He would not be missed. He never was--here or anywhere.
On the verandah a dark form stirred and made a hasty movement. It was
the boy Johnny--now grown tall as Mahony himself--and, to judge from
the smell, what he tried to smuggle into his pocket was a briar.
"Oh well, yes, I'm smoking," he said sullenly, after a feeble attempt at
evasion. "Go in and blab on me, if you feel you must, Uncle Richard."
"Nonsense. But telling fibs about a thing does no good."
"Oh yes, it does; it saves a hiding," retorted the boy. And added with a
youthful vehemence: "I'm hanged if I let the governor take a stick to me
nowadays! I'm turned sixteen; and if he dares to touch me--"
"Come, come. You know, you've been something of a disappointment to your
father, Johnny--that's the root of the trouble."
"Glad if I have! He hates me anyway. He never cared for my mother's
children," answered Johnny with a quaint dignity. "I think he couldn't
have cared for her either."
"There you're wrong. He was devoted to her. Her death nearly broke his
heart.--She was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, my
boy."
"Was she?" said Johnny civilly, but with meagre interest. This long dead
mother had bequeathed him not even a memory of herself--was as unreal
to him as a dream at second hand. From the chilly contemplation of her
he turned back impatiently to his own affairs, which were burning,
insistent. And scenting a vague sympathy in this stranger uncle who,
like himself, had drifted out from the intimacy of the candle-lit room,
he made a clean breast of his troubles.
Pages:
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569