Old Caleb's Will: or, the Fortunes of the Cardew family

Front matter

OLD CALEBS WILL. Attractive Books for Girls. Handsomely bound, cloth boards, illustrated, 3 6 each, A CHARGE TO KEEP. By P. A. Blyth. " This is a powerful, earnest piece of fiction, of strong and sustained interest, abounding in lessons to be laid to heart." — Christian Age. OLD CALEB'S WILL. By Miss F. Armstrong. Books of Adventure for Boys. Handsomely bound, cloth boards, illustrated, 3/fi each. AFTER SCHOOL. By Robert Overton. 24 Illustrations by Reinhold Thiele. " Mr. Robert Overton has secured himself an assured place as a story-writer for boys . . . Admirably illustrated. Should prove a huge favourite this winter. " — Bookseller and Newsagent. LIGHTS OUT. By Robert Overton. (In the press.) ADVENTURES IX NEW TEXAS. By Grace Stebbing, "A well-written story, dealing with a feature of life quite unfamiliar to English stay-at-homes, and the story has all the charm of reality." — freeman.

LONDOX: JARROLD & SO.YS, 10 amet 11, Warwick Latu. And 0/ all Book This must be very old,' he said, examining the cup eagerly." — Page 29- OLD CALEB'S WILL: OR (Ebc Sortunes of the (Caroen? 5amilr. BY FRANCES ARMSTRONG, Author of ' " Ked Herring" " Her Own Way," " Changed Lots" "A Pair Claimant," Gr'c. LONDON : JARROLD & SONS, io & n, WARWICK LANE, E.C. [All rights reserved.] CONTENTS. CHAPTER PACE I. Old Caleb ... ... ... ... 7 II. Robin's Confession ... ... ... 19 III. Christmas Eve at Penverne ... ... 33 IV. Janet's Sacrifice ... ... ... 47 V. An Adventure... ... ... ... 60 VI. A Successful Search ... ... 72 VII. After Three Years ... ... ... 84 VIII. A Great Sorrow ... ... ... 9S IX. Father and Son ... ... ... 108 X. A Mystery ... ... ... ... 121 XI. Old Friends ... ... ... 136 XII. Janet Finds Her Vocation ... ... 150 XIII.

An Unexpected Blow ... ... 161 XIV. Married and Settled ... ... 173 XV. An Eventful Day ... ... ... 184 XVI. Weddings ... ... ... ... CONTENTS. 6 CHAPTER PAGE XVII. Rowland ... ••• ••• ••• 2o8 XVIII. The Burglars ... ... ■•• 220 XIX. A Temperance Lecture ... ... 232 XX. Another Christmas Gathering ...

Chapter I. Old Caleb

WELL, I'll just run round and see how the town looks. Judy, too, would like a run. It is a sine night anyway, and it will make the evening seem a little shorter," muttered old Caleb Johnstone, as he turned the key of his door, and gave an extra knot to the voluminous white woollen wrapper which almost covered his face. " A fine night," he repeated, " but cold ; a nice old-fashioned Christmas, barring the snow. I'm glad there is no snow." As he spoke (he had fallen into the habit of talking to himself) he glanced down the narrow street in which his house stood — his house and shop — for Caleb Johnstone was a jeweller and curio collector, his townsmen said also a money-lender. His shutters were closed, as were most of those in the narrow street, which opened into the main thoroughfare of the town ; it was a very dark little street, the only vivid spot of brightness being a public-house at the corner, which was so brilliantly lighted that it seemed to shed a warmth and cheerfulness all its own.

Mr. Johnstone's eyes rested on it intently, but not in a friendly fashion. " Ah ! they'll be full enough there to night," he murmured angrily, and then he hurried down past "The Three Crowns," keeping the other side of the way, but giving it as he passed a searching glance as if to see that his words were true. As he turned away from his own door he had been aware that a young man — or perhaps it was a boy — was lounging against his shutters with his hands in his pockets, but such loungers were too common to arouse any curiosity. Mr. Johnstone, or " Old Caleb," as he was often called rather affectionately than disrespectfully, had long been an old man ; he was bowed, and very thin, and his steps were somewhat uncertain — bowed with sorrow he would often tell himself, but to his neighbours he kept a brave front, and if any one were bold enough to ask him for his only son, he always answered cheerfully that his Bob was " abroad," and was a very bad correspondent.

