Robbery Under Arms Rolf Boldrewood (best way to read an ebook .TXT) 📖

the armchair working away⁠—knitting, I think. I never saw her without something in her hand when she was well. Aileen was reading a book at the table, and every now and then breaking off to talk to the old woman, and trying to look cheerful like.

I knocked twice, and gave a bit of a whistle. They knew Jim and I always did that. Aileen jumped up and came to the door. Mother dropped her knitting, and sat trembling all over and crossing herself.

“Who is there?” says Aileen, coming to the door, but not opening it. Her voice was pretty firm, but I thought she trembled a bit herself.

“All right, it’s me.”

“Is that you, Dick?” says she, putting her hand on the bolt, which they had well fastened below the latch.

“It’s all that’s left of me,” says I, “may I come in?”

Well, it’s a wonderful thing how your own flesh and blood sticks to you through thick and thin, particularly the womenkind! If I’d been the best son and brother that ever lived, they couldn’t have been more glad to see me, or made more of me⁠—bless their hearts. Mother kept on thanking the Virgin and all the saints that had brought her her boy again before she died. If I’d come hack from the wars, like fellers in books covered with glory, she couldn’t have been more loving and tender-like. Aileen kept on huggin’ me till I was most out of breath. Then they both turned and looked at me again and again.

“Oh! it’s me,” I said, just for something to say. “I suppose you hardly know me again.”

“I’d know you if you were painted green,” Aileen said, with the tears still wet on her face; “but oh, how well you look, beside what you did when you came out of that terrible Berrima. You’ve grown brown and healthy-looking again, and the light has came into your eyes, and the blood to your cheeks. You look like a man again. Oh, my God! only to think that anything should have power to alter any living creature like that. And if we could only think it would never happen again. Oh, Dick! Dick!”

“It won’t ever happen again, for I’ll be dead first,” I said, “but we won’t talk about these things, Aileen, will we? I’ve run a big risk to see your face and mother’s again, and we must be gay as we can.”

“So we will,” she said, trying to smile, “so we will. Poor fellow. I mustn’t make things worse than they are. Tell me all that’s gone on at the Hollow. How’s Jim, and father, and the captain?”

After that she never said a word that wasn’t bright and cheerful; though often enough I saw her face change, and sighs would come as if her whole heart was speaking in misery and despair she couldn’t stifle. But she bustled about, and got me some tea. Ready enough for it I was, too, I’d had nothing all day; and after that we had a regular right-down good talk.

I told her all about the sort of life we led at the Hollow, and what a wonderful place it was; all about Jim and me finding the last remains of Mr. Wharton and his curious story; and all about his wife. She was ever so much taken with it, and said what a loving, true woman she must have been, and how brave it was of him to keep his promise to her, and spend the rest of his life in loneliness and hardship for her memory’s sake. “They were worthy of each other, Dick,” she said. “Theirs was a life worth living, not merely eating food, wearing clothes, sleeping and rising like most of the world. I could kneel at such people’s feet and worship them, while I can’t help despising most of the men and women that I meet. But God help us,” she said again, “who am I that I should talk in that way? Tell me more, Dick. You can’t tell how I have hungered and thirsted to meet some of you again and open my heart.”

Then I fold her about Starlight, and how he had proposed to send everything home to England, even the gold, because the dead man wished it. She was quite overjoyed at the idea of our having all agreed so willingly, and couldn’t praise Starlight enough. “It’s like him,” she said, “there’s something noble about that man, in spite of the life he he’s led and still leads. No one can look at him without thinking what a dreadful pity it is that a blight should have fallen upon so fair a promise as his must have been. He has friends⁠—perhaps a mother and sisters. What demon could have tempted him to wreck his whole life⁠—the lives and happiness of others? How full of sorrow this world is! No wonder the people of our faith are glad to leave it and hide themselves where they can pray night and day for those they love, and have all great temptations hid away from them!”

We sat up late that night talking⁠—talking away, as if we never would stop, about everything that had happened since we left. As the night went on, she seemed to grow calmer-like and more ready to tell me all about her thoughts and feelings, till we began to feel as if we were children again, when Jim and I and she used to sit yarning away by the hour together in the old barn and in this very verandah after mother was gone to bed. She’d let us sit up till all hours; but father never would when he was at home.

Of course I began to talk about George Storefield, and she told me how he was getting on better and better in the world; everything seemed to go right with him. He’d been slaughtering at the diggings, and kept a lot of men at work, and drove about in a smart dogcart