Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling
is as printed.


[Illustration: "'NOW, FATHER, YOU MUST TRY IT ON,' POPPY SAID
DECIDEDLY."]


UNCLE JO'S
OLD COAT

By
ELEANORA H. STOOKE

Author of
"Salome's Burden,"
"Mousey," etc.




WITH FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS



London
S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.
8 and 9 Paternoster Row



CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. UNEXPECTED NEWS

II. FREDDY'S ARRIVAL

III. AN IMPULSIVE ACT

IV. FREDDY KEEPS SILENCE

V. FREDDY'S GENEROSITY

VI. FREDDY SPEAKS OUT

VII. A HAPPY CHRISTMAS



UNCLE JO'S OLD COAT.

CHAPTER I.

Unexpected News.

"OH, Jo, such news! I don't know whether I'm pleased or not;
but I do hope it will be for the best!" And so saying, the speaker,
Mrs. Dennis, laid down the letter she had been reading and glanced
at her husband, with a smile upon her lips and tears in her eyes.

It was half-past eight on a fine September morning, and the Dennis
family—comprised of Dr. Dennis, his wife, and three children,
Edwin and Claude, aged eleven and nine respectively, and Poppy,
a bright little maiden of eight—were seated at the breakfast-table.
Four pairs of eyes turned curiously upon Mrs. Dennis as she spoke,
and her husband hastened to inquire:

"What is it, my dear? What is it you hope will be for the best?
That is a letter from your brother, is it not?"

"Yes, in which he informs me that he is going to be married again;
and he wants us to have Freddy to stay with us for a few months
whilst he and his bride are away on their wedding trip. Here, Jo—"
and as she spoke Mrs. Dennis handed the letter to her husband— "read
what he says for yourself."

The children, who had been listening with great interest, exchanged
glances of mingled surprise and excitement. Freddy was their cousin,
a boy of nine years old, the only child of their mother's brother,
Mr. Frederick Collins, a landowner in Devonshire, who lived at a
beautiful old home called Marldon Court. Mr. Collins had been left
a widower when his little son had been only a few months old,
consequently Freddy had never known a mother's love; but he had never
been conscious of anything wanting in his life, for his father
had made him his first care, and the servants at Marldon Court had
always humoured his slightest whim. Mrs. Dennis had been in the habit
of spending a week or so with her brother every spring, taking one
of her children with her; this year it had been Edwin's turn, and he
had, therefore, the most vivid recollections of his cousin, and was
not altogether charmed at the prospect of having him as a visitor
in the house.

"I don't think Freddy would care to be here," he remarked soberly;
"he's so fond of the country, and he'd find our home very poky
and dull. I hope he won't come!"

"That sounds an inhospitable speech, considering the enjoyable
fortnight you spent at Marldon Court not so long ago," his mother
said, in a tone of gentle reproof. "Why should you wish your cousin
not to come?"

Edwin flushed, and made no reply. He did not wish to appear
inhospitable; but, as he mentally compared the handsome dining-room
at Marldon Court with the decidedly shabby apartment in which they
were breakfasting, he doubted if Freddy would be contented with the
change from the home where he had had everything that heart could
desire, to his uncle's less flourishing abode. Dr. Dennis was
a medical practitioner in a large commercial town in the Midlands,
and it was all he could do to make both ends meet, although his
practice was an increasing one; indeed, in years gone by, it would
have been harder times for the doctor's family but for his
well-to-do brother-in-law, who had always been his best friend.
Mrs. Dennis was naturally deeply attached to her brother, and she
was exceedingly fond of Freddy, who was a bright, intelligent
little fellow.

When Dr. Dennis had finished reading Mr. Collins' letter he returned
it to his wife, and glanced from her to the children. Rightly
interpreting his look, she told them that as they had finished
their breakfast they might go, adding that she would join them
in the schoolroom by-and-by. Somewhat reluctantly the young folks
left the room, and repaired to the apartment which had been formerly
their nursery, but, now that they were school-children, was used
as a room where they learnt their lessons in the evenings, and could
follow their own pursuits without interruption.

"Mother might as well have told us who Uncle Frederick is going
to marry," said Claude, in a slightly injured tone.

"Some old frump, I expect," Edwin replied; "I wonder how Freddy
will like having a step-mother."

"Poor Freddy!" sighed Poppy, sympathetically, recalling all the
stories she had heard of unkind step-mothers; "it will be very hard
lines for him, won't it?"

"Oh, I don't know that!" Edwin exclaimed quickly. "So far he has had
everything his own way, and he's very selfish. I noticed that when I
was at Marldon Court at Easter. He wouldn't let me ride his pony,
though uncle asked him if he would and was vexed because he
wouldn't; and he'd hardly allow me to touch his pet rabbits; and he
got quite nasty when his dog took a fancy to me. All the same
he's a jolly little chap," he allowed, "and willing to do you a good
turn—that is, if it doesn't put him out of the way to do it."

Claude and Poppy laughed at the conclusion of their brother's
sentence, and continued to discuss their cousin till the door
at length opened to admit their mother. Immediately they began
to ply her with questions; but she held up a silencing hand, saying
that if they would listen quietly she would tell them all she knew
herself concerning their uncle's approaching marriage.

"He is going to marry a young lady who has been visiting in the
neighbourhood of Marldon Court," she commenced to explain, "and he
says Freddy likes her, which is extremely satisfactory. There is
no reason why the wedding should be delayed, so it is to take place
very shortly, and Freddy is to come here whilst his father and
step-mother go abroad."

"Is he coming for months, mother?" Edwin asked seriously.

"Yes; very likely he will stay with us till Christmas. Your uncle
suggests that he should go to school with you boys, and I am sure
that will be the best plan."

"Freddy has never been to school, has he?" questioned Claude.

"No: he has been educated by a governess up to the present."

"And a fine time he led her, judging from his own accounts,"
said Edwin laughing; "I believe she let him do as he pleased for the
sake of a peaceful life."

"I am afraid he is rather a spoilt child," admitted Mrs. Dennis;
"but I am sure he is a very affectionate little fellow. Your uncle
says he is certain the wife he has chosen will prove a kind
step-mother, and if so, he is acting wisely for Freddy's sake.
Your father and I will, of course, be invited to the wedding,
which will be at the end of the month."

"So soon as that!" exclaimed the children in surprise.

"Yes. It will be a very quiet wedding. The bride—Miss Seymour she is
called—is to be married from the Vicarage at Marldon; the Vicar
is her uncle, and she has often visited him before this year,
so your uncle and Freddy have known her some time. After the wedding
your father and I will bring Freddy back with us."

"I suppose they have bride cakes at quiet weddings, don't they?"
asked Poppy, anxiously, at which her mother and brothers laughed,
and the former replied that she was not certain upon the point.

"I wonder how Freddy will like going to school," Edwin said,
reflectively; "he's sure not to like it at first. I shall warn him
not to be too important with the boys; he's younger than I am, so I
suppose I shall have to stick by him if he gets into trouble,
especially as he's our cousin."

"Why should he get into trouble?" Mrs. Dennis inquired. "He always
appeared to me very good-tempered."

"Oh, yes!" Edwin agreed; "but, he's inclined to be meddlesome,
and to interfere with what doesn't concern him. He has such a good
opinion of himself that he thinks what he does and says must be
right."

"Then he must be very conceited!" Poppy exclaimed with decision.

"You see, he has had no sister or brother to point out his failings
to him," Mrs. Dennis said excusingly. "You must be kind to him,
children, for he will be your guest, and I want him to have a happy
time whilst he is with us. It will be a great change for him here
in many respects. No doubt he will feel the separation from his
father, for they have always been so devoted to each other; and he
will miss his pony and his numerous pets, but I hope he will be
quite compensated for all he loses by your friendship and love.
The society of young folks is what he most wants; hitherto, he has
lived with grown-up people only."

"It must have been very dull for him sometimes," said Claude;
"but of course there are so many more ways of amusing oneself in the
country than in the town. I wonder what he will think of this place.
It will seem odd to him to live in a house in a street, with no
garden."