His old housekeeper, Mrs. Webb, she too was staunch and silent ; didn't she love " Master Bob," as she always called him, almost as much as if he were her own child ? So the world, the little world of Weyton, did not know that poor old Caleb Johnstone had not heard from his only son for the last seven years, and that he often made up his mind that the boy he had been so proud of had come to grief, or was perhaps even dead long ago in a distant land, and he should never hear how he died. And he sorrowfully knew that even this thought was a relief to his mind when torturing fears took possession of him of some possible disgrace, far worse than death that might have befallen his boy, Mary's boy, whom she had left to his care, a rosy, merry, loving child, with so many tears, and prayers that he might be a good man.

That was long years ago in the happy past. In looking back it seemed happy to Caleb, though his Mary had left him just as he had seemed to want her most ; if she had lived to help him to bring up their son, surely everything would have been different. Ah ! if Bob had been anything like a good man, he would never have left his poor old father all these years without one kind word — there had been no quarrel, differences of course, but no real quarrel — Caleb often told himself. Bob had left his home of his own free will, and he knew that it stood always open for him, and yet he came not. Having visited all the shops that were likely to be worth looking at, each one vying with its neighbour in its Christmas decorations, he, after some consideration, bought two pounds of figs at a grocer's whom he never dealt with, avoiding his own in the fear of being wished " A happy Christmas," and then he hurried home.

As Caleb Johnstone again passed "The Three Crowns," he muttered something that sounded very like a curse, and then came the sorrowful words, " Poor Bob ! poor Bob, they ruined him ! A brighter boy than he never lived till they taught him to drink ; thank God, poor Mary never lived to see it ; thank God, thank God ! " When he reached his own door he took out his latch key, but before turning it he gave a final look down the little street in which he had lived for more than fifty years, and again his eyes rested on the brilliant lamps of " The Three Crowns." It was only now that he became aware that the lad whom he had noticed as he went out had not changed his position, and that his eyes too, were turned towards the lights of the public-house. Any other evening Caleb Johnstone would probably have said to himself that " it was no business of his," but this evening his thoughts were full of his absent son, and some other man's son had an interest for him.

" What are you waiting about here for, young man ? " he asked rather sharply. " It's time for you to be home. I see which way you are looking ; but all is not gold that glitters. You go in there to 'The Three Crowns' and you'll be half way to ruin in no time ; they'll empty your pockets for you, and give you nothing to show for it, and no mistake — now take an old man's advice and go home at once." The boy, for he was little more than a boy, had started almost apprehensively when the first words had fallen on his ear, he had not been spoken to all day, and such isolation was very strange to him. He did not move, however, though he answered pleasantly, "You are right, sir; I have been thinking of going into 'The Three Crowns,' but it was to fill my pockets not to lighten them." " Fill your pockets at ' The Three Crowns,' " said Mr. Johnstone, curiously — he was curious ; and the voice and manner of the boy had told him at once that he was not quite what he had at first thought him — this was no every-day lounger.

"Yes, fill my pockets," said the lad, with an evident effort to speak carelessly. " I thought I might sing for my supper ; isn't there a verse which says, ' Little Tom Tucker sang for his supper?' Then, too, I might be allowed a rest and a warm ; I should be grateful for both, and — " " Then you are not one of this town," interrupted Mr. Johnstone. " You wish to sing in a public-house ! Aren't you ashamed to think of doing such a thing ? " he added sharply. "P'raps I am, I don't know," returned the boy drearily. "If I hadn't been ashamed I suppose I should have been in there this last hour instead of freezing out here." He was too tired to resent even the fault-finding of a stranger. As I said before, Mr. Johnstone was curious ; he was dull too, sad, and downhearted ; the Christmas memories which were troubling him had made him feel very lonely all da)7.

How could he go in to his fire and supper and leave this poor young fellow outside? perhaps someone might be even now stretching out his hand to help his poor Bob ; could he turn away and leave this other man's son outside his door in the very teeth of a great temptation ? It was true he might be a young ruffian, he might rob him, perhaps murder him, he might be the forerunner of some gang of burglars ! All these possibilities contended in Caleb's mind for half a minute, and then he said, "Come in, young man, and have supper with me, and tell me what you're aster." Little Judy, a tiny fox terrier with one black ear, had been sniffing round the boy's legs all this time, and at this moment she placed her fore paws on his knees, and wagged her tail while she tried to lick the hand which was caressing her head ; plainly Judy was of opinion that the stranger was to be trusted.

