the other interrupted brusquely.

"Oh, yes, indeed it is!" persisted Robin. "But I can't take it. Mother wouldn't like it if I did. I—I know—that is, I am afraid that it isn't good money."

"Good money?" echoed Dick. "What do you mean by that? It isn't base coin. It's right enough. Do you imagine I'd trick you?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure you wouldn't!" Robin cried distressfully. "But I expect you won that shilling by betting, and—and mother says money gained in evil ways is bad money, and it never brings a blessing with it, and Mr. Blamey says the same."

"Ah, Mr. Blamey!" broke in Dick, with a sneer. "You needn't repeat to me anything he may have said. I can't bear him."

"I am sure he never did you any harm!" exclaimed Robin reproachfully. "He's been a wonderfully good friend to mother and me."

"I daresay; but I'd rather he didn't try to be a friend to me. I like to go my own way. The other day he took upon himself to round on me because I'd spoken roughly—unbecomingly, he called it—to my mother, and I swore at him for his pains. It was on Sunday, and he was seated at his bench reading his Bible, or pretending to. Well, he never answered back; but I saw his lips moving, and I believe he was praying. Now, what right has he to pray for me, I should like to know?"

"I expect he was telling Jesus about you—asking Him to forgive you for having been a bad fellow," replied Robin simply.

They had reached the entrance to Sun Court by this time, and paused facing each other. The elder's countenance had lost the good-tempered expression it had worn at the commencement of their conversation, and was overshadowed by a heavy frown; whilst the younger's was flushed and troubled.

"Has old Jasper Blamey converted you, then?" Dick asked, with a laugh which he meant should sound insulting. Then, without waiting for a reply, he continued: "Oh, I know how he goes on with his talk about Jesus! The Friend of sinners, as he calls Him! As though Jesus cared for sinners! Good people are more in His line, I should think."

"Oh, but He does care for sinners!" Robin said impressively. "I used to think, like you, that He didn't; but I know now that He does. He cares for everyone. It says in the Bible, 'God commendeth His love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us.' Isn't it wonderful to think that He should have died for us all?"

Dick made no response. He stood looking steadily at Robin, whom he had never heard speak like this before. Evidently the little fellow was deeply in earnest. It was at this point that a motor-carriage rushed with a whirr around the corner of the street, and both boys turned involuntarily to watch it as it came towards them. At the same instant a little girl ran out of the entrance of Sun Court, and started for the opposite pavement; then, suddenly becoming aware of the approach of the motor-carriage, she stopped, apparently paralysed with fear.

"She will be killed!" shrieked Robin, beyond measure horrified, his fascinated gaze upon the little girl.

Even as he spoke, a man sprang towards the child and flung her out of harm's way into the gutter, where she set up a frightened wail. What followed Robin could never afterwards tell. The motor-carriage pulled up, and its occupants got out and went to the assistance of someone who lay, white and unconscious, in the middle of the street.

"Poor fellow!" murmured a pitying voice. "I'm afraid if he's not actually killed, he's seriously injured. It was a brave thing to do."

Impelled by curiosity, the boys joined the crowd which was already gathering around the prostrate form of the man who had saved the child. Then Robin caught sight of a marble-white countenance, and he gripped Dick by the arm.

"It's father! Oh, poor father!" he cried.

CHAPTER X

THE DAWN OF A HAPPIER TIME

A MONTH had elapsed since Richard Burt had been knocked down by the motor-carriage, which had hurt him so badly that he had lain at death's door for several days and was now only strong enough to sit out in an easy-chair in his bedroom for an hour or so at a time.

The accident having occurred close to Sun Court, the injured man had been conveyed to his own home instead of to a hospital, and the driver of the motor-carriage, who was its owner too, though he had been in no way to blame, had generously provided a trained nurse to take charge of him, and had given Mrs. Burt a sufficient sum of money to meet the expenses of his illness.