"And a grocer's shop opposite," added Edwin, who was standing by the
window looking out.

"Well, that's very convenient," Poppy said in a matter-of-fact tone.
"It is a mile from Marldon Court to the village, and then there's
only an all-sorts shop there. Mother, when you lived with Uncle
Frederick before you married father, didn't you find it very
inconvenient about the shopping?"

"No, my dear, for we used to keep a good stock of everything in the
house. Now, I must leave you, and go and write to Uncle Frederick.
Have you any messages for him? Shall I send him your
congratulations?

"Please, mother," all three answered, and Poppy added: "Say I hope
our new auntie will be very nice."

[Illustration: FREDDY ON HIS PONY.]

"And what message will you send to Freddy?" Mrs. Dennis asked
with a smile.

"Tell him we're glad he likes Miss Seymour," Claude said seriously,
"and that we're looking forward to seeing him."

"And that he'd better leave his meddlesome tricks behind him
at Marldon Court, for there's no room for them here!" Edwin cried
laughingly. "Oh, well, mother, you can leave that out, if you
please!" he said, as Mrs. Dennis shook her head; then, as she left
the room, he turned to his sister and brother, and remarked
with sudden gravity: "I do hope mother won't be disappointed
in Freddy, but she really doesn't know what he's like, for he was
always on his best behaviour in her presence."

"He's very fond of her," Claude replied, "so perhaps he won't mind
obeying her when he comes here to stay."

"I don't believe he ever really obeyed anyone in his life,"
Edwin said, "but he'll have to begin, and I don't suppose he'll like
it. Well, we have had unexpected news to-day. I don't know whether
to call it good news or not."

Edwin was a thoughtful, observant boy, and during his fortnight's
visit to Marldon Court in the spring he had spent most of the time
in his cousin's society, and had formed a fair estimate of his
character. Would Freddy expect the members of his uncle's household
to give way to him, to study his pleasure, and to bend to his
imperious will? If so, he would find out he had made a mistake,
for Dr. Dennis— "Uncle Jo," as Freddy called him— exacted strict
obedience from his children, and would require it from his little
nephew too.



CHAPTER II.

Freddy's Arrival.

It was on an evening towards the end of September, that the train
by which Freddy Collins and his aunt and uncle had travelled
from Devonshire slowed into the railway station of the town of B—,
where the Dennis family resided. Freddy, a well-grown boy with a
healthy complexion and blue eyes, was feeling very tired and
slightly depressed. The previous day had been a long and exciting
one, beginning with the marriage of Miss Seymour and Mr. Collins,
and the departure of the bridal pair in the morning, and concluding
with a tea in the village schoolroom, and an entertainment for the
villagers in the evening.

Though Freddy really liked his step-mother, who, as Mrs. Dennis had
been delighted to find, was in every way likely to make her brother
a good wife, and was very bright and attractive, he did not approve
of the plans she and his father had made for a long trip on the
Continent, for he did not at all relish the idea of being banished
for nearly three months from his home, as would be the case
if Mr. and Mrs. Collins did not return till Christmas, though he had
often wished to visit his relatives at B—. As the train had sped
farther and farther from the wooded county of his birth, which he
had never left before, he had grown quieter and quieter, and at last
had fallen asleep, never awakening till his uncle touched him on the
shoulder, saying: "Wake up, my boy. Here we are at last."

The next minute Freddy was standing on the station platform,
being welcomed by his cousins, who had all come to meet him and
their parents. They talked so much and so fast that he felt quite
bewildered; but finally Edwin and Claude took him between them
and marched him off, saying that they would walk home as it was not
far to go, and the others would follow as soon as Dr. Dennis had
seen to the luggage.

"I expect you're hungry after your long journey," said Edwin kindly,
"but there's a jolly tea waiting for you. The wedding went off all
right, I suppose? I say, what a good thing it is you like your
step-mother!"

"Oh, she's all right," Freddy answered promptly. "I think you'll be
sure to like her too. She and father are gone abroad, you know, and
they wouldn't let me stay at Marldon Court with the servants."

"You'll be better with us," Claude told his cousin; "you'll like it
at school after a while, and we shan't let you be dull. You've grown
a good bit since I saw you last, Freddy; you're taller than I am
now."

"Yes," Freddy assented, smiling complacently, "I believe I am;
and I'm not so old as you by nearly two months. What a dirty place
B— seems to be," he proceeded, glancing about him in the gathering
dusk, "and how narrow this street is!"

"Yes, this is an old part of the town; in the newer parts
the streets are wider," Edwin explained. "This is High Street;
most of the business is done here; and here we are at home."

"At home!" Freddy cried, in blank astonishment. "Why, you don't mean
to say this is Uncle Jo's house?" he questioned.

"Certainly it is," Edwin answered; "I thought you knew we lived
in the main street."

Freddy made no response, but the quick look he cast around him
was more eloquent than words. He followed his cousins into the house
in silence, and after hanging up his coat in the hall, was led into
the dining-room, where a substantial meal was spread invitingly
on the table, and a bright welcoming fire burned in the grate,
for the evening was chilly, though it was only early autumn. A few
minutes later Mrs. Dennis and Poppy arrived. The former explained
that her husband had gone to see the doctor who had kindly attended
his patients during his brief absence from home; and as soon as she
had taken off her hat and cloak they all took their seats at the
tea-table.

Freddy's spirits revived during the meal, and he gave his cousins
a glowing account of the wedding. Poppy, who had hitherto considered
that a step-mother must be a disagreeable person, was astonished
to find that this one was young and pretty, and that Freddy heartily
admired and liked her, whilst the idea of being jealous of her
in any way had never occurred to him.

"Of course he doesn't remember his own mother, that's why he doesn't
mind," reasoned the little girl to herself. "Still, I think it is
very nice of him not to mind all the same."

"I hope father will soon be home," Edwin remarked presently; "I am
sure he must want his tea; but I should not be surprised if he has
gone to see old Mr. Henley."

"Is Mr. Henley ill?" Mrs. Dennis inquired.

[Illustration: "WAKE UP, MY BOY. HERE WE ARE AT LAST."]

"Yes. He sent for father yesterday; I heard the servant who called
say Mr. Henley would be dreadfully put out when he heard father
was away, because he likes him better than any other doctor
in the town."

There was a ring of loving pride in the boy's voice as he spoke,
for he felt great pleasure in the knowledge that his father was so
highly esteemed, and his mother smiled understandingly as she met
his eyes.

"I am sure if I was ill I should like to have Uncle Jo to doctor
me," Freddy said with a smile; "he's so kind and gentle, though he
is so big. He's just like a great bear in that old overcoat
he wears—I mean the one he travelled in, with the cape."

"Oh yes! he's had it for ages; as long as I can remember!" Poppy
cried. "Mother told him the other day it was getting too shabby
to wear, and he said he'd get a new one by the winter."

By-and-by Freddy was escorted over the house by his cousins. The two
rooms nearest the front door were given up as waiting and consulting
rooms for the doctor's patients, and a small room beyond served as a
surgery, so that the dining-room was the only apartment on the
ground floor in the use of the family, the kitchens being below,
and the drawing-room upstairs. Freddy found he was allotted a small
room next to the one which the brothers shared. The whole house
seemed cramped and shabby in his sight, but he did not say so,
and expressed himself satisfied with the arrangements which had been
made for his comfort.

When the children reentered the dining-room they found Dr. Dennis
there having his tea. As Edwin had guessed, his father had been
to visit Mr. Henley, who had been desirous of seeing him immediately
on his return.

"What is this?" inquired Poppy curiously, examining a brown paper
parcel which had been laid on a chair behind the door. "It's
addressed to you, father. Oh, I see, it comes from Dalton,
the tailor."

"I suppose it must be my new overcoat," her father replied; "I gave
the order and was measured for it last week. You may open the parcel
and look at it if you like, Poppy."

The little girl immediately did so, whilst her brothers drew near.
It was evident that new clothes were not of frequent importation
in the doctor's household.

"Now, father, you must try it on," Poppy said decidedly; "mustn't
he, mother?"

