"Of course I was, and you knew it. What a swell I shall be! And it will always be sure to remind me of home."

While this talk was going on I had leisure to examine my new owner.

Picture to yourselves a curly-haired, bright-eyed boy of thirteen with honest, open face, good features, and winning smile. He is big for his age, and strongly built. At present his form is arrayed in a brand-new suit of grey; his collar is new and his tie is new, his boots are new and his socks are new; everything is new about him, down to the very guard of his hat, and he himself is the newest and purest of all. Was ever such a radiant young hero turned loose into the world?

And now, over and above his other glories, he had me to crown all. The graceful curve of my chain on his waistcoat gave that garment quite a distinguished appearance, and the consciousness of a silver watch in his pocket made him hold his head even higher than usual.

"He is a beauty!" again he broke out, "exactly the kind I like most.

I'll take ever such a lot of care of him." And so saying, he began to swing me at the end of the chain, till I suddenly came sharply into collision with the door of the cab.

"Hullo," exclaimed my young master, "that won't do. I'll put him away now. It _was_ good of you, father."

With that we reached the railway station, and in the bustle that ensued I was for the time forgotten.

Charlie's trunks were duly labelled for Randlebury, and then came the hardest moment of all, when father and son must part.

"I wonder if you'll be altered, Charlie, when I see you again."

"Not for the worse I hope, anyhow," replied the boy, laughing.

"Tickets, please!" demanded the guard.

"There goes the bell," said Charlie, pulling me out of his pocket.

"They're very punctual. Hullo, we're off! Good-bye, father."

"Good-bye, boy, and G.o.d bless you."

And there was a close grasp of the hand, a last smile, a hasty wave from the window; and then we were off.

How many grown-up men are there who cannot recall at some time or other this crisis in their lives, this first good-bye from the home of their childhood, this stepping forth into the world with all that is familiar and dear at their backs, and all that is strange and unknown and wonderful stretching away like a vast landscape before them? How many are there who would not give much to be back once more at that threshold of their career; and to have the chance of living over again the life they began there with such bright hopes and such careless confidence?

Ah, if some of them could have seen whither that flower-strewn path was to lead them, would they not rather have chosen even to die on the threshold, than take so much as the first step forth from the innocent home of childhood!

But I am wandering from my story. For half an hour after that last good-bye Charlie leaned back in the corner of his carriage and gave himself up to his loneliness, and I could feel his chest heaving to keep down the tears that would every now and then rise unbidden to his eyes.

But what boy of thirteen can be in the dumps for long? Especially if he has a new watch in his pocket. Charlie was himself again before we had well got clear of London, and his reviving spirits gradually recalled to his memory his father's parting gift, which had for a while been half forgotten amid other cares.

Now again I was produced, I was turned over and over, was listened to, was peeped into, was flourished about, was taken off my chain, and put on again with the supremest satisfaction. At every station we came to, out I came from his pocket, to be compared with the railway time. By the clock at Batfield I was a minute slow--a discrepancy which was no sooner discovered than I felt my gla.s.s face opened, and a fat finger and thumb putting forward my hand to the required time. At Norbely I was two minutes fast by the clock, and then (oh, horrors!) I found myself put back in the same rough-and-ready way. At Maltby I was full half a minute behind the great clock, and on I went again. At the next station the clock and I both gave the same time to a second, and then what must he do but begin to regulate me! After a minute calculation he made the astounding discovery that I had lost a minute and a quarter in four hours, and that in order to compensate for this shortcoming it would be necessary for him to move my regulator forward the two hundred and fortieth part of an inch. This feat he set himself to accomplish with the point of his scarf-pin while the train was jolting forward at the rate of thirty miles an hour!

I began to grow nervous. If this was a sample of what I was to expect, I had indeed need be the healthy, hardy watch I was represented to be by my maker.

And yet I could not be angry with my brave, honest little tormentor.

It was a sight to see him during that long journey, in all the glory of a new suit, with a high hat on his head for the first time, and a watch in his pocket. _In_ his pocket, did I say? I was hardly ever so lucky.

Every five minutes he whipped me out to see how the time was going. If he polished me up once with his handkerchief, he did it twenty times, and each time with such vigour that I was nearly red-hot under the operation. And no sooner was he tired of polishing me, than he took to paying his hat the same attention, till that wretched article of decoration must have trembled for its nap. Then he would take to whistling and singing (what boy can help doing one or the other in a train?) and as I heard all his little artless songs and gay chirping, I thought it the pleasantest music one could possibly listen to. And, not to let his hands be less busy than his throat, he would bring out the wonderful six-bladed knife his uncle had given him, and exploring all its wonders, and opening all its blades at the same time, together with the corkscrew, the gimlet, the pincers, and the b.u.t.ton-hook, at different angles, would terrify the lives out of his fellow-pa.s.sengers by twirling the awful bristling weapon in his fingers within a foot or so of their faces.

"Mind, dear," said an old lady on the seat opposite, "you'll cut your fingers off, I'm certain."

"Oh, no, I won't," exclaimed he, taking out his handkerchief, and beginning to polish the blades one after another.

The old lady trembled as she watched him, and sighed with relief when the operation was over.

Presently, having nothing particular to do, he stared at her. "Would you like to know the time, ma'am?" he inquired.

"If you please," replied the good old soul.

"Well, it's just seventeen minutes and nineteen seconds past three by my watch. Would you like to see for yourself, ma'am?"

And, pleased to have a confidant of his possessions, he loosed my chain, and flourished me bodily before the eyes of his new friend.

She took me kindly, and said, "What a fine watch you've got, dear?"

"Yes," replied he, with lofty condescension; "like to see his works?"

"You should be careful, you know," she said, "watches so easily get out of order."

"Oh, I won't hurt it," said he, proceeding to take off my coat and waistcoat. "There! there are his works. Don't breathe hard, or you'll damp them."

So the old lady held her breath and peeped in, much to my young master's gratification.

"And so you're going to school, my man?" said she presently.

"Yes; who told you! Did my father tell you?"

"No, I guessed."

"Did you though? Can you guess what the name of the school is?"

"No, I can't do that."

"Have a try."

"Well, then, I guess Randlebury, because my boy is there, and it's the only one I can think of."

The boy stared at her. "How ever did you know that?"

"What!" she exclaimed, "you don't mean to tell me you _are_ going to Randlebury?"

"I am, though."

"Well, I never," cried the good old soul, "who would have believed it!

Think of your going to the same school as my Tom."

"Is Tom your boy's name?"

"Yes."

"Is he a nice boy?"

Such a question to ask any one's mother!