It was exceedingly hot in Sun Court on this cloudless July day, though, being afternoon, there was no sunshine there; but the air was close and oppressive, and Richard Burt sighed wearily as he sat close to his bedroom window alone. He was tired of his own company, and was half-inclined to call to his wife; but remembering that, when she had left him an hour previously, she had said she had some washing to do and the kitchen to clean, he refrained from summoning her upstairs without need. How he wished old Jasper Blamey would come and talk to him, as he had frequently done since the nurse had left and he had been well enough to see visitors! Time had been, and that not long since, when he had shrunk from conversing with the cobbler, but Robin's stepfather had altered greatly in the last few weeks. He had narrowly escaped from death, and that knowledge had caused him to think seriously about many things which he had never considered before, and he was now a deeply repentant man, desirous of leading a better life.

"Hulloa, father, awake?"

Richard Burt brightened and smiled at the sound of his little stepson's voice addressing him cheerily. He turned his hollow eyes towards Robin, who had crept upstairs with as little noise as possible, thinking the invalid might be taking a nap, and answered:

"Wide awake! I haven't been asleep all the afternoon. I've done nothing but think. I'm glad you're come, Robin. I was tired of being alone."

The boy smiled and came to the window, where he stood close to his stepfather, looking out into the court.

"Isn't it hot?" he said. "It was stifling in school this afternoon. I'm glad the holidays are so near."

"When do they begin?"

"On the 1st of August—that's next Tuesday. I saw mother as I came in; she's gone now to get some milk. I wanted to go for her, but she said she'd rather I kept you company, and that the air out of doors would do her good. She has a bad headache."

"Poor soul! She's looking ill," said the invalid, in a regretful tone. "She's had more than enough to pull her down. I hope God will let me live to try to make up to her for the past; but I'm shaky still."

"Oh, you'll soon get better!" Robin interposed brightly. "The doctor says so, only you mustn't worry."

"I worry about what's gone by, my boy. Folks have been very good to me during my illness. I haven't deserved such kind treatment as I've had. By the way, I've been thinking a great deal to-day about that letter your mother had from your grandfather. I thought she'd made up her mind that you were to go to Newlyn. How is it you haven't gone?"

"As if I could have gone when you were so dreadfully ill!" cried Robin. "Mother wrote and told grandfather she couldn't spare me then, and he quite understood. He wrote back so nicely about you—said he'd read of your brave act in the newspaper, and that he hoped God would soon restore you to health. Mother had a letter about you from Mrs. Groves, too. Why, you're a regular hero, father!"

"A hero?" the man exclaimed, his pale cheeks flushing suddenly. "Oh, Robin, 'you' to say that, and I've heard you call me a brute!"

"That was when you weren't yourself—when you used to hit poor mother. But I don't think you'll ever do that again. Mr. Blamey said to me yesterday:

"'Robin, I believe your stepfather will live to be a comfort to you and your mother yet.'

"And, father, I'm sure you will." The boy's tone was glad and confident, and his face bright with hope.

Richard Burt was deeply touched, and, being very weak, he could not restrain his emotion.

"I don't deserve that you should care anything about me, and yet you do," he said, tears trickling down his cheeks. "I've been a bad man, and treated you and your mother most cruelly, although when I married her I promised to do my best for you both. I've done my worst—yes, I know I have. The drink has brought me very low. Times and times your mother has tried to persuade me to take the pledge, and I'd never listen to her, but I've made up my mind that I'll do it now."

"What, take the pledge?" cried Robin, half incredulously. Then, as his stepfather nodded assent, he exclaimed, "Oh, how glad I am! This is good news indeed! Does mother know? Yes. And Mr. Blamey? Yes. Oh, how pleased they must be! I am delighted—simply delighted!"

He looked it, with his big grey eyes shining with happiness, and a deep flush on his usually pale cheeks. "Oh, here's mother!" he said, as, hearing a footstep in the yard, he glanced out of the window and saw Mrs. Burt. "I suppose she's met the postman, for she has a letter in her hand."