"Yes, do, Jo," smiled Mrs. Dennis, as interested as the children.

So to please them all, Dr. Dennis stood up and put on his new
overcoat, which met with unanimous approval and admiration.

"I really wanted it, for my old one is very shabby," he remarked;
"still, there's a lot of wear left in it, and I shall keep it
for night work, unless I fall across some poor creature who really
requires such a garment. I left it in the hall, but I'll hang it up
behind the surgery door."

"Oh, I don't think you'll wear it again now you have a better one,"
his wife interposed. "Give it away, then it will be doing good
to someone."

"Very well, I will, my dear; but let it remain behind the surgery
door till I see a deserving person to present it to. I daresay
I shall soon find such a one amongst my poor patients. I've an
affection for that old coat; it's been a good servant."

The children laughed. It had amused Freddy to see the keen interest
with which they had examined the doctor's new purchase, for it would
never have occurred to him to criticise any article of his father's
wardrobe, or even to notice it at all; but his cousins had appeared
quite excited as they had felt the texture and criticised the fit
of the new coat.

Remembering that this was the first occasion on which he had ever
been away from his home, Freddy's relatives did all they possibly
could to entertain him and render him happy with them, and they were
successful in their efforts for the first few days, when the visitor
was on his best behaviour. He was grateful to them for their
kindness, for the big town with its busy inhabitants, its dingy
houses blackened with the smoke from numerous factories, filled the
country-bred child with a sense of loneliness which his cousins
could not understand. The week after his arrival he accompanied
Edwin and Claude to school, where he found the discipline of daily
work most irksome, and his troubles began. In a very short while
he had made several enemies amongst the little boys of about
his own age, over whom he tried to domineer. In vain it was pointed
out to him by Edwin and Claude that he must not expect to have
his own way, or try to lord it over others; hitherto he had always
done as he had pleased, and had been a person of consequence,
but now he found himself one amongst many, and discovered to his
intense astonishment and chagrin of how little account
Master Frederick Collins actually was. The big boys took scarcely
any notice of him, or if they did it was only to order him about,
or send him on errands which they insisted on his executing, and the
younger boys nicknamed him "Greedy Collins," because he objected
to lending his possessions, and rarely thought of offering anyone
a share of the sweets which he purchased with his pocket-money;
it never crossed his mind that many of his school-fellows, and his
own cousins, were not so well supplied with money as himself.

Finding Edwin and Claude somewhat unsympathetic, Freddy made Poppy
his confidante, and poured into her ears the history of his woes.
She listened, and was sorry for him, but being a shrewd little
maiden, recognised that the remedy for his troubles lay
in his own power.

"You'll get on better with the boys by-and-by if you don't get cross
with them, and are more obliging," she told him; "you think too much
of yourself, Freddy, and you want everything your own way."

Freddy was taken aback at this very plain speaking, and he exclaimed
indignantly, "I suppose you think I am greedy, too!" Then as the
little girl made no reply, but looked embarrassed, he continued:
"I hate school, and I hate being here in this dull, dirty town!
It was unkind of father not to let me remain at home! Oh, I hope he
won't stay away till Christmas; I don't know what I shall do if he
does! Everything is so horrid! The house is so dingy and shabby,
and—" He paused suddenly, struck by the expression of his cousin's
face. "I—I beg your pardon," he faltered.

But Poppy was too astonished and hurt to accept his apology.
She answered not a word, but marched with great dignity out of
the room, leaving him to himself, a prey to remorseful thoughts.



CHAPTER III.

An Impulsive Act.

FREDDY had been a resident in his uncle's house for nearly a month,
when, on returning from school with Edwin and Claude one afternoon,
they met an old gentleman in High Street, who stopped when he caught
sight of the three boys, and addressed the eldest in a gruff though
not unkindly voice.

"Tell your father I want to see him when he can spare me half an
hour," he said. "I find he is not at home now. He need not call till
to-morrow, if that will be more convenient for him than this
evening, for I don't want him to visit me in his professional
capacity—tell him so, and he'll understand. Mind you don't forget
my message."

"I will be sure to remember it," Edwin replied as he lifted his cap
courteously.

The old gentleman nodded; then, glancing at Freddy, he said:

"That boy is not your brother, is he?"

"No; he is our cousin, who is living with us at present," Edwin
explained. "His name is Frederick Collins, and his real home is
in Devonshire."

"Ah, yes!" — and without another word the old gentleman went on
his way, leaning on a stout stick, for he walked somewhat feebly.

"What an odd old fellow!" cried Freddy, glancing after him with
a smile. "Who is he?"

"Mr. Henley, the richest man in B—," Claude answered. "He's one of
father's best patients, for he's nearly always more or less ill,"
he continued ingenuously. "He suffers a great deal from rheumatism,
which makes him rather crotchety in his temper; but he's very
kind-hearted, nevertheless, and gives away a lot of money to those
he knows who really need it. Last Christmas he gave father several
pounds to distribute amongst his poor patients. I wonder what
he wants to see father for, now."

"He's a very sharp-looking old man," Freddy remarked, recalling the
shrewd glance Mr. Henley had cast upon him. "To look at him,
I'm sure no one would guess him to be rich, though. Where does
he live?"

"In a house a little way out of the town—not a big house. Father
says he lives as simply as any working man, and he has no wife
or children to spend his money on."

"Why doesn't he spend it on himself, then?" Freddy inquired.
"Why, if I were he, I'd do just as I pleased in every way;
buy whatever I liked, and always be enjoying myself."

"Wouldn't you do anything for other people?" Edwin asked gravely.

"Oh, yes, of course," Freddy rejoined quickly, looking rather
ashamed of his selfish speech.

"You've always plenty of money for all you want," Claude reminded
his cousin. "Uncle Frederick gives you such a good allowance
of pocket-money; much more than we get."

"Why don't you ask Uncle Jo for more?" Freddy questioned
thoughtlessly.

"Because we know he can't afford to give us more," Edwin replied.
"You see, he's not so well off as your father. Besides, you're an
only child, and there are three of us."

"I never knew till I came to B— that Uncle Jo had so little money,"
Freddy candidly admitted. "I think being a doctor is very hard
work."

"So it is," Edwin agreed; "and it's very sad work too. A lot
of father's patients are so very poor, and I know he feels it
dreadfully sometimes not being able to give them money when they
want food and clothes to keep them warm more than medicine."

"I don't believe anyone is poor like that in the village at home,"
Freddy said reflectively; "at least, I never heard of anyone.
But, if Uncle Jo's patients are so poor, how can they pay him?"

"Very often they don't pay him," Claude answered; "but I don't think
father would ever refuse to visit a sick person, even if he was
certain he would never get paid."

"I am sure he would not," Freddy responded decidedly; "for no one
could be kinder-hearted than Uncle Jo."

Edwin delivered Mr. Henley's message to his father on the first
opportunity. Dr. Dennis seemed pleased to hear it; but merely said
he would find time to see the old gentleman during the evening, and
did not gratify his son's curiosity as to the purport of his visit.

It so happened that the next day, which was a Saturday, Freddy was
left to spend the afternoon in the house alone, except for
the servants, as Mrs. Dennis went to a friend's to tea, taking Poppy
with her, and Edwin and Claude started off together to watch
a football match. Freddy had intended going to see the football
match with his cousins, but his uncle had noticed he had a slight
cold, and had told him he had better not go; so he settled himself
comfortably in an easy-chair by the dining-room window, as soon as
he was left to himself, and commenced to read a book which Edwin
had recommended to him. But he was no reader, and his eyes
continually strayed from the printed page to the pedestrians passing
to and fro on the pavement, whilst his thoughts reverted to what
Edwin had told him on the preceding afternoon concerning the poverty
of many of the doctor's patients.

The little boy had never known or seen anything of poverty at home;
but here, in his uncle's house, it was always cropping up and
confronting him. The people who came to consult Dr. Dennis of a
morning, before he started on his round of visits, were mostly
of the poorer classes, Freddy knew, for he had peeped at them
sometimes when he had found the door of the waiting-room ajar,
and he had been greatly struck by their pale, pinched faces; whilst
he had on several occasions heard his uncle speaking to his aunt
of various distressing cases in which he was interested.
He considered it was very good of Uncle Jo to trouble about
other people.

