Each other: a tale

Front matter

THREE NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES. RIVEN BONDS. By E. Werner, Author of "Success, and How He Won It," " Under a Charm," &c. Translated by Bertha Ness. 2 vols., 2is. " We would advise the reader, if he have any taste for novel reading, to lose no time in making acquaintance with this charming book." — Court Circular. HEIR TO TWO FORTUNES. By the Author of "The Life of the Moselle." 3 vols., 31s. 6d. " It has dash, and go, and promise." — World. THROUGH THE BREAKERS. By the Rev. Richard Bulkelly, Vicar of St. John's, Dukenfield. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. "The Crimean episodes are treated with a good deal of spirit." Athenæum. " It is always an advantage to get hold of works of a superior tone, and this is one of them, and for that reason alone would deserve to be recommended ; even had it, as we are far from asserting, no other merit." — Morning Post.

Chapter I

The A-ugust sunshine had long disappeared, and a hot summer's day was closing in, when two little boys threaded their way through the narrow streets by the river side, and dodged round dark corners andpastinnumer able turnings, with which they had been familiar all their lives, for they were London children, and had never lived under the blue sky, or felt the free air of country fields. They ran on until they came to a flight of wide stone steps which led down to the float ing pier where the river steamboats touched, to land and embark their passengers. This B was the boys' playground, where they amused themselves by seeing who could get to the top first, or who could slide the nimblest down the iron hand-rail, a feat which they could not always find opportunity to accomplish without attracting unwelcome notice.

Some times they would play at setting a round stone, or may be a chestnut or an orange, rolling down the steep steps, and seeing who could catch it before it gave a bound into the river, for they had no toys to play with, these poor ragged little urchins. And every evening, summer or winter, rain or shine, they were at their post at the bottom of the steps watching for their father to come home to his supper, for John Dacre was em ployed on a river steamer, and his day's work ended at this particular landing-pier. He was generally true to his time, but sometimes he had to spend a longer time in cleaning up and finishing off his duties on board the boat than at other times, and the boys always took care to be too soon to meet him rather than too late. They liked to sit on the stone steps and watch the slow progress of the boats, and barges, and lighters up and down the river ; they liked to look up to the great massive bridge close overhead, which spanned the dark turbid waters, and watch the barges disappear through one or other of its broad arches.

But best of all they liked to climb as high as they could and look at the forest of tall masts which rose against the sky from the crowded mass of shipping down beyond the bridges. Many a one knew the little boys, whose bright young faces were rarely missing from the corner where they stood waiting for their father, long before the boat steamed up to the landing-pier. The watermen, who lounged about, had a cheery word for them ; the man avIio stopped in the little office giving out tickets all day had an orange or a cake for them very often, when he locked his door and toiled up the steps homeward ; and Dacre's mates were always asking him " what he meant to clo with those sharp boys of his, and why he didn't find them a place some where." For they had sturdy limbs and pretty faces, whose intelligence was not hidden by the grimy dirt they managed to collect upon them during the day.

And moreover they had civil words to say when spoken to, which served them a better turn than the ready wit and rough answers of many of their street playfellows. Stevie and Phil had a kind father and mother, therefore, in spite of pre cocious Avays and the habits of independence common to their class from their earliest years, their countenances had none of the anxious, distrustful expression stamped upon the faces of other children of poverty, not more poor than they. It was this that won them notice, and made them different looking from the rest, although their clothes were as ragged and their meals as scanty as the others who wanted the kind word most, and did not get it. EACH 0THEE. " I say, Stevie, its stifling hot to-night ! " exclaimed the youngest. " Let's come down lower and get on to the pier, if we can manage it," answered his brother.

" I like to hear the splash of the water, and see the white bubbles the steamers make — it makes one feel cooler." " It's getting late, Stevie. How late father is to-night." " Never mind ; you and me don't mind being out in the dark, Phil, even if father's ever so much longer. That aint the ' Pauline ! ' " The steamer was not later than usual, but their little hearts were impatient, and since it was too dusk to make out the figures of the clock over the ticketoffice, the boys had no means of knowing how time was passing. " That's not the one either ! " exclaimed Stevie, as Phil rushed forward at the sound of approaching paddle wheels. " That's the last boat up ; the other won't ba long noAV." " The last boat up " touched at the pier, and steamed off again just as a gentleman came running down the steps.

