That Little Beggar   By: E. King Hall

BY E. KING HALL

BLACKIE & SON LIMITED

LONDON GLASGOW DUBLIN BOMBAY

[Illustration: CHRIS IS BROUGHT BACK BY HIS FRIEND THE SERGEANT]

CONTENTS.

Page

CHAPTER I. JACK AND HIS MASTER. 161

CHAPTER II. A SONG AND A STORY. 172

CHAPTER III. CONCERNING EIGHT FLIES. 189

CHAPTER IV. TEACHING JACKY TO SWIM. 201

CHAPTER V. THE DOCTOR'S HEAD! 218

CHAPTER VI. A PASTE MAN AND A PAINT BOX. 232

CHAPTER VII. CHRIS AND HIS UNCLE. 244

CHAPTER VIII. "I'M A SOLDIER NOW." 259

CHAPTER IX. THE GOLDEN FARTHING. 274

CHAPTER I

JACK AND HIS MASTER.

"No carriage! Are you quite sure? Mrs. Wyndham told me that she would send to meet this train."

I looked anxiously at the station master as I spoke. I was feeling tired, having had a very long journey; and now, to find that I had the prospect of a good walk before me was not pleasant.

"I'll go and have another look, mum," he said civilly as he turned away; "it may have driven up since the train came in. It weren't there before, I know that."

Presently he returned, and shook his head.

"There's nothing from the Hall," he remarked; "nothing to be seen nowhere."

I looked round despairingly, first at the deserted looking little country station with its gay flower beds, decorated with ornamental devices in dazzling white stones, then at the long, white country road, stretching away in the distance with the July sun beating down upon it, and sighed. The outlook was not cheering.

"Is there no inn near at which I could find some sort of conveyance?" I asked, though without much hope of receiving a satisfactory reply.

"None but the White Hart at Teddington, and that's a matter of four miles off," he replied. "It would take less time to send to the Hall."

"How far off is that?" I inquired.

"It's two miles and a bit. By the fields it's less, but as you are a stranger in these parts, I take it, mum, you'd do better to keep to the road if you think of walking," he answered.

"It seems to me the best thing to do," I replied with resignation.

"Well, it's a beautiful afternoon for a walk, if it is a bit hot," he said consolingly, and, retiring to his office, left me to my own devices.

I started very slowly, determined not to waste any energy, with that long and hot walk before me.

Strolling gently on I fell to thinking over my past life the quiet, peaceful life in the country rectory, where I had lived for so many years, and which had only ended with the death of my dear old father two months ago. Now middle aged yes, I called myself middle aged, though I daresay you at the age of eight, ten, fourteen (what is it?) would have called me a Methuselah now I had to earn my own living, and start a fresh life. I don't want to make you sad, for I am quite of the opinion that it is better to make people laugh than cry, but I will confess that as I walked along that sunny afternoon, with the recollection of my great sorrow still fresh in my mind, the tears came to my eyes. You see, my father and I loved each other so much, and he was all that I had in the world; I had no brothers and sisters to share my sorrow with me.

I had gone some distance on my way, when I heard the sound of loud and bitter sobbing. Hastening my steps, I turned a bend of the road, and saw a little boy lying full length on the roadside, his face buried in the dusty, long grass, as he gave vent to the loud and uncontrolled grief which had attracted my attention; whilst a few yards off stood a little wire haired fox terrier, regarding him with a perplexed and wondering eye.

"What is the matter, dear?" I asked the distressed little mortal, whose tears were flowing so fast.