By-and-by Freddy's attention was attracted by a tall, gaunt old man,
clad in a shabby suit of clothes, which once had been black but now
was green with age, who was trying to sell bootlaces, which he
was offering to every one he met. Nobody bought, however; and seeing
Freddy at the window, the old man paused and held up a bunch
of laces. The little boy shook his head at him, but he did not go
away. Freddy had a sixpence and some coppers in his pocket,
and fired with a sudden impulse of generosity he rose, and hurrying
from the room crossed the hall to the front door, which he opened
and beckoned to the old man, who approached with alacrity.

"I don't want any bootlaces, thank you," Freddy said; "but—you look
very poor. Are you?"

"It would be hard to find a wretched creature poorer,
young gentleman," was the reply in the whining voice of the
professional beggar, which Freddy, however, was too inexperienced
to recognise.

"I'm very sorry for you, indeed I am," the boy said earnestly,
his heart stirred with pity as he regarded the apparently decrepit
figure before him; "it's hard lines on you—very. Here's twopence."

"Thank you kindly, sir." The old man grasped the proffered coins
greedily, and proceeded: "I suppose you couldn't find an old garment
of your father's that you could give me, for it's terribly cold,
and I've only these few poor rags to my back?"

"It's my uncle I'm living with at present, not my father," the boy
explained; "he's not in; if he was, I'd ask him to give you some
better clothes." As the old man lingered, he fingered the sixpenny
bit in his pocket, and debated in his mind whether or not he should
make him a present of that too; then he suddenly remembered
his uncle's old overcoat hanging behind the surgery door, and wished
Dr. Dennis was at home, for surely he would not be likely to find
anybody who could make better use of his discarded coat. "I say,
can't you call again in the evening?" he asked. "I should like
my uncle to see you; I feel sure he would give you some clothes."

"I daren't venture out after dark, sir, because I've such a fearful
cough. It would be the death of me if I took cold," the man rejoined
with a shiver.

Freddy hesitated. Surely his uncle would be willing and glad to give
his old overcoat to this poverty-stricken creature! Still, he hardly
liked to take the matter into his own hands. Whilst he stood
undecided how to act the other commenced to cough, and that settled
the question. He fetched the coat from its peg behind the surgery
door, and presented it to the old man, who was so profuse in his
thanks that the little boy felt quite embarrassed and was glad
to shut the door upon him. He went back to the dining-room, but on
reaching the window, the old man was not to be seen, having beat
a speedy retreat. Freddy wished now he had asked him his name,
and where he lived, so that he could give his uncle more information
about him; but it never occurred to him that there was a possibility
that Dr. Dennis might not be pleased at what he had done.

By-and-by he went upstairs to his own room, and unlocking his
writing desk, re-read his father's last letter, and so engrossed
was he in its perusal that he did not hear the front door open,
and his uncle enter the house. Presently, however, he heard hurried
footsteps on the stairs, and one servant talking to the other
who was evidently in her bedroom; and this was the conversation
which fell upon his ears, shocking him indescribably.

"Cook, cook, have you touched master's old overcoat which he left
hanging behind the surgery door?"

"No, certainly not, Jane. You know I never go into the surgery."

"Master says he's certain he left the coat there last night;
he remembers wearing it to Mr. Henley's; and now he can't find it.
He's in a great state about it, because there was money in a
pocket-book in the inside pocket—I don't know how much."

[Illustration: "HE FETCHED THE COAT...AND PRESENTED IT
TO THE OLD MAN."]

"Well, the coat can't be lost or stolen; it must be in the house
somewhere. I'll come and help look for it."

Freddy heard the two servants go downstairs together, but he himself
was too frightened to follow them, being paralysed with dismay. What
had he done? What would Uncle Jo say when he knew? He ought to tell
him at once; but, dared he? He felt he did not dare.



CHAPTER IV.

Freddy keeps Silence.

"IT'S the most mysterious affair I ever heard of in my life! Are you
quite sure you left the coat in the surgery last night? Might you
not have hung it up in the hall? No. Well, who has had
an opportunity of getting at it, then?" —and Mrs. Dennis, who had
a few minutes previously entered the house with Poppy, looked in
bewilderment from her husband to the two servants who had met her
in the hall with the news that the former's old overcoat
was missing.

"How can I possibly tell?" Dr. Dennis answered a trifle irritably;
"all I know is, that I wore the coat to Mr. Henley's last night,
and, when I came home, hung it behind the surgery door as I usually
do; and—I was very tired, that is the only excuse I have to offer
for my carelessness—I went straight upstairs to bed, omitting
to take my pocket-book from the breast pocket of the coat. This
morning, as you know, I was called out early, and I then wore my new
overcoat. The worst of it is," he explained, as he followed
his wife into the dining-room, "there were two five-pound notes
in that pocket-book, which Mr. Henley gave me last night for a poor
patient of mine whose husband has died, leaving her destitute."

"Oh, Jo!" exclaimed Mrs. Dennis distressfully, "supposing the money
should be lost? What if your coat has been stolen?"

"Then I must make the money good, my dear. When I first found
the coat missing it occurred to me that you might have given
it away."

"Oh, no!" Mrs. Dennis glanced around and saw Freddy standing in the
doorway, listening to the conversation. The little boy's face looked
very pale and startled; but she thought that was only natural
under the circumstances. "I don't see how the coat can have been
stolen," she proceeded meditatively, "because none of your patients
ever enter the surgery, and I am sure the servants are honest."

"Yes," the doctor agreed, "cook and Jane are as much in the dark
as we are, of that I am certain." Then, catching sight of Freddy,
he said: "Come near the fire, my boy, you look chilled to the bone.
What have you been doing all the afternoon? You ought not to have
stayed upstairs in the cold."

"I've only been upstairs a little while," Freddy rejoined hastily.
"I've been down here most of the time, reading, and—and looking out
of the window."

"Then you would certainly have heard if any one had been in the
surgery?"

"Oh, yes, Uncle Jo!"

Freddy had come downstairs in a doubtful frame of mind as to whether
or not he would be able to pluck up his courage and confess the
truth concerning the doctor's coat; but on hearing the amount
of money in the pocket-book he had been too frightened to speak out.
Afterwards he bitterly regretted having kept silence.

When Edwin and Claude arrived at home they were immediately informed
that their father's old overcoat was missing, and joined with the
other members of the household in making an exhaustive search from
attic to basement, without, of course, any satisfactory result.
Freddy wandered aimlessly from room to room with the rest, looking
white and miserable, until his aunt sent him back to the dining-room
fire. There, by-and-by, Poppy came to hint with the information,
given in an awestricken voice, that her father had gone to the
police station to tell the police of his loss. This news was an
additional cause of alarm to Freddy, who now began to wonder if
the police would find the poor bootlace-seller in possession of the
overcoat, and charge him with the theft; but even with that thought
in his mind he was too great a coward to acknowledge what he had
done. He reflected that if he spoke out now, he would be blamed
for not having done so at first, so he continued to hold his peace.

"If I told uncle, that would not bring the coat back," he argued
with his conscience, which pricked him sorely; "and I don't know
the name of the man I gave the coat to, or anything about him. If he
is honest he will certainly bring the pocket-book back, and then I
shan't mind so much telling uncle, for he will have the money all
right."

But the bootlace-seller did not reappear at the doctor's house,
and though Freddy kept an anxious look out for him for many days
to come, he never caught sight of his tall, gaunt form; and the loss
of the coat remained a mystery to all the other members of the
household.

One November evening, Mrs. Dennis and the children had drawn their
chairs round the sitting-room fire, when Freddy began to talk
of Christmas, to which season he was eagerly looking forward,
for his father and stepmother proposed being at home by that time.

"I wish you were all going to be at Marldon Court for Christmas,"
he said, looking affectionately at his aunt and cousins; "what fun
we would have! But I suppose Uncle Jo would not be able to leave
his practice?"