On entering the house Mrs. Burt came straight upstairs. There was about her an air of restrained excitement which caused her husband and son to look at her expectantly. She inquired how the invalid was, and, having been assured that he had not sat out too long, and was feeling much better, she turned her attention to Robin, and said:

"I've heard from your grandfather again—oh, he is a good, kind man!—and he wants you, at any rate, to spend your holidays with him, and asks when they begin. And oh, Richard—" here she addressed her husband—"he has actually invited you and me to pay him a visit! He says he has three bedrooms in his cottage, and the woman who does his housework goes home to sleep, so that he has two spare bedrooms. He thinks that a change of air for a month would set you up in health, and he says that he'll take you out in his boat, and if you don't care for that, you'll be able to sit on the beach, and—oh, do let us go!" she cried, in conclusion.

"I wish we could," her husband replied, "but I really don't see that it is possible. Where are we to get the money to pay our expenses? No, it's not to be thought of!"

"Oh, yes, it is!" she interposed, with a happy laugh such as had not passed her lips for years. "The money for our expenses is in my pocket. Yes," she nodded, as her companions regarded her with amazement and incredulity, "I mean it; I've had another letter you've not heard of yet."

She drew an envelope from her pocket as she spoke, and took therefrom a sheet of notepaper and a five-pound note. "Listen to this," she said, and proceeded to read aloud:

"The Retreat, Newlyn,

July 27, 190—.

"DEAR MRS. BURT,—I am sending you a little present. I have long wished to make you one, but I have not been in the position to do so till now. The fact is, I have been so fortunate as to sell my picture, 'Ragged Robins,' to a rich American gentleman, who happened to fancy it, and I want the mother of the ragged Robin who proved such an excellent model to have a share in the profit it has brought. Please accept the enclosed five-pound note.

"I trust your husband is making a good recovery, and that you and your little son are well. A change of air would do you all good. Hoping it may not be long before we meet,—

"Believe me,

"Yours very truly,

"ELLEN GROVES."

"Oh, mother, she knows of my grandfather's invitation!" cried Robin excitedly. "She would not have written 'a change of air would do you all good' if she had not! Oh, how very kind she is! Will five pounds be as much money as we shall want if we do all go to Newlyn?"

"Yes, my dear. We'll pay a month's rent ahead to keep our home here, and the remaining money will be sufficient to meet the expenses of our journey to Newlyn and back. I believe Mrs. Groves guessed how I should spend this five-pound note when she sent it—don't you think so, Richard?" And Mrs. Burt glanced at her husband smilingly as she spoke.

"Yes," he agreed, "I do; and I daresay a change of air might set me up in health. I don't think that I shall ever pick up my strength here in Sun Court; but at the same time, I don't feel I ought to share this money—"

"Oh, but I am sure Mrs. Groves intended that you should; you have admitted that yourself," interposed his wife. "Oh, Richard, let bygones be bygones!" she continued earnestly. "God knows I'm willing to do that. We haven't been happy together in the past, but let us look forward to a brighter future. We will start afresh."

He made no response in words, but he gave her a grateful glance, and in his heart he registered a solemn vow that, God helping him, he would never cause her trouble again. Conscious of his weakness, he appealed to his Father in Heaven for aid, for on his bed of sickness he had turned to Him who is very pitiful and of tender mercy, and he prayed that he might be granted the opportunity of making up to his long-suffering wife and her little son for some of the misery he had caused them in the past.

So it was decided that the invitation to Newlyn should be accepted, and Robin hastened to seek the old cobbler to take him into his confidence; he had fallen into the habit of carrying all his joys and sorrows to the kind neighbour who was ever ready to lend him an attentive and sympathetic hearing.

On this occasion Jasper listened to all he had to recount in perfect silence; but the expression of his countenance betokened his pleasure, and, when Robin had finished his tale, he did not speak for several minutes, but sat looking at the little boy, with a thoughtful expression in his dark, bright eyes.