Probably he knew it was the last, for he quickened his pace still more at the sight of the gangway drawn back, but in his eager haste he missed his footing, and fell heavily. A crowd was round him in an instant. Three or four men privileged to lounge on the pier came to help him up, and others idling upon the bridge just above came to look on with just interest enough to see " if the gentleman was killed or not." " Only stunned — arm broke, I think," said the man who had helped to raise him. " Best send him to a hospital. Run along youngster," he added to Stevie, who, with his brother, had edged himself into the little crowd, and was busily offering to go for a doctor, fetch a cab, or do anything. The ticket clerk locked his office door, and sauntered up to join the circle round the still insensible man.

" He's such a gentleman to give himself no time to spare," remarked he. " I know his face well ; he must live somewhere's here, for he's a passenger by our boats every day, pretty nigh. But he's always in a hurry ; never comes on till the last moment. Never knew such a man for hurry and business ; doesn't give himself time to get along ! " " It's a bad look out for him then, poor gentleman ! " said another of the crowd, " I'm thinking he'll have lots of time to spare now. 'Twill be a good while before he can hurry along ao-ain !" "Odd that it should happen to a busy man like him, and us idlers have the luck to escape accidents! I can't help thinking how precious the hours we waste every day would be to others who lead busy lives like that gentle man," remarked another man, who, by his speech and manner, appeared hardly to belong to the rough set of " idlers " with whom he classed himself, though in clothes and appearance he was just as ragged as they.

" That's just one of your speeches, Darrell," pxclaimed one of his companions as they all laughed. " He can afford it better than we could, so it's just right to happen to such as him. Look ! he's coming round." "It's just luck, I suppose," said another, a sullen-looking man, who rarely ventured an opinion with the rest. " "What's this ? I can walk, I tell you. What's the matter here?" exclaimed the injured man, gradually returning to con sciousness, and finding himself being carried up the steps by sturdy arms to await the cab. " All right, sir ; you've only been a bit hurt, and we're taking you to the hospital. Cab will be here directly, sir." " But I won't go to any hospital ; I'm quite well, I say. I've an appointment at eight o'clock to-night, and I must keep it. Should lose £500 if I didn't, My arm's queer, though — suppose I fell down — I don't remember.

But I must get through my work somehow." The men looked pityingly at the pale, anxious face, and the strong efforts the sufferer made to dismiss all idea of pain or injury, making light of strange sensations, and thinking only of how he could keep his appointment and get through all the work he had planned out for that evening. " Last boat gone, you say ? How unfortunate ! Stop a minute ; let me collect my self — my head feels odd. I must take a cab, then, to Chelsea; it's a long way, but there's no help for it," he added, with a sigh. They had got him up to the street by this time, where the cab which Phil had fetched was waiting, and they had helped him into it, still murmuring at the unfortunate delay, and wondering how he should ever make up the lost time that day. He had forgotten all about thanking the men who had picked him up and done their best for him, until re minded of it by one of them, who suggested " the gentleman might have sixpences to spare, if he hadn't got minutes."

" Bless me ! I never thought of it. Of course you expect something," answered the gentleman, good naturedly. " Only remember, I couldn't afford sixpences, if I didn't look sharp after the minutes. Time's money to me." And so saying, he managed to extract a half-crown from his pocket with his left hand, and told them to share it. The cab had started, when he called to the driver to stop, and signalled to one of the group still loitering there. The young man, who had announced his belief in luck, stepped forward in answer to the signal. " Can you take a message for me, my good man ? It would spare me half an hour, if you will go to my office in Blank Street. You won't forget? I may depend upon you?" . The man hesitated — he wasn't used to going errands and messages for just any body ; he had just been saying that he had finished his day's work — still, on consideration he thought he might as well.

So with the idea of doing the stranger a favour, by exchanging his habitual idleness and even ing's lounge for a brisk walk to find out a place he didn't exactly know where, he con sented, answering all questions and doubts by a confident — " All right, sir. "WeU, go to my office, 17, Blank Street— but stay, I'll write down the message ; only this unfortunate accident, I can't used my hand, I'm afraid. Can you put down a few words on paper, my good man ? " The young man shook his head, and his sullen features broke into an amused smile. " Couldn't write a word, nor read one either, for all the money you could give me, sir," he said, boastfully, as if he was more proud of what he couldn't do than of what he could. " I've got a friend though — a young chap as can write, and you may depend on him, sir, as sure as my name is Miller.