"No," Mrs. Dennis replied; "and we all like to be together
at Christmas time—not that it is ever a very gay season for us,
and I expect it will be even quieter than usual this year, for your
uncle had to replace those five-pound notes which were lost,
or stolen I suppose I should say. He could not tell Mr. Henley
they were missing, and he could not keep the poor widow without
her money. It has been an unfortunate affair, but one would not mind
that so much if it was not still wrapped in mystery. It is
unsatisfactory in every way."

Freddy made no response, but his face, which had been very bright
as he talked of Christmas, grew overcast. His happiness at the
anticipation of the reunion with his father was shadowed by the
remembrance of his guilty secret, and he became so wrapped in uneasy
thought that he lost a great part of the conversation which
followed, until a remark of Claude's brought him out of his reverie
with a start.

"I really thought it was father's old overcoat," the boy was saying,
"and I'm not quite certain now that it wasn't; however, I lost sight
of the fellow in the crowd."

"What is that, Claude? I didn't hear," Freddy said with sudden
anxiety.

"I thought I saw a man wearing father's old overcoat yesterday,"
Claude explained. "There was a case being tried at the police-court
as I was passing, and amongst the crowd outside was a young man
with an overcoat exactly like—"

"A young man?" Freddy interrupted. "Oh, you must have been
mistaken!"

The others looked at him quickly, for he had spoken with great
decision. He grew very red, and became covered with confusion as he
noticed their astonished glances.

"I mean it couldn't have been uncle's coat," he continued
stammeringly; "that is—it's not very likely—"

"I don't know that it's altogether unlikely," Edwin said. "I should
not be surprised if the coat turns up some day, and then we shall
find out who stole it."

The conversation drifted into another channel after that; but later,
when Freddy had gone to his own room for the night, there was
a knock at the door, and Edwin entered.

"What do you want?" Freddy asked, yawning as though he was very
sleepy, his eyes resting suspiciously on his cousin's face, which
looked decidedly perturbed.

"I want to ask you something," was the reply in a low tone. "Freddy,
do you know anything about father's old coat? I—I have often
thought—from your manner—that you do; and I—I remember that you were
at home alone that Saturday afternoon. Oh, Freddy, forgive me if
I'm wrong!"

"Do you imagine I stole the coat?" Freddy demanded, inwardly
terrified, though he spoke haughtily, with an assumption of
indignation.

"No, no," was the hasty response; "but I do imagine you know
something about it. If you do, wouldn't it be better and—and
straighter of you to own it, and—"

"But I don't! I know nothing about it!"

Freddy lied glibly. He had no intention of revealing his secret,
having kept it so long. What good purpose would be gained by his
speaking out now?

"Then I beg your pardon," Edwin said, looking distressed. "I was
obliged to speak to you; I felt I ought. Of course, if you say
you know nothing about the coat I must believe you. Good-night."
He refrained from meeting the other's eyes as he spoke.

"Good-night," Freddy answered in a somewhat abashed tone, conscious
that, as far as his cousin was concerned, he had lied in vain.

He felt exceedingly miserable, for Edwin had always shown him great
consideration, smoothing his path for him at school, helping him
with his lessons, and doing him many little, unobtrusive kindnesses.
He admired Edwin, and was ambitious to be like him, whilst he
realised that he never could he unless he was less selfish; and now
the fact that he had told him a direct lie lay heavily upon his
conscience. He could not recall ever having uttered a deliberate
falsehood before.

"Oh, I am very wicked!" thought Freddy, as he knelt by his bed,
after Edwin had left the room, to say his prayers. "How difficult
it is to keep a secret; who would have thought that I should be
obliged to tell a story? But I couldn't have told Edwin the truth;
he would have considered me such a coward to have held my tongue
so long. I see now I ought to have confessed that I had given away
the coat. Poor Uncle Jo! I am sorry he has had to replace that
ten pounds out of his own pocket. Oh, dear me, what mischief I have
made! When I go home at Christmas I will tell father everything—
that is, I think I will, and I will ask him to give Uncle Jo
the money again."

Freddy was not in a fit state of mind to lift his heart in prayer,
but his lips mechanically murmured the prayers he was accustomed
to repeat every night, and then he got into bed; but it was a long,
long time before he slept, for his conscience would not allow him
to rest. Never—not even on the night after he had given away his
uncle's old coat—had he felt so intensely wretched as he did now,
for he seemed to be falling deeper into the mire of deception;
he had never meant to be led into telling a lie, and his cheeks
burned with shame at the remembrance of how, in reference to the
missing coat, he had boldly declared, "I know nothing about it!"



CHAPTER V.

Freddy's Generosity.

"I DECLARE the place is beginning to look quite Christmassy
already," remarked Claude, as he and his cousin strolled homewards
from school one afternoon in the first week of December.

"Yes," Freddy assented; "after all, there's generally something
interesting to be seen in a town. How bright the shops are, lit by
the electric light! Don't hurry, Claude."

Accordingly, though the air was keen with frost and it was bitterly
cold, the two boys lingered, looking into the shop windows, which
were certainly wonderfully fascinating. The streets were thronged
with pedestrians—well-clad, prosperous people, and many of the
poorer classes, who seemed mostly attracted by the contents of the
grocers' windows.

"Look!" whispered Freddy to his companion as they were passing
a confectioner's. He indicated as he spoke the shabby figure of
a little girl, who stood with her face pressed against the
window-pane. "Do you think she can be hungry?" he questioned
dubiously.

"I daresay she is," Claude replied; "she looks very poor, doesn't
she? I wish I had a penny to give her to buy a bun, but I haven't."

"I have. I'll give it to her."

As Freddy spoke, he approached the little girl and touched her
gently on the shoulder'. She turned with a start, and demanded in an
aggressive voice what he wanted.

"I—I thought perhaps you might be hungry," stammered Freddy,
decidedly taken aback by her manner; "are you?"

She regarded him in silence for a minute, then tears welled into
her eyes and slowly coursed down her cheeks as she realised that the
boy's motive in addressing her was a kindly one, but she brushed
them hastily away with the back of her hand, which was covered
with chilblains, and answered in a softened tone: "No, I'm not
hungry; at least, not very—that's no matter; but I was looking
at those sponge cakes; they look so soft, and Bobby—he's my
brother—has such a sore throat, and I was wishing he had one;
I believe he could eat it."

"Look here! Take this," said Freddy, pressing into her hand, not the
penny he had mentioned, but a shilling he had intended spending on
himself; "you can get something nice for your brother with that,
can't you?"

"How good of you!" she cried, flushing with pleasure. "Oh, thank
you, thank you! I will buy some sponge cakes and some grapes—oh,
surely Bobby will be able to eat grapes! But he is so dreadfully
ill!" and she shook her head doubtfully, whilst her eyes filled
with tears again.

"Where do you live?" Claude inquired.

"In Number Five Court, in East Street. Our name is Lambert—there's
only father, and Bobby, and me; mother is dead. Father's been
in hospital; why we're so poor; and now he's well again the frost
has come on, and he can't work."

"Why not?"

"Because masons can't work in frosty weather—father's a mason."
She turned to Freddy, and thanked him again for his shilling
most gratefully; then she went into the confectioner's shop to make
her purchase there, and the boys moved on.

That evening Claude asked his father if he knew anyone called
Lambert, a mason, living in Number Five Court, in East Street.
Dr. Dennis did not, but he listened with interest as Claude
explained about the little girl to whom Freddy had given
the shilling.

"It was very kind of Freddy," he said heartily; "I like to hear
of spontaneous generosity."

The doctor was reclining in an easy-chair by the dining-room fire
enjoying an hour's leisure, whilst Poppy, on a stool at his feet,
was looking over her collection of picture postcards, which had
greatly increased of late, as her uncle had sent her many from the
various places he and his bride had visited during the last
two months, and her mother sat by the table, engaged with some
needlework. Edwin and Freddy had gone upstairs to the schoolroom
to prepare their lessons for the following day; but Claude still
lingered talking to his father.

"Freddy is heaps nicer than he used to be," Poppy remarked. "When he
first came to us he used to want the best of everything for himself,
but now he's always ready to share and share alike."