"Ah, what did I tell you?" he exclaimed at length. "Did I not say that maybe there was a happier time coming for you and your mother?"

"Yes, I remember you did, Mr. Blamey."

"I think, my boy, that the beginning of that happier time has come. 'It is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes.' No one but the Lord could have brought your stepfather to repentance; you see we did not pray for him in vain?"

"No, indeed! Oh, Mr. Blamey, who would have guessed yesterday that such a treat was in store for us all as a month at Newlyn? Why, the reason I grieved so much about the theft of my money was because mother could not have a holiday! And I was only going to give her one day on the moor, and now she will have a whole month by the sea! And to think that Mrs. Groves should have sent us that five pounds! It is really wonderful!"

"Yes," agreed the old man, "that it is."

"It seems to me," said Robin, smiling, "that we have a great many friends."

His thoughts had flown to Miss Maggs, and from her they passed to Dick Farrant. Robin felt a deep sense of gratitude to Dick, who had been kind and sympathetic during Richard Burt's illness; and after tea that evening, he lingered about the court in the hope of seeing him, to tell him his news.

But Dick did not come home that night; and the following day it was known to everyone in Sun Court that the lad had been arrested by the police for having stolen a box of expensive cigarettes from a tobacco shop. He was brought before the magistrate the next morning, found guilty of the charge laid against him, and sentenced to ten days' imprisonment, so that Robin left Plymouth without seeing him again.

CHAPTER XI

AT NEWLYN

THE month of August had nearly run its course when, one hot afternoon, an old man, spare of figure and bent shouldered, with a knapsack at his back, paused to rest on the little bridge at the entrance of the village of Newlyn, and gazed about him fully appreciative of the beauty of the scene. Before him lay the village, a busy little port, with its two fine piers forming a safe harbour for the fishing fleet, whilst looking towards Penzance, from which town he had walked, his eyes rested on a sweep of wet sands, for it was low tide.

"It must be nearly five o'clock," thought the old man, who was no other than the cobbler from Sun Court on his annual holiday. "Time for me to be getting on. I must see about a lodging for the night; I daresay there 'll not be much difficulty about that; but, first of all, I'll call on my friends. I remember the cottage where Robin's grandfather used to live, and I don't suppose he's changed his abode; I'll soon find out, at any rate."

Accordingly half an hour later found him standing before a picturesque thatched cottage, situated in a steep street called Trewarneth Street, a name which means "the street of the hill." He waited a moment under the honeysuckle-covered porch, before making his presence known, to listen to the sound of voices which reached his ears from an open window—one a man's deep bass, the other a child's clear treble. He smiled as he recognised the young voice, and immediately knocked at the door; whereupon the familiar voice said,—

"I'll see who it is, grandfather."

And a moment later the door was opened and he found himself face to face with little Robin Rodway. The boy uttered a cry of mingled pleasure and surprise, and led him at once into the kitchen—a large, low room, with a stone floor and whitewashed walls.

"Grandfather, grandfather, here's Mr. Blamey!" he cried joyously. "Oh, how glad I am to see you, Mr. Blamey! Oh, how delighted mother will be, and father too!"

The cobbler looked from his young friend to Robin Rodway senior, the other occupant of the kitchen, who held out a friendly hand and greeted him warmly.

"I've heard a deal about you from my grandson here," said the old sailor, smiling down at his visitor, who was quite a head and shoulders shorter than himself. "Sit down; now do sit down and make yourself at home; you're looking pretty nigh done up, and no mistake."

"I've footed it all the way from Penzance," explained Jasper, as he took the chair Robin placed for him near the open window. "You'll maybe not remember me by sight, Mr. Rodway," he proceeded, "but I remember seeing you when I visited Newlyn some years ago. You've altered very little," he added, looking at the strong, upright figure and healthy, weather-beaten countenance of Robin's grandfather.