"Thank you, oh! thank you," exclaimed the boy, with hearty boyish gratitude. "You are awfully good, sir, awfully good ; " and he stooped down and picked up little Judy and fondled her. Mr. Johnstone was not quite sure that he did not kiss her. "Well, wait a minute till I light up. Come, Judy!" called Caleb. After all he might be a dog stealer, and Jud)- was a very handsome little animal though old. When Mr. Johnstone got into his kitchen he turned up the lamp which he had left lighted, and then lit another and hung it on a nail in the passage. As he did this he gave a glance round his comfortable kitchen — a bright fire was burning in the range, while a pleasant smell of baking reminded him that it was high time to take the pie out, which good Mrs. Webb had begged him to be careful not to over-bake ; before the fire on a low footstool dozed a large grey cat.

The table was spread with a spotless white cloth, silver spoons and forks, and the brightest glass, spoke of comfort and refinement. Each side of the fire was an old-fashioned high wooden arm-chair, and in their seats were large down cushions, one of these looked much worn and crushed, while the other looked as if it were never used, alas ! it was Bob's chair. But it should be used to-night. With a glowwarm ing up his heart at the thought, Caleb returned to the door, walking, however, slowly, for he was already tired, and presently the wanderer was following him into the bright cosy little room. He too looked round and took in all its details, ending his glance with a boyish laugh as Judy tried to push the grey cat off the stool, and was rewarded for his impertinence by a good pat. " Toby and Judy always have a fight for that place," said Mr. Johnstone, who had been examining meantime, his guest's face ; a fair young face it was, almost girlish in its delicacy of outline, but there was down on the upper lip, and the mouth was by no means weak, though the blue eyes were very soft and somewhat sad even in the midst of his laughter.

It was certainly a pleasant face, and looking at it all Mr. Johnstone's nervous fears vanished. " Well, young man," he said hospitably, " you'll first like a wash, I know, and then supper 'ill be ready ; it's in the oven, you see. I did not expect a guest, but everything will be ready in a minute." Then he drew a can of hot water from the boiler, and showed his guest into a tiny room close at hand. When he came out of it again the boy looked round the kitchen with much brighter eyes, Mr. Johnstone pointed towards Bob's chair, and into it the tired wanderer sank with a sigh of pleasure, and murmured thanks, after which he did not speak again till his host called him to supper, the preparations for which he had been watching in dreamy enjoyment. On the table now stood a large pie, and a dish of roasted potatoes, a decanter of wine — port wine — the boy noticed was placed near the right hand of his host, while at his own right hand foamed a small jug of beer ; he had heard the beer being drawn only a minute before.

He was thirsty, very thirsty, and he eyed it longingly, and even when a plate of smoking pie was handed to him he did not begin to eat. Grace had been said before they sat down by old Caleb, and ■4 he had noticed with satisfaction that his young guest was not unaccustomed to that form of often perfunctory gratitude. "Well, young man, I hope you will enjoy your supper; you're very welcome to it," he said kindly, glancing up between his own first and second mouthful at the boyish face opposite him, which now flushed deeply. "Might I have a glass of water?" asked the lad; but even as he spoke his hand went out towards the jug of beer as if he could hardy resist its attraction. "Water, water," repeated old Caleb. "Take a glass of beer, it will do you no harm, it's very different to going over there to ' The Three Crowns ' and sitting down to drink like a sot.

A glass of beer with your meat will do you no harm in the world ; why I've been drinking beer these seventy years and more, and what harm has it done me ? I only take a glass of wine now and then on Sundays and such-like. I don't hold with those teetotalers not at all ! The pledge is all very well for those who can't stop drinking when the)- once begin, poor weak creatures they must be ; why can't people be temperate sa)- I ? Have you taken the pledge, young man? They'd have made you break it fast enough over at ' The Three Crowns,' " he added, with a chuckle at his joke. "Well, no not exactly," replied the boy, hesitatingly; he had begun to eat now, and being very hungry the pie before him was fast disappearing ; but he had not poured out an)- beer, and the effort of self-restraint had made the young face look suddenly older.

" ' Not exactly! ' What do you mean by that ? " asked Mr. Johnstone, shortly. "Well, I promised my sister before I left home that I would not touch it again. I don't suppose that would be exactly called taking the pledge," replied his guest simply. " I would rather drink water if it's not giving you trouble." " Trouble ? no trouble at all ; and no one shall say I ever pressed an unwilling man to drink," said his host rising, and presently he placed a decanter of water beside him, saying, " that seems cold comfort for Christmas Eve, and hardly fit to drink a toast in." " Thank you, thank you, so much," exclaimed the boy, with what Caleb thought very disproportionate gratitude. "Got into trouble, poor fellow, through the drink no doubt, but who'd have thought it? he does not look like that sort," mused Caleb, as he piled up his guest's plate with more pie, and noticed his evident refreshment in a long draught of the ice-cold water.