"Yes, and he gets on much better with the boys at school,"
said Claude; "he doesn't interfere about matters which don't concern
him as he used to. Really, at first Edwin and I were always making
up his quarrels; but now he's quite different."

"How is it he and Edwin are so cool to each other?" Dr. Dennis
inquired. "It is very apparent that they are not on cordial terms."

"No, they're not," Claude admitted. "I can't make out why they
are not, though. I've asked Edwin, and he wouldn't tell; and I've
asked Freddy, and he wouldn't tell either, only looked fit
to cry."

"He was crying last night in the schoolroom," Poppy informed them
gravely; "he was pretending to learn his lessons, but he was crying,
I know he was, though when I asked him what was amiss he wouldn't
answer."

The truth of the matter was that Freddy was extremely unhappy and
dissatisfied with himself. He could not meet the gaze of Edwin's
honest eyes without being overcome with shame and remorse.
His conscience, now thoroughly awake, tortured him continually,
and he told himself that Edwin would never trust him again, for he
was conscious his cousin still suspected him of knowing something
concerning the loss of the doctor's coat. Often he longed to tell
the truth to Edwin, but he could not pluck up sufficient courage
to do so.

Meanwhile, Edwin was very unhappy about his cousin, who, he saw,
had a trouble upon his mind; but he felt he could not seek
his confidence again, for he was quite convinced that Freddy
had told him a lie. Sometimes it occurred to him that Freddy might
be shielding someone whom he knew to have stolen the coat; but then,
who could that someone be? Certainly not either of the servants,
who were both trustworthy young women, and there was no one else
in the house it was possible to suspect.

Claude and Freddy, who generally returned from school together,
kept a look out for the little girl the latter had befriended
as they walked home in the afternoons for the next week or two;
but they did not see her, and they had nearly dismissed her
from their minds when, after more than a fortnight had elapsed,
and they had given up all thoughts of meeting her again, they one
afternoon recognised her shabby figure ahead of them, and hurried
to overtake her.

"I say, how's your brother?" asked Freddy, as he reached her side.

She stopped immediately, her thin face lighting up with a pleased
smile, and rested a big brown paper parcel she was carrying against
a shop window, as she replied, "He's better; but he's not able
to get up yet. Oh, he does so want to thank you for your kindness
to him!" she cried, looking with grateful eyes at Freddy. "I took
him some sponge cakes and grapes that day you gave me the shilling,
and he could eat them. My! I wish you could have seen how he enjoyed
the grapes! Would you—it is not far—would you come to see him just
for a few minutes?"

The boys glanced doubtfully at each other, and hesitated, noting
which the little girl's countenance fell, and she said in a hurt
tone of voice, "Perhaps you're too proud to come? But no, I'm sure
it's not that! It's a poor place, I know, but it's very clean, and
Bobby would so like to see you."

"Oh, we'll go with you, certainly!" Claude exclaimed, touched by
the wistful expression of her face. "You lead the way. What's in
your parcel?" he asked curiously.

"It's—it's blankets," she responded, blushing painfully; "we had
to pawn them when father was out of work, and Bobby was so ill; we
never did such a thing before, but we couldn't starve—it's dreadful
to be hungry. Father's just been to fetch the blankets—I told you
he's at work again now—and he gave them to me at the corner of the
street to carry home, he wouldn't let me go into the pawn-shop.
He's gone to get Bobby's medicine."

Neither Claude nor Freddy made any comment, though they both felt
very sympathetic. The former wished he had asked his mother to visit
the sick boy, he was sure she would have complied with his request,
for she was always ready to extend a helping hand to those
in distress of any kind; and the latter was horrified at the idea
of people being so poor as to be obliged to pawn their bedding
in the depth of winter.

When Number Five Court, East Street, was reached, they followed the
little girl into her home, and into the presence of Bobby—a boy of
about their own age, though he looked older—who was posted up in bed
with a shawl pinned around his shoulders. He turned a pair of dark,
hollow eyes inquiringly upon his visitors, then glanced at
his sister, who ran to him and whispered hurriedly in his ear.

"Oh, I am glad!" he exclaimed, a flush rising to his pale cheeks.
"Which of them was it that gave you that shilling, Lizzie?"

The girl indicated Freddy, who came forward and asked the invalid
how he was, whilst Claude stood in the background looking on.

"I'm better—much better," was the reply to Freddy's inquiry. "I want
to thank you for your kindness—"

"It was nothing," Freddy interposed. He was feeling awkward, for he
had never paid a visit to a sick room in his life before. "I didn't
want the money. I should only have spent it in sweets if I hadn't
given it away. You look very ill still. Are you certain you are
better?"

"Oh, yes! The doctor says so—the parish doctor, you know. I caught
a bad chill by getting drenched to the skin, and letting my clothes
dry on me. I sell papers in the streets in the evenings. Oh, I shall
soon be well now!" he declared hopefully.

"I am sure I hope so," Freddy said with genuine sympathy in his
voice; "you must keep yourself warm, and—"

He paused suddenly, his attention attracted by the outer covering
of the invalid's bed, a large, heavy, man's overcoat, with a big
cape. It was with difficulty that Freddy refrained from uttering
the cry of mingled astonishment and dismay which rose to his lips
as he recognised his Uncle Jo's old coat. The next moment Claude
stepped nearer the bed, and his eyes fell upon the familiar garment
too.



CHAPTER VI.
Freddy speaks out.

"FREDDY, did you notice what was on the bed? But of course you did.
I saw that by your face! The idea of our being the ones to find
father's old coat, and after such a long time too! I longed to ask
the Lamberts how they got it, but that would never have done.
We must hurry home and tell father at once!" and Claude quickened
his footsteps almost to a run as he spoke.

The two boys were in the main street of the town once more, having
cut short their visit to Bobby Lambert after the surprising
discovery they had made. Both were greatly excited.

"There's no desperate hurry," Freddy said, in a voice which he could
scarcely keep from trembling. "Yes, of course I saw it was uncle's
coat; but how could it have got there?"

"Oh, I don't know! Perhaps those people are thieves, and we ought
not to have gone to their house; but they seemed very respectable,
didn't they?"

"Oh, yes! I don't think they are thieves! The boy looked really ill;
and I am sure the little girl seemed very distressed because they
had to pawn their blankets."

"Perhaps she was only pretending—father says appearances are often
deceitful."

"But there were tears in her eyes; didn't you see them?"

"Yes, I did," Claude admitted. "Anyway, when we have told father
we have discovered where his coat is, he will know what to do. Isn't
it strange that you and I should be the ones to find it?"

"Very strange. What do you think Uncle Jo will do about it?"

"Tell the police, and—"

"Oh, I hope not!" Freddy interposed in dismay. "I am sure
the Lamberts are honest people, I am quite, quite sure!"

"Nonsense!" Claude exclaimed impatiently. "How can you tell that
when you know no more about them than I do?"

Arrived at home, the two boys went into the dining-room, but finding
no one there, returned to the hall. Claude began shouting, "Mother,
mother!" at the top of his voice.

"Hush, Master Claude!" cried Jane, the housemaid, as she came
downstairs. "The mistress is in the drawing-room with visitors, and
she wishes you and Master Freddy to—"

She stopped abruptly as Freddy, uttering an exclamation of mingled
astonishment and joy, rushed past her, having caught the sound of
a well-known voice. Claude followed his cousin at a more leisurely
pace, and when he entered the drawing-room, found him clinging
around the neck of a tall gentleman, whilst a very pretty lady
was seated on the sofa between his mother and Poppy.

"Uncle Frederick!" gasped Claude, for the tall gentleman was
no other than Mr. Collins, and of course the pretty lady was
his wife. "Why, mother, did you know they were coming?"

"No, my dear," Mrs. Dennis answered with a happy laugh. "I have had
a most delightful surprise."

By that time Freddy was greeting his step-mother, who explained that
she and her husband meant to stay at B— for a short while before
returning to Marldon Court for Christmas.

"Are you going to take me home with you?" Freddy inquired eagerly.

"Yes, certainly," Mrs. Collins answered with a smile.