"I've not such a poor memory as you imagine," said the old sailor; "your face is quite familiar to me. Walked from Penzance, have you? You must be pretty well done up. It's been such a hot afternoon, too."

"Not too hot for me," said Jasper. "I took my time and enjoyed the walk. I'm not over-tired. I'm thin and wiry, and really very strong. I'm having a little holiday in Cornwall, and thought I would like to see how my Plymouth friends are doing, not having heard anything of them since they left Sun Court. Robin is looking most remarkably well; he seems to me to have put on pounds in weight these last three weeks, and he's burnt as brown as a berry. Newlyn air must suit him."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, for I mean to keep him here with me," said Robin's grandfather in a decided tone, and with an affectionate glance towards the boy.

"How is every one in Sun Court, Mr. Blamey?" asked Robin. Then, without giving time for a reply, he went on: "I thought so much of Dick Farrant whilst he was in jail and wondered what he was feeling. I suppose he's at home now?"

"He came home after his time was up, but he's gone again. I'll explain all about him by-and-by. Tell me, now, how's your mother? Quite well? That's good hearing. She was but poorly when she left Sun Court. And your stepfather?"

"Oh, he's ever so much better," replied Robin; "he said this morning that he felt just fit for work. Oh, Mr. Blamey, there's such a good piece of news to tell—"

"Perhaps your mother and her husband would like to tell Mr. Blamey their good news themselves, Robin," broke in his grandfather, as footsteps were heard approaching the cottage; "at any rate, give them the opportunity of doing so. Here they come. You must stay and have tea with us, Mr. Blamey."

"Oh, thank you," said Jasper, who felt that a cup of tea was what he most desired at present, for he was thirsty after his long walk; "you are very kind. I should like to stay."

A minute later Mr. and Mrs. Burt had entered the kitchen, and Jasper was shaking hands with them and explaining his presence there. They both expressed themselves delighted to see him, and their faces plainly showed they spoke as they felt.

It was a happy party that took tea in the old sailor's cottage that afternoon, for all its members were in the best of spirits. Never once did the conversation flag. It was evident that Richard Burt had nearly, if not quite, regained his usual health, and his wife had already faint roses in the cheeks which were certainly less thin than they had been three weeks previously. During the meal Jasper was told the piece of news which Robin had been about to impart when his grandfather had stopped him, and that was that Mr. and Mrs. Burt had been so fortunate as to obtain the posts of caretakers of a house not far from Newlyn, which belonged to a gentleman who was only in residence there for a few months during the summer. It was Mrs. Burt who explained all this.

"Robin is to live here with his grandfather," she said, with a tender smile at her little son; "so I shall see him very often. It won't be like giving him up altogether—you know, Mr. Blamey, how I dreaded doing that. Our new home is only a mile from here. Richard will have the garden to keep in order and the charge of a pony and some poultry, and I shall look after the house. We shall have plenty to do, but not too much, and I do trust we shall give satisfaction. Our master is an artist, and a very nice gentleman he seems."

"He is a friend of Mr. Groves," her husband explained. "Mrs. Groves interested herself to get us these situations, and I can't tell you how grateful we feel to her."

"I am very glad to hear of your good fortune," the cobbler said heartily, "but I am sorry to lose you as neighbours. How shall you manage about your belongings?"

"I suppose one of us will have to go back to Sun Court in order to get rid of our bits of furniture, which are not worth the cost of removal," Mrs. Burt replied; "we thought of letting a broker take them for what they are worth."

"I wonder if you would care to entrust that business to me?" asked Jasper.

"Gladly," she answered, glancing at her husband, who nodded his approval of the plan; "but I hardly like to trouble you—"

"Trouble? Nonsense!" broke in the cobbler.

"You leave the matter in my hands and I'll do the best I can for your interests."

And thus, after a little further talk, it was settled.

