Chapter 3 A NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH.

The members of that little party will long remember the walk home from the county ground. It was an ideal summer evening. A few fleecy white clouds flaked the blue of the sky, and the sun's heat was tempered by a gentle breeze blowing up pleasantly from the south. Birds sang in the gardens, and the fragrant odour of flowers filled the air.

Now and again the boys stopped the carriage, so that Susie, looking through the gateways, might see the flowers in all their glory of colour. She did not talk much; she was rather tired by the unusual excitement, and by her long stay in the open air.

Occasionally they passed a group of the Deanery boys, and then there were cries of "Good old Hartland!" "Well done, Angel!" which made Susie prouder than ever.

"I say, Dick," said one urchin, "is it true you've been asked to play for the county?"

The Angel, who loved a joke, laughed back broadly.

"Nothing's been settled yet," said he, "but I may give 'em a hand if they're hard pushed. I can't promise to play regularly, though-at least this season."

"What a pity!" exclaimed the boy; "you would have been such a help."

The town was beginning to fill with the usual Saturday evening crowd when they reached the main street, and the newsboys were lustily shouting, "Evening paper!"

"We must have a paper," said Jim's mother.

"Better wait a bit," observed Dick, with an air of wisdom; "the special edition will be out soon."

Just then Temple, the captain of the Magpies, came along. He was reading a paper, and would have passed our friends had not Dick said, "Hullo, old chap; anything about the match there?"

Temple glanced up hastily, and, with an odd look at Jim, answered slowly,-

"Only the result, and there's no need to tell you that."

"Come on, Dick," said Jim; "he's got the hump."

The Angel was turning round to join his chum when Temple called him back softly.

"Haven't you heard the news?" he asked curiously.

"Haven't heard anything," replied Dick. "We've only just come from the ground. You look as solemn as an owl."

"I am thinking of Hartland."

"Why? He's all right."

Unfolding the paper, Temple pointed with his finger to the space reserved for late news.

Dick read the short paragraph, and immediately his face became clouded.

"Oh, poor old Jim!" he exclaimed. "And fancy, to-day of all the days in the year."

"I'm awfully sorry too," remarked Temple. "Better show him the paper, so that he can tell his mother. Lucky the information came too late to put on the placard."

"They'll have it in big letters on the next lot," replied Dick, slipping the paper inside his flannels.

"Hurry him home as fast as you can," said the other. "Somebody may stop Mrs. Hartland and blurt out the news. There are plenty of fools about."

Dick was off at once, and, overtaking his friends, rather surprised his mother by saying,-

"Step out, mother. You forget it's past tea-time, and Susie here is as hungry as a hunter."

Now, of course Mrs. Boden had no suspicion of the truth, but she guessed from Dick's face that something was wrong, and, being a wise little woman, quickened her pace.

"Fancy Temple taking the hump like that," said Jim as they turned into Cedar Road, where he lived. "Shouldn't have thought he was that sort."

"Oh, it wasn't over the match. But I'll tell you all about it another time." And Dick nodded at the chair, as much as to say, "I don't want Susie to hear."

Jim took the hint, and being rather curious, pushed on quickly to the house. They were all near the little gate when his mother said,-

"How very odd! Mrs. Hunt's blinds are all down, and so are Mrs. Pettifer's. There must be some one dead. I didn't know either of them had any one ill."

"A relative has died suddenly, perhaps," suggested Dick's mother; while the boy, who trembled all over thought Jim would never get the front door open.

At last it swung back, and the two boys lifted the carriage into the passage. Then, between them, they carried Susie into the back room and laid her gently on the couch.

Meanwhile Mrs. Boden had gone on home, leaving word for Dick to follow; so, after wishing Susie and her mother good-bye, he went out, accompanied by Jim.

"Come outside," he whispered, "and pull the door to. There's bad news in the town."

"Bad news!" echoed Jim, wondering why his chum trembled so.

"Yes, that's what upset Temple. It's in the paper; but there's only a line or two, and it mayn't be true."

"But what is it?" asked Jim, and, oddly enough, his voice sank to a whisper, while his face was as white as Dick's.

"It's about the-the Morning Star," gasped the boy.

Then Jim understood in a flash what had happened, and why the neighbours had darkened their windows.

"Give me the paper," said he, "and let me see what it says."

The paragraph was very brief, and ran thus:-

"It is reported at Lloyd's that the barque Morning Star has been lost in a storm off Cape Horn. Some of the crew, including the chief mate, got ashore; but the captain, Robert Merritt, and the second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship. The Morning Star was owned at Cardiff, and was making for San Francisco with a general cargo."

Jim read the paragraph over several times. The letters seemed blurred and running into one another; only the words, "the second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship," stood out clear and distinct, as if raised above the surrounding type.