I'll answer for him," he added, going back to group, whom he rejoined with a sense of relief, saying, " Darrell, it's you he's wanting after all." The man whom the others called Darrell went instantly. The message and the address were given, and the stranger told him to call there on the morrow, and he would give him a trifle, he hadn't any change to spare then. " You look very bad, sir. You'd better go straight home, or see a doctor," said Darrell, as he touched his cap, and walked off to find the direction given him. He was a tall, erect man, perhaps not more than thirty (though he looked older), who, unlike the other loungers, carried respecta bility in his face and in his hearty, energetic manner. He was a man who seemed to have a purpose in his life, even as he loitered about among the rest, andjone whom strangers involuntarily selected to ask a question of, if they wanted to depend upon the answer.

He never saw the injured gentleman again, for he did not think it worth Avhile to go to office next day on the chance of receiving a sixpence or a shilling. Accidents were common enough in that crowded locality; he was glad to have been of some little service to the gentleman, but after that he thought no more of it. John Dacre's attention had been attracted by the little crowd on the steps as he was slowly coming up from the boat, and he hastened towards it, fearing something might have happened to one of his boys, for he missed them from the spot where they usually waited for him. " Where's Phil ? " he asked, anxiously. "He's only gone for a cab, father; he'll be back directly," answered Stevie; and then Dacre and Stevie went on without giving another thought to the accident, for they wanted to get home.

When John Dacre came off work the next evening he lingered a minute to speak to Darrell, who was lounging by himself against the railings of the pier. Dacre had known him by sight a long time as a man connected with one of the smaller vessels which lay alongside the wharves loading or unloading cargo; he had the look of a sailor about him, and Dacre, like many another, had been attracted by his singularly bright, pleasant face. " Fine evening, mate ! Heard anything how the poor gentleman got home ? — him who fell down these here steps last night ? You helped to pick him up, so my little chaps tell me." " Haven't heard," answered the man. " Well," continued Dacre, " he was always in a hurry — never saw him take things easy." " I was saying last night, what wouldn't he give for some of the hours which we fellows idle away daily.

It seems as if he might make a better use of them than we do," answered Darrell. " Yes, look at those idle chaps up there with their arms over the top of that brido-e, and their eyes watching others as happens to be real busy" — and Dacre, who had a pro found contempt for idleness, pointed to the row of faces just then looking over the bridge watching the craft on the river — •" those fellows stand about by the hour together doing nothing ! " he added, contemptuously " Is that possible ? " asked his companion, briefly; and then he began pacing up and down the narrow width of the pier, as if fancying himself on deck. " Why, it seems more possible than any thing else," answered Dacre. " Lots do nothing for one that works real hard." " But I maintain a man can't do nothing, let him try ever so," repeated Darrell.

" He cant keep at anchor as long as he's alive — if there aint no breeze to fill his sails, there's the tide and the currents, and there isn't the anchor found yet that can make a man's life stand still. This world's never intended for a port — the haven is the future world which we can't see yet. There's the voyage to make first, the storms and the dangers here — the safe harbour's above. I say a man's drifting back if he isn't going forward, there's no standing still— there's no ' doing nothing ' ; he's either doing good or harm. But my mates tell me I'm always making speeches ! " added the man, lightly. " I can't tell where you get hold of such notions," said Dacre, only half seeming to listen. " We haven't got to answer for how other people turn out, that's a blessing ! " " I think we are all answerable for the good of each other," returned Darrell, thoughtfully.

" We're sort of responsible for whether those we choose to associate Avith are the better or the worse for having known us. If we go along with a fellow to the bad, we're helping him down as well as ourselves." Something in his companion's words and manner contrasted with his appearance, made Dacre ask the question — " You've seen better days, I guess ? We poor folks can't talk of those good things like you've been talking." "Seen better days and worse too!" answered Darrell, lightly. " But the best days for all of us are to come, let's hope — in the better land," he added, seriously. Dacre, interested for the moment, yet hardly knowing whether he could fall in with such ideas or not, was in no hurry to go ; so he went back to his questionings. " Been unfortunate, perhaps ? " " I don't believe in fortune neither, mate.