"I am glad," Freddy whispered confidentially. "And yet for some
reasons I shall be sorry to go; they've all been very kind to me
here, and I like town life better than I did at first. But I
am longing to see all my pets again, and it will be nice to be
with father—and you."

It was not very long before Edwin returned, followed shortly by his
father, and in the general excitement caused by Mr. and Mrs.
Collins' presence, Claude forgot for the time all about the doctor's
old overcoat. Freddy did not forget it, however, and every minute
he was expecting Claude to mention it.

Mr. Collins had engaged rooms for his wife and himself at an hotel,
but they readily consented to spend the evening at the doctor's
house when they saw how much every one wished them to remain.

The Dennis children were charmed with their new aunt, and Poppy
no longer wondered that Freddy liked and admired her.

"Freddy has grown," Mr. Collins remarked, regarding his son
with affectionate eyes. "So you like going to school, my boy?"

"Yes, father—now; I hated it at first," was the frank response.
"I shall be sorry to leave."

"Perhaps you will not have to leave altogether; I may be able
to persuade your aunt to let you live here during term-time, and
return to Marldon Court for the holidays. That would be pleasanter
for you than going to boarding-school, which is the only
alternative, as there is no school for you to attend at Marldon."

"It would be much nicer," Freddy agreed.

Three months previously he would have strongly objected to this
plan, and have declared that he saw no reason why he should be sent
to school at all, but the society of those of his own age had caused
him to alter many of his old opinions. "Perhaps aunt won't have—"
he was proceeding, when he paused abruptly, his eyes fixed
on Claude, who had drawn the doctor aside and was whispering to him.

"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Collins, noticing the sudden
expression of alarm on his son's countenance.

"Nothing," murmured Freddy; "only I wonder what Uncle Jo will do."

"About what?" questioned Mr. Collins in bewilderment.

"About his old overcoat. It was lost, and this afternoon Claude and
I found it—that is, we came across it. Oh, uncle!" and as he spoke
Freddy left his father's side, and rushed across the room to the
doctor, whom he caught by the arm— "you won't send the police
to take those poor people to prison, will you? I can't think how
they got your overcoat, but I am sure they didn't steal it!"

"They will have to account for it being in their possession,"
Dr. Dennis said sternly.

He then explained to Mr. Collins about the mysterious disappearance
of his old coat, and with it his pocket-book which had contained the
two five-pound notes. "And now it appears that Freddy and Claude saw
the coat covering the bed of a sick child this afternoon. I shall,
of course, inform the police at once," he said in conclusion.

"That is the only thing you can do," Mr. Collins replied, much
interested; "but you may depend the five-pound notes have been
spent."

"I am sure the Lamberts did not spend them!" Freddy cried in deep
distress. It seemed horrible to him that innocent folks should be
suspected and perhaps accused of theft. "They are most respectable
people, aren't they, Claude? Why don't you speak up for them? And
they are so poor. They had to pawn their blankets! Think of that,
father; this cold weather, too! Oh, dear father, ask Uncle Jo not
to have them sent to prison! I am certain the Lamberts are honest!"

"If they are they will prove themselves so," Mr. Collins remarked
gravely; "don't distress yourself unnecessarily."

Freddy looked around in great agitation. He realised that if he
continued to hold his tongue there might be trouble in store for the
poor family that had had so much to contend against already, and
Christmas was coming when everyone ought to be so happy, he thought.
What sort of Christmas would he himself have with this guilty secret
on his conscience? He felt he could not speak out; but whilst he was
in hesitation, he met Edwin's eyes fixed upon him sadly and
anxiously, and overcome with the dread of what his continued silence
might lead to, and a sense of real remorse, he startled every one
in the room by bursting into tears.

"Freddy, my dear boy, what is it?" asked his father, putting his arm
tenderly around the little boy's heaving shoulders; "depend upon it
your uncle will do nothing that is not right and just."

"Oh, I cannot bear it any longer, I must tell!" sobbed Freddy. "Oh,
I don't know what you will all think of me, but—but—I—I gave away
Uncle Jo's old overcoat!"

"You gave away my old overcoat!" the doctor exclaimed in utter
amazement.

"Yes, Uncle Jo. I—I gave it to a poor old man who—who was selling
bootlaces in the street," Freddy confessed in a low, shamed tone;
"his clothes were ragged, and it was so—so cold. I went to the door
and spoke to him, and gave him twopence—it was that Saturday
afternoon I was at home alone—and he begged for some old clothes.
I knew you meant to give away your old overcoat, but—you weren't
at home, so I couldn't speak to you about it, and—I thought you
wouldn't mind-I gave it to him and he went away."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Dr. Dennis asked reproachfully.

"I meant to tell you, Uncle Jo, indeed I did; but when I heard about
your pocket-book with the money in it, I was too frightened, and
afterwards I was too big a coward. I know I've behaved very badly.
I've felt dreadful about it, and this afternoon when I saw your old
coat on Bobby Lambert's bed I was nearly scared to death."

There was a brief silence, during which Freddy ventured to glance
at the amazed countenances of his relations; his eyes fell as he met
his father's sorrowful gaze, and he hung his head in bitter shame.
How disappointed his father must be in him! His tears flowed afresh
when Mr. Collins turned to his brother-in-law and said gravely,
"I will not attempt to offer any excuse for Freddy's conduct; he has
acted with a lack of moral courage and a deceptiveness which grieves
and surprises me. After what has occurred, I fear you and my sister
will be unwilling to have him beneath your roof another term;
however, we will speak of that later on."

"Do you think the old man you gave the overcoat to is the father
of the little girl and the little sick boy?" Poppy asked, suddenly
addressing her cousin.

"No, he was very old," Freddy answered; "he might be their
grandfather though," he added, looking startled as the idea
presented itself to his mind.

"I will find out all about the Lamberts to-morrow," the doctor said.
"Dry your eyes, Freddy. You must not be a wet blanket to-night."

"Oh, Uncle Jo, can you ever forgive me?" Freddy asked earnestly,
immeasurably touched by the kindness of his uncle's look and tone.

"I do forgive you, my boy; but I wish you had trusted me. I should
not have blamed you much for having given away my coat, though
of course you had no right to meddle with it. Your confession
has come upon us all as a great surprise—I wish you had spoken out
before your father's return; but I am glad you have had the courage
to make it at last. Say no more on the subject now."

At that moment Jane came to the door to say that tea was ready
in the dining-room, and they all went downstairs. It was some while
before Freddy regained his equanimity; but by-and-by, as the
conversation turned upon the various places Mr. and Mrs. Collins
had visited during their trip on the Continent, he grew interested,
and forgot to wonder what the others were thinking of him and if
they would ever trust him again, and gave himself up to the
enjoyment of the present hour.



CHAPTER VII.

A Happy Christmas.

"WELL, boys; work nearly finished?" questioned Dr. Dennis,
the evening subsequent to Mr. and Mrs. Collins' arrival at B—, as he
entered the schoolroom where his sons and his nephew were poring
over their lesson-books. "Not quite, eh? Well, you'll find me in the
surgery when you're ready to hear what I've to tell."

"Oh, if it's about your old overcoat, please tell us now, father!"
Claude cried impetuously. "Have you seen the Lamberts?"

"I have had an interview with the father of the family, and a
decent, respectable man he appears to be."

"A young man?" asked Claude; "is he clean-shaven, and slight,
and dark?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Oh, then he is the one I saw wearing your coat that day outside
the police court! What did he say when you asked him how he got it,
father?"

"He told me he had purchased it for a few shillings from a second
hand clothes shop in East Street. I went there and saw the
proprietor of the shop, who informed me that he bought the coat
last October from a stranger—a tall old man, evidently on tramp,
who had declared he had had it given to him. I asked the wardrobe
dealer if there had been anything in a pocket of the coat, but he
said 'No,' that doubtless if there had been the old man
had discovered it before he had offered the coat for sale. I think
so too."

"Then there is not the remotest chance of your getting your
pocket-book again, father," Edwin said, glancing sympathetically
at his cousin, whose eyes were downcast and cheeks aflame with
a burning, painful blush.