The pleasant meal was drawing to a close when Robin again mentioned Dick Farrant, and reminded the visitor that he had said he would explain all about him by-and-by.

"Well, so I will," Jasper replied; "not that there's much to explain, except that he's gone to Canada."

"To Canada!" every one echoed; and Richard Burt inquired: "How did he get the money to go?"

"It was provided for him by a friend," was the response.

"I did not know he had a friend sufficiently well-to do—" Mrs. Burt was commencing, when she paused suddenly, her eyes fixed full upon Jasper's face. "O Mr. Blamey, it is you who have done this!" she cried. "Oh, I do hope your money has not been thrown away."

"I hope not," the cobbler answered. "You see, it would have been most difficult for the lad to have turned over a new leaf in Plymouth," he went on; "so when he came home after his ten days in jail, I had a talk with him, and found that he was anxious to get away and make a fresh start in life somewhere else. I happened to know a couple of steady young men who were about to emigrate to Canada, and I asked Dick if he'd like to go too—I'd sounded them beforehand and found they wouldn't object to take him with them, and give him a helping hand, you understand. Well, Dick, he jumped at the idea, and he sailed from Liverpool two days ago. Everything was settled very hurriedly, but I hope and believe it will turn out for the best. Some folks, like some plants, do better for transplanting," he concluded quaintly.

"That's true," agreed Robin Rodway senior, "and I daresay it may prove so in this case. Canada's a fine country, and if a lad will work and keep straight, he can get ahead there. I've heard Robin talk a lot about this Dick Farrant, and according to his telling, he's not all bad."

"The soil of Sun Court didn't suit him," said Jasper gravely; "it brought out the worst of him; but I've a feeling that he will do better where he has gone."

"I should think his parents must be very grateful to you for having befriended him," remarked Mrs. Burt. "God alone knows from what you may have been the means of saving him. I believe he would have gone from bad to worse in Plymouth."

"I wish I had seen him to say good-bye," said Robin, with real regret in his tone. "I shall always remember that he was sorry when my money was stolen, and that he offered me a shilling—and wished me to take it, too."

At this point in the conversation, the cobbler produced a pocket-book from the breast pocket of his coat, and took therefrom a letter.

"Dick gave me this for you, Robin," he said; "he asked me to keep it for you till you returned to Sun Court—he did not know I should be visiting Newlyn."

"Dick wrote to me!" cried Robin in astonishment. He stretched out his hand for the letter as he spoke, and took it. It was addressed simply "Robin," in a large plain handwriting. "Fancy his having taken the trouble to write to me!" he exclaimed, glancing from his mother to his stepfather, who both appeared as surprised as he was himself.

"Read what he has to say, my dear," said Mrs. Burt.

Accordingly Robin opened the letter and commenced to peruse it slowly, for he found some difficulty in deciphering it. At first he looked pleased, then his expression changed to one of bewilderment, and from that to utter amazement. Finally the letter dropped from his hands on to the table, and he sprang excitedly to his feet.

"Oh, he did it, he did it!" he cried. "Oh, I never thought that it might have been Dick!"

CHAPTER XII

CONCLUSION

IT was Mrs. Burt who took up Dick Farrant's letter. Robin had dropped it as though it had burnt his fingers, and as his mother hastily skimmed through its contents she understood the impulse which had caused him to do so.

"Read it aloud, please, mother, so that the others may hear," said the little boy, his voice trembling with agitation.

She complied, whilst the three men listened in silence, Robin watching their faces to see the effect the communication had upon each one. The letter ran thus:

"DEAR ROBIN,—When you get this I shall most likely be in Canada, thanks to old Blamey. He's a proper sort—one who doesn't hit a chap when he's down, and I'm sorry I ever spoke against him. He's been a real friend to me since I came out of jail, and I shall never forget it. I'm going to work hard when I get to Canada, and I'm going to try to keep straight. Old Blamey says I must pray to God to help me, and that's what I'm going to do.