The meal was almost finished in silent enjoyment by the wanderer ; silent satisfaction by old Caleb, who, as he sipped the mellow port which he had decanted as a Christmas treat, felt a glow of satisfaction in thinking he had done a really kind action, and a pleasant sense of excitement at the novelty of having someone to help him to spend his solitary evening ; his evenings were usually solitary now, for most of his old friends were dead, and he made no new ones, while Mrs. Webb always went home at six o'clock, and only returned at the same hour the following morning ; other evenings he did not think about it, but this Christmas Eve memories had come crowding in and would not be denied a hearing. Meanwhile, where had the silent boy's thoughts wandered ? To a low grey house, standing in its pleasant solitude amid trees and meadows ; to a long, low room, hung with family portraits, with faces so familiar to him that they seemed more like real people than things ; to a brightly-polished old-fashioned mahogany table, round which clustered many faces, and some angry thoughts which had been in his heart only a short time before, took themselves wings and flew away at the remembrance.

One face beyond all the others his thoughts rested on — a bright girl's face, which would be just now looking down from the head of that table ; a face full of anxious, loving care, in spite of all its brightness ; and he knew that some of the care read in it would be for him. If she could only see him now, how pleased she would be ! Poor, dear Janet ! His father would be proposing the old toast, Robin Cardew could conjure up exactly the look in Janet's face as he did so, and she would fill up her glass with water, and if father insisted on the little ones having wine in spite of her remonstrance, a very gentle but eager remonstrance it would be. Robin had heard it many times. " Papa, dear, it does them no good ; why do you wish them to learn to care for it?" Tears would come into her bright eyes.

Would she think of him ? Of course she would, but would his father and the others do so ? " All those that we love, and all those that love us," he said, with a sudden impulse, bringing old Caleb's thoughts back with a nervous start to the present, and then he drank another long draught of water, adding apologetically, "Water is really very delicious when you are thirsty, and I don't see really why it should not do to drink a toast in as well as wine." " All those that we love, and all those that love us," repeated Caleb, sadly. "Is that your toast, young man ? Well, I drink it too. 'Tis comprehensive, it may mean much or little, but 'tis a good toast ; " and he sipped the last of the wine in his glass slowly and silently for some minutes, then putting the stopper into the decanter took it into his hand with the intention of locking it up, when, remembering suddenly the presence of his guest, he said, " I did not know I should have company to-night, or I'd have had a pudding ; but there is some bread and cheese if you like, a good Stilton too.

I'll get it out in a minute." " No, thank you, indeed, I want nothing more, sir. I have made a tremendous supper ; it was rather like inviting a wolf to share with you," said the young man, rising too, with an amused glance at the small remains of the pie. " Not at all! Not at all!" said Caleb, heartily. "Very glad you enjoyed it, very glad indeed." Then seeing his guest stand hesitating, he waved his hand toward the arm-chair. " I hope you'll sit a bit and tell me who you are and where you come from. You're very welcome, it's dull work sitting here alone." And when his guest with another burst of thanks had sunk again into Bob's arm-chair, he slowly and carefully filled and lit his pipe. Aster a puff or two he remarked, " I do not ask you to smoke, young man, I don't think it good for half-grown boys.

You must be about seventeen I should guess." " Right you are, sir," replied the boy with a laugh. " I'm seventeen this very day. I was afraid I did not even look that. I'm so short, but I'm growing." As he B spoke he stretched out a pair of somewhat slender legs, which certainly looked as if they might still be growing. Now Mr. Johnstone was very curious, as I said before, and he could resist his curiosity no longer, so he began at once to put the questions he had been dying to ask the last hour. That his guest was in a very different position in life to the loafer he had at first thought him he had seen at once, and he was hardly surprised to hear as he soon did (for Robin Cardew's heart had been quite won by his unexpected hospitality) that he was the son of a Cornish squire, who, having had a quarrel with his father, had lest home to seek his fortune, determined never to return. " I did not run away, sii," said the boy, proudly. " You must not think that ; I told my father I should go, and he said, 'Go, by all means.' "

Chapter II. Robin's Confession

1I7HEN the ice was once broken, Caleb's guest threw W away all reserve, and told his story with a frank, boyish craving for the sympathy he had been longing for, while Caleb, in his anxiety to hear the exact truth, took care not to check him by any word that might imply blame or even surprise. Aster all the story was not a long one, nor had it any mysteries. His name was Robert Cardew, but as his father's name was also Robert he was always called Robin ; his home was in the far end of Cornwall ; he was one of a large family ; his mother had died ten years ago when his youngest brother was born, he could hardly remember her ; his eldest brother was at Sand hurst; his second brother had gone to America, a friend had taken him out with him, and his father had given him two hundred pounds to start with. . . .

