'Oh dear, how late you are for luncheon! it always happens so, if I want you to come home early!'

'Can't help it, my dear,' said Dr. Morrison, as he began to take off his coat.

But his wife was too impatient to let him do it this time. 'Come in here while they put luncheon on the table,' she said, and she drew him into the little room. 'I have had a letter. Guess who it is from.'

But Dr. Morrison shook his head. 'I am too hungry to guess anything,'

he said. 'Is it from the man in the moon?'

'Almost as wonderful,' said the lady. 'It is from d.i.c.k, dear old d.i.c.k!

I feel ready to jump for joy.'

The doctor stood still and looked at his wife in blank amazement.

'From d.i.c.k? your brother d.i.c.k?' he said at last.

'Oh dear, don't speak like that, as though the poor fellow had ever done anything wicked! I have heard you say many times that he was only weak, not wicked.'

'Yes, yes, I know he is only weak; only too ready to say "Yes," and be led into mischief, when he ought to say "No," and stand to it. Think what his easy-going ways have cost us.'

'No, no, I can't think of that now,' interrupted the lady. 'I can only remember that he is my only brother, and I want you to take me to him at once. I have not seen him for five years,' she added, 'and he begs that you will go to him at once, because he has a friend with him who needs your attention at once. He says he met with him out in the wilds of Australia, and he has been the best friend he ever had--that this Mr. Howard has saved him body and soul. But he has fallen ill, through disappointment at not receiving a letter from his wife as soon as he landed. That he has not heard from her for years, because he had to leave England in a hurry, a great many years ago.'

'Why, that might be written of d.i.c.k himself,' said the doctor, with a smile. '"Birds of a feather," you know the old proverb!'

'Oh, but d.i.c.k must have altered, I am sure, for he says that he and Mr. Howard have both worked very hard, and made a moderate fortune, or they would not have come home to England again. That is not like the old d.i.c.k, is it?'

'No, my dear, for he generally let other people do the hard work, while he dreamed of what he would like to do. But now let me see this letter.'

'Luncheon is served, ma'am,' said the housemaid, tapping at the door at this moment.

The doctor and his wife were to have the meal alone to-day, and so the servant's service was dispensed with, that they might discuss this wonderful letter, for wonderful it was, even the doctor had to confess, when he had read it.

There was far more about his friend, whose wife and family he was anxious to find, than there was about the writer himself; but the most interesting piece of information was in the postscript.

'My friend has just heard that his wife went to live in the neighbourhood of your town. Can you make inquiries? She has two sons, Frederick and Horace. The latter would be about thirteen, I think.'

The doctor dropped the letter and gazed at his wife. 'I wonder whether it is the father of that scholarship boy!' he almost gasped.

'What scholarship boy?' asked Mrs. Morrison impatiently.

'Why, the one that was sent from the board school to Torrington's.

His father was entered as a traveller, I believe, and he was said to be abroad. My dear, put your things on, and we will drive round and see this Mrs. Howard. She lives at that old-fashioned cottage just outside the town.'

'Oh, but I want to go and see d.i.c.k!' said the lady.

'And we will go, if possible; but I shall have to see Warren first, and we must do as d.i.c.k wishes, and inquire for his friend's wife before we go.'

Dr. Morrison was not a man to let the gra.s.s grow under his feet, and so the carriage was ordered at once, and in half an hour they were on their way to the cottage.

A very few words convinced the doctor that he had found the lady he was seeking; and when she had read all that was said about her husband she readily agreed to go with the doctor and Mrs. Morrison to London.

While the doctor went to his friend Warren, she wrote a letter explaining something of what had happened, and that she was going with Dr. Morrison to London. This she sent by a messenger to Fred at his work, asking him to tell Horace something of what had occurred, and also to meet his brother when he came home to tea.

Fred was not a little puzzled when he received this letter, but he asked to be allowed to leave a little earlier, and so managed to reach home just as Horace appeared at the bend of the lane.