"And now I want to tell you something which will make you think worse of me than ever—you've thought me bad enough before, I know. I served you a mean trick—I don't think you ever guessed I did it. I stole your savings—it was a wicked thing to do. I knew where they were kept because I happened to be passing the window one evening when you and your mother were in the kitchen, and I saw she was locking away money in her workbox on the dresser. I didn't think then of taking the money; but afterwards I got betting and lost, and was tempted to do it. I took it one Saturday evening, when no one was about and I'd watched you and your mother go out. I found our door-key fitted your door, so I had no difficulty in getting into the house, and no one saw me.

"If I live, you shall have the money back—I've felt dreadful about it ever since. I stole it. Do try to forgive me. Old Blamey says when people repent they should confess their sins to God and He will forgive them, and I believe it's true, for I've confessed mine to Him—a pretty black list it is; I haven't kept anything back—and I've felt happier since. It isn't at all likely you and I shall ever meet again, but I sha'n't forget you—you were always a plucky little chap. I've written you quite a long letter; I wonder what you'll think of me when you read it.

"Good-bye now, from

"DICK FARRANT."

"P.S.—There was a Bible in my cell in jail, and I found that verse you told me about—you'll remember."

"There, what do you think of that?" burst forth Robin, as his mother's voice ceased.

No one answered for a minute; then his grandfather, who had been listening with the closest attention, replied:

"I know what 'I' think, my boy—that the writer of that letter is not far from the Kingdom of God."

"I agree with you, Mr. Rodway," said the cobbler; "I was not certain about it before, though I hoped it. I believe he is thoroughly repentant."

"I am sure I never guessed it was he who stole Robin's savings," said Richard Burt; "I must say I am glad he has confessed it, for his having done so clears me from suspicion—perhaps it's selfish to think of that, but I've always had an idea that the folks in Sun Court believed me to be the guilty party. Did you ever suspect Dick, Mr. Blamey?"

"Yes," Jasper admitted, "I did. I'd had my eye on the lad and knew he'd been flush of money about the time the theft had been committed. I am most thankful that he has owned up. What do you feel about it, Robin?" he asked, turning to the little boy. "He has asked for your forgiveness, you know. When I write to him as I have promised to do, shall I give him a message for you?"

"Yes," answered Robin. He had grown quiet and thoughtful, and his face was very grave. "Please say that of course I forgive him—oh, he will never know the unhappiness he caused us all—and tell him I would have liked to see him to say good-bye, and that I am glad he found the verse in the Bible which I told him about. I think that's all."

"What was the verse, my dear?" inquired his mother.

"'God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us,'" quoted Robin. "I so well remember repeating it to him—it was just before father's accident. Fancy his having borne it in mind!"

They had left their places at the table now, and Robin Rodway senior drew the cobbler to the window and pointed out a cottage a little further down the street where he thought it likely he could be lodged, whilst Mrs. Burt began to collect the tea-things to carry into the scullery to be washed. Suddenly she desisted in her task, and said, looking at her son:

"Do you recollect the night on which you gave me the first two shillings you received from Mrs. Groves?"

"Yes, mother," Robin replied, "of course I do. Why?"

"Well, I believe that must have been the occasion on which Dick saw me put money in my workbox, for I remember hearing footsteps outside the window."

"Yes, and we thought it was father—I looked out and saw him there. It was the night I brought home that nice bit of mutton, you know," Robin explained to his stepfather, who was regarding him inquiringly; "you said what tender meat it was; and, after supper, you went into the court."

"Oh, yes, I remember," interposed Richard Burt, "and caught Dick Farrant looking into our kitchen window. I'd been having a word with his father, and when I came out of the Farrants' house, there was Dick watching you and your mother. The moment he caught sight of me, he slunk away."

"Ah," exclaimed Mrs. Burt expressively, "he had been making good use of his eyes—he had marked where our money was kept. Oh, Mr. Blamey's going," she added, with a change of tone.