We make or mar our own lives as good folks say. I haven't had much luck, but I can get on without it — it's ill waiting for luck. I've known trouble," continued Darrell, and his tone changed to one of deep feeling, " you're right there, mate. I've had to begin life alone, where I thought to have had friends to smooth the way forme ; I've had to work hard, and haven't found life a holiday by any means. But no matter — it didn't break my heart, and holidays are net half so pleasant as we c often picture them may-be. Pleasure seekers work the hardest, they say." " I often see you about here, don't I, mate ? " said Dacre, presently. " Yes, I'm up here pretty often with one ship or another ; we only make short voyages, coasting mostly, so I'm often about here. I shall go off in the ' Enchantress ' yonder, to morrow night."

Another man came up just then, and seeing Dacre, he remarked — " Sad accident here, last night, Dacre ! Poor gentleman's dead, they tell me — the evening paper has it all in. Rich man he was, they say ; made his money by working dreadful hard, and never letting a moment find him idle — them's the newspaper words — but he had better have taken life a bit easier, I fancy ! " " Yet he always seemed happy enough too, as he went about his business," remarked Dacre. " I often saw him, he came regularly by our boat for a good while. Poor old chap ! he's gone to the land of rest no doubt, for they all speak well of him I hear. " "Well, he's got the best of it, for his work's done — we poor fellows have got our work' still before us ! " answered the last comer, a careworn, tired-looking man. " We haven't a right to say that any man's work is done," said Darrell, thoughtfully.

" Hasn't God got work for us to do in that world as well as in this ? Would the poor gentleman, who wasn't happy if he hadn't eA7ery minute devoted to his business, could he be happy in a for-ever of idleness ? " " Come, that's making Heaven too much like this here world, I can't take that in, mate ! We hope for something better when we get up there," said Dacre, who had his own opinions on these subjects. " But the same that makes us happy here, will make us happy there," argued Darrell. " Well, it wouldn't be Heaven to me if I'd got to work," said the other, taking up the subject in a serious mood. He couldn't help it, with the bright, earnest face of Will Dar rell endorsing, with its hopeful confidence, every word he spoke of "the better land." " And it wouldn't be, Heaven to some unless they could be doing something for one another all day long !

" answered Darrell, good naturedly ; he had known a few such. They strolled up the steps as he spoke, and Dacre wished his new acquaintance " good-night." Amongst the loiterers at the top, lazily dispersing towards well-frequented beer shops and favourite corners for gossip, was the sullen-looking lad, who was fond of boasting of what he couldn't do. Dacre wondered a little to see the man whom he had just set down in his own mind as his superior, because he could talk well, and must have had some learning, join this idle group. " I wonder what he's doing there, since he says a man can't be doing nothing ? It's a queer port those fellows are making for, I take it. He must be a precious hypocrite or a deal better than the rest of us, that's all," muttered Dacre, as again and again that man's brief remark, " is that possible ?

" came back to his memory. " May-be, he's doing some good to those idle chaps, after all ! " But Darrell had merely gone to finish a chat with his friend Miller. He did not talk to him as he had talked to Dacre, for Miller, who had spent the best part of that hot day in a public-house, was not a very sensible or a very cheery companion. Only Darrell had just enough influence over him to make him prefer walking along with him to getting more unsteady with the others. Not that Darrell for a moment thought of doing any good to his companion, although it might be that while intentionally he was keeping him from harm, he was unconsciously leading him right.

Chapter II

One evening soon after this, John Dacre stepped off the steamer, exchanging good nights with the loungers round the pier with whose faces he was familiar, and welcoming the two boys, who were in their usual place watching for him. He walked homewards with tired footsteps, holding a little hand in each of his — he was silent, but then he often was; only Stevie looked up suddenly, and was puzzled to see the unusual cloud on his father's good-looking pleasant face. The mists from the river were rising fast as they reached the house in the steep, narrow street leading down to the water-side, where Dacre and his family lived. Other families, poorer than they, occupied the upper part of the house, for rents were high, even in such a locality. Dacre's wife had just come in from a day's charing, and was preparing the bit of supper for the rest.

John Dacre took his usual place, lounging in the door-Avay, while the boys ran in and out. It was a poorly-furnished room, but as clean and tidy as the small space and poverty-stricken appearance would allow, its one ornament being the flowers, laden with summer blossoms, which stood in the window, the admiration of many an in habitant of that smoky, misty thoroughfare. For in spite of earning good wages, Dacre found it a hard matter to provide for his wife and little ones. He had had a long sickness, and a spell of no work when he came out of hospital, which had got him into debt, and encumbered him with weekly payments of arrears, which reduced their money to a bare subsistence. He had been fortunate enough to obtain his present situation a year ago, for though he had never been a " lucky " man, he had always maintained a good character, which at length got him his place on the steamboat at higher wages than he had hitherto earned all his life.