"There may be a chance yet," suggested Dick, who was hurt by the look of pain on his chum's face. "It isn't certain that your father is drowned."

"No," said Jim absently; "it isn't certain."

Then he put the paper into his pocket and turned to go in.

"Shall I tell my mother to come round?" asked Dick.

"Not to-night-thanks. No, we shall be better by ourselves."

Nodding to Dick, he stepped into the passage and closed the door gently. Then he went quietly to the room where his mother had laid tea. There was nothing of value in the house, for the family had been particularly unfortunate during the last few years. In spite of many obstacles Mr. Hartland had worked his way up to the position of mate, but on his first voyage as an officer had met with an accident which kept him in hospital for months. Then he found it hard to secure another berth, and during the time of his enforced idleness the best of his furniture had been parted with to buy food. Few people knew this, however, as the Hartlands, who were very proud, kept their troubles to themselves.

Mrs. Hartland was a notable housewife, and had a certain amount of taste, which enabled her to make the house look nice. The room which Jim entered was quite attractive. A few nicely-framed black-and-white pictures hung on the walls; long curtains draped the window tastefully; the grate shone by reason of many applications of elbow-polish; everything was beautifully clean. A cloth of snowy whiteness covered the table, and the various articles set out for use showed evidence of capable cleaning.

"Make haste, my boy!" exclaimed his mother cheerfully; "your tea is poured out. Dick and you have had a long gossip."

"Jim's tired, and I don't wonder at it," remarked Susie.

The boy sat down in his usual place and forced himself to eat and drink. His mother, who was proud of the praise he had won, talked about the match.

"There was only one thing wanted to make the day a complete success," said she. "When you were on the platform with all those gentlemen I could not help wishing that your father had been looking on."

Jim put down his cup, so that she should not see how his hand trembled, and bit his lip to keep from crying out. The paper seemed to rustle in his pocket, and he made up his mind to tell her the truth at once.

But how? He could not say, "Father will never know anything about it, because he is lying at the bottom of the sea!" Yet it must be done. His mother must not be left to hear the terrible news from a stranger.

While he still hesitated, Susie, who had sharp ears, exclaimed, "Listen, there's the paper-boy. I can hear him shouting, 'Latest Special!'"

"Run, Jim, quick!" cried his mother, taking a half-penny from her pocket. She was as excited as Susie at the thought of seeing her boy's name in print.

Jim tried to stand, but his limbs tottered, and he sat down again.

In an instant his mother, forgetful of the paper, was by his side. "You have overdone yourself, my boy," she said. "All that running about has been too much for you."

"No," said the boy, and he spoke with difficulty; "I am all right, mother!" and then, with a wild cry, "O mother, mother, how can I tell you? It's about the Morning Star, and-and father!"

Mrs. Hartland did not cry out or make a scene; only her lips twitched painfully, and she laid a hand on the table to steady herself.

"Tell me the worst, Jim," she whispered bravely; and the boy drew the paper from his pocket with trembling fingers.

"Read it," she said simply; and he tried hard, but his voice broke down before the end of the first sentence.

Then she looked at it herself, but the letters seemed only black dots which danced about and intermingled as if trying to hide from her.

"Give it to me, mother," said Susie.

For the moment they had forgotten her, but the sound of her voice sent a fresh arrow of pain through the mother's heart. But Susie was used to sorrow, and drew strength from her very weakness. Steadily she read through the paragraph from beginning to end, while her mother stood, white-faced and tearless, drinking in every word.

"The second mate, John Hartland, went down with the ship!"

To the woman and children in that little room the words formed the whole paragraph.

"Went down with the ship!" A simple phrase enough, and not uncommon, but perhaps it is as well that we do not always realize the misery and sorrow lying behind it.

A deep hush fell as Susie finished reading. The sun had gone down, the evening shadows were gathering fast; soon it would be time to light the lamp, but no one moved.

A loud rat-tat at the door startled them; and Jim, going out, found a messenger boy with a telegram. It was from the owners of the Morning Star, but contained no further information than had appeared in the evening paper.

"It is very kind of them," said Mrs. Hartland "but I am glad you told me first, Jim."

"We don't know yet that father is drowned!" exclaimed Susie stoutly. "He might have been picked up by another ship. I have read of such things."

Neither Jim nor his mother answered her; the idea was too wild to be considered seriously.

The boy did not realize all that his father's death meant to him, for he was young, and his experience of life had not been great. But his mother, while grieving bitterly for the dead man who had loved her so devotedly, had to think of the living.

Through the long night hours, while the children forgot their sorrow in sleep, she lay thinking, thinking earnestly about their future. She had planned great things for Jim, had built splendid castles in the air for him; and now, at a blow, they came tumbling about her ears.

"Poor boy!" she said softly to herself; "I fear it will change the whole of his life."