"I am going to try to get lodgings," explained Jasper; "and if I do, I may perhaps stay here a few days, in which case I shall see more of you. When do you go to your new home?" he inquired, glancing from Mrs. Burt to her husband.

"Not for another fortnight," the latter replied; "the couple whose places we are to take will not be leaving till then."

"A little longer holiday will do neither of them harm," remarked Robin Rodway senior, with a smile, "and I'm in no hurry to part with my guests. By the way, my grandson is learning to manage a boat, Mr. Blamey; we shall want to take you out sailing with us—that is, if you like the water?"

"Yes, I like it," Jasper answered; "but I've been on it very seldom."

"Grandfather and I go out in his boat nearly every day," said Robin eagerly, "and often Mrs. Groves lets Master Gilbert go with us. We will take you to all the pretty places around here. Oh, we will give you a splendid time."

And a really splendid time the old cobbler had. He obtained the lodging which had been recommended to him, and remained at Newlyn several days, enjoying to the full the beautiful sunny August weather. Never had he spent a happier holiday, for everyone was kindness itself to him and tried to give him pleasure. He made the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Groves and their little son, and, though he did not see the picture for which Robin had stood as a model—for that had gone to America—he saw many others which filled him with the greatest admiration and gave him much to think of long after his visit was over. Then, too, it was a source of deep thankfulness to him to note that Robin and his grandfather had become already much attached to each other, and that the old sailor was evidently on the friendliest footing with Mr. and Mrs. Burt. Surely his late neighbours' lines had fallen in pleasant places.

"It's wonderful what a change has come over Richard Burt," Jasper thought again and again during those peaceful, happy days by the Cornish sea. "Yes, it's wonderful—it's the Lord's doing. And his wife—why, she seems to have grown years younger these last few weeks. And Robin—well, he's not much like the little, pale-faced fellow who used to come and pour out his complaints of his stepfather to me. Dear, dear, how I shall miss him! God Almighty bless and keep him."

"O Mr. Blamey, I wish you would stay at Newlyn," Robin said coaxingly to his old friend on one occasion when the two were alone together. "I am sure such a good cobbler as you are would find plenty of work here."

"I think there's more where I came from, my boy," Jasper replied; "work for my Master, I mean. This is a lovely spot, but for me there's no place like Sun Court."

So, in due course, the old man returned to his home and took up the routine of life again. He succeeded in disposing of the Burts' furniture for a fair sum, and, acting under instructions he had received, paid the rent due, and forwarded the amount remaining to Richard Burt. Then, one evening, in fulfilment of a promise he had made to Mrs. Burt and her little son, he called on Miss Maggs and informed her of his late neighbours' changed circumstances.

"Well, I 'am' glad," she said heartily, "especially for the sake of Robin and his mother, who deserve their good fortune. As for the man—humph!" She frowned and shook her head.

"He has given up the drink entirely," Jasper assured her; "and we know for certain now that he did not steal his stepson's money." And he went on to explain who had been the thief and what had become of him.

"Humph!" exclaimed Miss Maggs again when he had finished his tale. "So you expect that young scapegrace to turn over a new leaf, do you?"

"I've a notion he's turned the leaf already, ma'am, by the grace of God," was the hopeful response.

"Maybe, maybe," she allowed, her countenance softening. "You'll miss Robin, Mr. Blamey, won't you?" she inquired. Then, as he assented, she continued: "I shall never forget the first time I saw him in his ragged suit—but there, I suppose if he hadn't been ragged Robin, Mrs. Groves wouldn't have wanted him for her model, and things wouldn't have been as they are to-day."

"No, ma'am," agreed the old man thoughtfully. "I remember it was a terrible blow to poor Robin when his stepfather pawned his better clothes; but how often we find that God turns our misfortunes into blessings, and I am sure He has done so in this case."

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Table of Contents

ROBIN OF SUN COURT

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

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