" Wife," said Dacre suddenly, breaking a long silence, " I met sister Caroline this morning. She was coming to see me, she said, to talk about what's to be done about father and mother, and I said I'd talk to you about it when I came home to-night." " Carry's had a deal of trouble lately, hasn't she, poor thing ? " said Dacre's wife, in a kindly voice. " Yes, her husband has been out of work, tramping through the country after employ ment the last three months, and now she says she must break up her little home. She can't keep it together any longer, and poor old father and mother must go into the workhouse — unless you and I can prevent it, Susan." The wife thought it over before she answered. " I wouldn't like that to happen, John," she said at length. " We're poor enough, but we can make room for the old folks some how, and though 'tis a poor bit of a place, it '11 seem more like a home to them than the 'ouse would !

" " Well, I told Carry I knew my wife had a kind heart, and wouldn't like to hear of the workhouse for the old father ; but then we haven't more than enough for ourselves, and the boys will have to go without many things we've promised them — so I didn't know as you would like it altogether." " We'll manage somehow," she answered cheerfully, " and the time '11 be coming when you and me will be old and helpless, and must look to our boys to keep us ; so we shouldn't like them to look back, if we suffered your old father to be taken to the 'ouse. I can't abear the thought of it ! " " Then I'll go over and fetch 'em on Sunday, since its all settled," said Dacre, and the cloud cleared from his brow. " I must try and make over-time, and do other jobs, when I get a chance ! " he added, hope fully.

" This 'minds me of what the boys have been learning at their school, and come home and said to me the other day — ' Honour thy father and thy mother, that it may be well with thee in the land Avhich the Lord thy Cod giveth thee.' I think those is the words ; 'twas out of the Bible, too, they said." " Ah ! I wonder what land that means," said Dacre thoughtfully, his mind going back to the talk he had had with Darrell on the landing-pier. " I've known some of my mates, good fellows enough, and kind to their parents too, who have come to the workhouse themselves. I don't know what it means, if it's any sort of a promise ! " " Why, I don't know as we ought to think about the reward when we're just doing what's our duty, but I take it that the land which God gives, is a home in ' the better land,' which Stevie sings about on Sundays..

He says it means Heaven ; they teach him at school." " May be," answered Dacre, " but you and I never had any schooling when we were young, had we, Susie ? I hope the lads will grow up better men for what they've been learning — that's all." " Let 'em grow up as good as their father, and I'll be content," said Mrs. Dacre, proudly. Dacre and his wife were simple-minded people, who had never had any advantages of education themselves, so they were the more particular to send their children to school every day, and insisted upon their attending the Sunday school regularly, that they might be taught 'the Bible. They were proud of the boys' learning, and careful that they should attend to their lessons ; while on Sunday afternoons they liked to hear them sing the hymns they had learnt, or say through a chapter or a psalm.

But they never spoke to them of religion, never talked to them of their duty to God and to one another — for they left all that kind of instruction to be given at school, thinking that the teachers could teach them so much better on those subjects than they ignorant folks could. But they forgot that words of good counsel and instruction in life's duties need no book learning, and that the teachings which fall from father or mother's lips are often re membered when school lessons are forgotten. " So grandfather's coming to live with us!" said Stevie Dacre to his brother next morning, as they trudged along the streets to school. " I heard mother talking about it ; are you glad or sorry, Phil ? " " Father looked so pleased when he told us, I'm quite sure I'm glad ! " answered the little fellow.

"Ain't you glad, too, Stevie ?" " I don't know. I shall have to go to work all the sooner, I suppose — but I shouldn't like grandfather to go to the workhouse either, so I suppose I'm glad, too," answered Stevie, but his tone was a little doubtful. " Oh ! I mean to go to work as soon as ever I find something to do; and father promised he'd try and find something ! I'd rather have work than school ! " said Phil. " I shan't work till I've got to ! " said Stevie, who did not at all enter into his little brother's view of affairs. Stevie had not played about the streets of that miserable neighbourhood nearly all day long for nothing. He had picked up notions and opinions upon most subjects — he had stood outside public-houses and gin-palaces of a cold winter's evening often because the lights looked so bright and warm when it was dark and cold everywhere else, and he had overheard advice, and experiences, and jokes which had accustomed him to the darkest side of human nature.