'I tried to get here before you, but you were too quick for me,' he said, when his brother rushed in at the garden gate.

'Where's mother?' asked Horace, when he saw Fred take the street-door key from his pocket.

'Come indoors, and I'll tell you all I know. Let me light the fire first,' he added. Fred had learned to be very handy about the house, and he soon had the fire blazing under the kettle; and while it boiled he told Horace that a letter had been sent to him early in the afternoon from his mother, saying that she had just received news of his father, who was ill in London. 'Dr. Morrison came and told her all about it, and he has gone to London with her.'

'Dr. Morrison!' repeated Horace. 'Why, Morrison is in my cla.s.s at school; and the doctor is his father, I know.'

'What sort of a fellow is young Morrison?' asked Fred. He was handing cups and saucers to Horace, who was setting them ready for tea.

'Oh, Morrison is all right,' said Horace, who was clattering the cups and saucers; for he did not want to discuss his school troubles with his brother. 'I don't see much of him, because he likes to go with the bigger boys. I say, Fred, do you remember our father?' said Horace; 'he's been gone away such a long time. We used to have a nice house and servants when he stayed at home with us, didn't we?'

'Then you remember him, Horry?' said Fred.

But Horace shook his head. 'No, I don't remember a bit about him, only that we had a nice house a long time ago.'

'Well, I only remember a little,' said Fred. 'But I know he was a tall gentleman, and I think he was a doctor. He went away to travel, I have heard mother say, and she thought he must be dead until Dr. Morrison came this afternoon. I have brought home some sausages,' announced Fred, who wanted to change the conversation.

He knew so little and remembered so little about his father and those former days; but as he had grown older he had grown angry that his father should leave his mother as he had, without cause--so far as Fred knew--and without explanation, he had heard, and simply gone abroad to travel, leaving them to battle with poverty as they could.

As time went on he had spoken less and less of his father, but he had become certain that there must have been some cause for his father's disappearance, though his mother might not know it; but in his own mind there was a lurking fear that some disgrace might lie hidden below the long silence. And so, as soon as tea was over, he said--

'I am going out to get some things for breakfast.'

So Horace was left to the comfort of his books and the study of his lessons.

When Leonard reached home that same afternoon, Florence met him with the information that father and mother had both gone out, and Mary the housemaid did not know what time they would be home.

'Where have they gone?' asked Leonard, for it was a rare occurrence for both to be away at the same time.

Florence shook her head. 'Mary says that James was sent with a letter to Mr. Warren, and so I should think father had asked him to look after some of his patients.'

'Very likely,' answered her brother; and then he took his satchel to the little room where lessons were studied and sat down to think.

He did not know whether he was glad or sorry to hear that his father had gone out. As he came along he had made up his mind that it would be impossible to get bottles from his father's dispensing-room, for he was never allowed to go there, and it was just possible that his father had locked the door before going out, in which case he could tell Taylor that it was impossible to get the chemicals for him, and there would be an end of it.

But, although he said this, he knew there would not be an end of it, and if he refused at last to get what was wanted, he would be sent to Coventry, at least by those whose society he desired.

So after washing his hands before going to tea he went to the dispensing-room, to find out whether the door could be opened, and found that it yielded at once. He went in and closed the door, lest one of the servants should come that way and see him, when they would be sure to remind him that he was not allowed to go there.

After closing the door he looked round to see what he could find, and there by the sink was a row of gla.s.s-stoppered bottles, evidently filled with water for washing them. He selected two that he thought would hold about half a pint each, and pouring out the water he took them to the study and hid them in a corner out of sight, in case Florence should decide to do her lessons with him this evening.

But it seemed as though everything was to favour him in what he knew was wrong-doing. His sister told him at tea-time that she must do her lessons in her own room, for she had an extra piece of history to study, as she was working for the history prize to be given at Christmas.

'Oh, all right,' said Leonard, with his mouth full of bread and jam.

'It's all a girl can do, I suppose, get a prize now and then.'