An inexhaustible sum Robin seemed to think this. He, Robin, had been sent to a public school, he did not wish to mention its name. That was his only reserve, he had got into trouble there and he had been sent away — not publicly expelled he took care to explain. His father had been very angry, and said he could not afford to let him go to a tutor to prepare for the army. If he had insisted on going up from school he might have taken his chance, and his father would not have opposed his wishes ; but now he would do nothing for him, not even give him the two hundred he had given Ralph, and it was not at all fair, no one could say it was fair! He had been at home some months, his father wanted to get him a post in a local bank. He had had many quarrels with his father, and had quite made up his mind he could not live at home ; so now he had left, taking a few shillings in his pocket — that was about a week ago.

He had made his way first to Plymouth, where a cousin of his father's was living; this cousin he had never seen, but he had sent his sister Janet to school for years, and Janet thought this cousin would help him. At Plymouth he had heard that Mr. Henry Cardew had left that town and was likely to be found at an hotel in Weyton. He had helped himself with the railway as far as he could, and had then tramped ; the roads being hard and free from either mud or snow had helped him greatly, but he had arrived very tired to find, on enquiry at the hotel, that his cousin had left for London only the day before ; he had obtained his address, but he had found himself this Christmas Eve without a penny in his pocket, having already sold his silver watch, and with no prospect of either supper or bed unless he asked for charity or earned them in some way.

" I have a good voice," he explained rather shame facedly, " and I was thinking when you spoke to me — I had been thinking of it the last hour — that if I went into that public at the end of your street I could offer to sing a song or two, and that I might get enough for supper and bed, perhaps enough to help me on my way or to keep me for a day or two till I could get something from Janet, she would be sure to get me something somehowto take me to London — but Janet wouldn't have liked me to go in there," he added under his breath. " Janet, Janet." The name fell very often from the boy's lips, often, too, coupled with an affectionate epithet, or what was meant for one. Janet was five years older than himself, she was his second sister, his eldest sister had married a year ago. " Dear old Jan " did everything for everybody, nobody at home could get on without her.

Janet had been sent to school by her godfather — this cousin he wanted to find — and she had come home full of the Temperance Question ; her father had not liked it at all, and told her she was not to let him see her " foolish blue ribbon," or hear her " talk about such nonsense;" so Janet had been only able to persist silently, and use her influence with those who would listen to her in private. She had won over " the children " to her way of thinking ; they were so devoted to her they liked to copy her in everything ; they would drink nothing but water, and his father did not mind what they drank ; besides beer cost money, and water cost nothing, and money was very scarce just now. He and his brothers had always laughed at Janet, and Nina, his eldest sister, had laughed more than anybody else.

It was a good thing for Janet when Nina married, a good thing for everybody, for Janet managed the home better than Nina. It was to Janet he had promised not to drink anything but water ; she said the drink had been answerable for all his troubles, and perhaps she was right, only he had not been drunk, not in the least drunk, that night when he had got into the trouble at school. It was all just for a lark. He and some other fellows had climbed out of the window of their dormitory, and had gone to a public-house in a neighbouring town. When they came out they had put out some lamps, that was all ; but there had been a great row about it, and he and " another fellow " had been told not to return after the summer holidays. " I don't believe they would have sent me away," said Robin, ruefully, " but Rowly and Ralph were always getting into rows when they were there.

The head master said, ' The Cardews had given nothing but trouble, and had been a bad example.' It was rough on me, wasn't it, sir? they've ruined me." " No, no, young gentleman," said old Caleb, kindly ; " don't you say that, don't you let them ruin you, it's all in your own hands." " That's just what Janet says," returned the boy, brightly, "and she says if I can only keep from the drink I shall get on ; that brown jug of yours was almost too much for me, however," he added with a shy laugh. " Ah ! was it ? " said Caleb, with a twinge of conscience which he could not stifle, and for the first time in his life, perhaps, he neglected the opportunity of saying that " drink in moderation " could do no possible harm. " You see," continued the boy, sadly, aster a somewhat long pause, " everything is in a muddle at home.