"None whatever. Freddy's protégé must have been a regular
professional beggar. I only wish those two five-pound notes
had fallen into worthier hands."

"I am glad you are satisfied that the Lamberts are honest people,"
Claude said, "for I was beginning to be afraid of what we might
find out about them, although they seemed perfectly straight.
You won't mind our going to see Bobby again now, will you, father?"

"Not in the least. Don't look so downcast, Freddy. What's done
cannot be mended, and your father insists on paying me back
the money I lost, or, rather, the money you gave away," Dr. Dennis
amended, with a slight smile.

"I am glad of that," Freddy replied, looking up with a brightening
face. "I hoped he would, but I didn't like to ask him."

After the doctor had left the room the boys turned again to their
lessons. By-and-by Claude finished his work for the night and went
downstairs, and a few minutes later Edwin closed his books and
prepared to follow his brother, but, on reaching the door,
he chanced to look back and met Freddy's eyes fixed upon him with a
wistful sadness in their glance which touched his kind heart.

"I say, don't worry any more about father's old coat," he said
good-naturedly.

"I won't," Freddy answered. "Uncle's forgiven me, and—and I've had
it out with father—oh, he feels it dreadfully; and I never shall
forget how sorry he looked and all he said!—and we're not going
to talk about it any more; but—oh, Edwin, will you ever like me
again?"

"Of course I'll like you, Freddy. What nonsense you talk!"

"But you'll never trust me again—you can't. That was a big lie
I told you, Edwin!"

"Yes, it was. I knew it at the time, and it made me terribly
unhappy—the thought that you could tell an untruth like that."

"I never told such a lie before, and I never will again," Freddy
declared earnestly. "It made me miserable, and I couldn't say
my prayers or ask to be forgiven."

"But you can now, Freddy?"

Freddy nodded, too overcome for speech. Very sincerely had he
repented of the falsehood he had told, whilst the coolness which
had sprung up between him and Edwin had been a great trouble to him.

"That's all right then," his cousin said approvingly. "I don't want
to preach to you, but there's nothing like being truthful and
straight; it's a great thing to be able to rely upon a person's
word."

"That's what father says," Freddy rejoined, finding his voice again;
"he says if I grow up trustworthy that will please him more than
anything. I'm going to try to be that for the future. Are we friends
again, Edwin?"

"Certainly," was the cordial answer. "I believe I hear Uncle
Frederick's voice downstairs. Make haste and finish your work."

What a relief it was to Freddy to have no secret to conceal, though
it humiliated him exceedingly to know that even the servants
were aware of how foolishly and secretively he had acted. Everyone
treated him with the utmost consideration, and even Mr. Collins,
who had been grievously disappointed in his little son, when he saw
how truly repentant he was, did all he could to smooth matters
for him, and accompanied him to see Bobby Lambert, who was gaining
strength every day and hoped to be about again before Christmas.

One Saturday afternoon, a few days before the school which the boys
attended broke up for the Christmas holidays, Mr. and Mrs. Collins
called for Freddy and his cousins to go shopping with them.

"Do you want all of us?" demanded Poppy excitedly, on being told
to put on her hat and jacket.

"Yes," Mrs. Collins assented, laughing, "all of you. We want to buy
some Christmas presents, and you know the best shops, don't you?"

"Of course," the little girl agreed, wondering whom the presents
were intended for. "This is nice," she said confidentially,
ten minutes later, as she walked up High Street beside her new aunt,
whilst her uncle followed with the boys; "I like looking at the
shops decorated for Christmas, don't you? If you haven't much money
to spend you can think what you'd buy if you had. Last year
Mr. Henley—he's a patient of father's—sent us a big turkey, and a
lot of candied fruits and sweets, and he gave father money to give
away—wasn't that kind of him? He's old, and he's generally ill,
and—oh, dear me—he's dreadfully grumpy in his manner, but father
says he has a very good heart."

"He must be a nice old man," Mrs. Collins remarked, smiling at the
little girl's prattle. "Now, you must think of what your father and
mother would like best for presents; your uncle and I want you
young folks to give us the benefit of your advice, you know your
parents' tastes."

What a delightful afternoon that was, spent in wandering from shop
to shop. Mr. and Mrs. Collins bought suitable presents for every
member of the doctor's household, and so long did it take
the children deciding upon the various articles to suit each one's
liking that it was past five o'clock before they had completed
their purchases.

"The afternoon has been like a beautiful dream," said Poppy happily,
as they turned their steps homewards at last. The little girl
was carrying a large cardboard box containing a handsomely bound
album for picture postcards—her aunt and uncle's present
to her—which she declined to have sent. "I think Christmas is the
nicest time of the year; I only wish we could all spend it
together."

"Never mind, Poppy, you're all to stay at Marldon Court next summer,
if all's well, that's settled," Freddy told her; "and I'm coming
back again next term—father has arranged that with Uncle Jo."

"Has he? I'm glad," she answered, "for you've turned out much better
than we expected, Freddy, although you did give away father's
old coat."

"Oh, by the way, have you heard that Mr. Henley is going to pay
for sending Bobby Lambert to a convalescent home in the country
where he will soon get well, father believes?" Edwin inquired of his
uncle. "Yes, indeed, it is so. He is to go soon after Christmas."

[Illustration: "I LIKE LOOKING AT THE SHOPS DECORATED FOR CHRISTMAS,
DON'T YOU?"]

"I'm very pleased to hear it," Mr. Collins responded heartily.
"Freddy must go and see him before he leaves B—, and take him
a Christmas-box; and that good little sister of his who has nursed
him so devotedly shall not be forgotten. We will try to give them
a happy Christmas if it lies within our power to do so."

"Thank you, oh, thank you!" Freddy exclaimed gratefully, for he
regarded the Lamberts in the light of especial friends of his own,
and he knew his father was always as good as his word.

A cold, wintry morning, three days later, saw the departure
of Mr. and Mrs. Collins and Freddy from B—. The doctor and his sons
went to the station to see them off; and as the train steamed out of
the platform, Freddy popped his head out of the carriage window,
and shouted his last farewell.

"Good-bye, Uncle Jo! Good-bye, boys! Mind you remember your promise
and write and tell me how Bobby Lambert gets on, Edwin. Good-bye!"

"How he has altered of late," Edwin remarked reflectively, as he
and Claude followed their father out of the station. "I consider
he's wonderfully improved. I wonder if he will really come back
next term. I expect he'll want to stay at Marldon Court, once he's
there again."

But Edwin was wrong, for though Freddy was blissfully content to be
at home once more, and spent a very happy Christmas with his father
and step-mother, he missed the society of his cousins, and often
felt dull without them. He was surprised himself that he was able
to contemplate his return to B— with perfect equanimity. It was not
that he loved his father less than he had previously done, or that
he no longer appreciated the beautiful hills and dales surrounding
his home, but that his views of life had widened, and he had found
new interests. He enjoyed a ride on his pony across country as much
as he ever had; but his three months' sojourn beneath his uncle's
roof had changed him greatly for the better. He was no longer always
thinking of himself, and planning for his own enjoyment; he was more
considerate for others, and, in short, Master Frederick had fallen
in his own estimation, and was a much nicer boy on that account.

"Father, I've had a letter from Edwin this morning," Freddy informed
Mr. Collins soon after Christmas, "such a long letter, telling me
what a happy Christmas they've had. I'm so glad! He says Bobby
Lambert's a lot better, and is going to the convalescent home
very soon. I'm sure Bobby's a nice boy; I believe those Lamberts
are as honest as the day."

"That's saying a good deal, my son. I am pleased, however, that your
second protégé is turning out better than your first."

"My first?" Freddy said questioningly; then seeing the twinkle
in his father's eye, he laughed. "I know what you mean; you're
thinking of that old bootlace seller. Father—" and the boy's tone
grew impressive— "when I'm tempted to do anything not quite straight
again, do you know what I shall think of, and I know it will prevent
my doing it? Why, I shall think of the way I behaved about
Uncle Jo's old coat."



LORIMER AND CHALMERS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.