That Stick ...

‘I don’t know where my uncle is, so please send him this.  I got to Toronto all right, and had not much trouble in finding out the steady-going Jones, who is rather a swell, chief mate on board the British Empress.  He was a good deal taken aback by my story, and said that his brother had come out with his wife, but no child.  It was quite plain that he was a good deal disappointed in the Rattler, and not at all prepared for Mrs. Louisa, whom neither he nor his wife admired at all, at all.  He had got his brother a berth on a summer steamer that had just been set up on Lake Winnipeg—being no doubt glad to get rid of such an encumbrance as the wife, and he looked very blue when he heard that I was quite certain that she had taken the kid away with her, and been paid for it.  There was nothing for it but to go after them, and find out from them what they had done with poor little Mite.  He is a right good fellow, and would have gone with me, but that he is bound to his boat, and p. 263a stunner she is; but he gave me a letter to Sam, so I had to get on the Canadian Pacific Railway, so that I should have been nonplussed but for your loan.  Splendid places it goes through, you never saw such trees, nor such game.

‘As good luck would have it, I was in the same car with an Englishman—a gentleman, one could see with half an eye, and we fraternised, so that I told him what I was come about.  He was awfully good-natured, and told me he lived a mile or two out of Winnipeg, and had a share in the steam company, and if I found any difficulty I was to come to him, Mr. Forman, at Northmoor.  I stared at the name, as you may guess!  There was a fine horse and buggy waiting for him at the station, and off he went.  I put up at the hotel—there’s sure to be that whatever there is not—and went after the Joneses next.  I got at the woman first, she looked ill and fagged, as if she didn’t find life with Rattler very jolly.  She cried bucketsful, and said she didn’t know anything, since she put the poor little Mite to sleep after supper in a public-house at Liverpool.  She was dead tired, and when she woke he was gone, and her husband swore at her, and never would tell her what he had done with the boy, except that he had not hurt him.  Then I interviewed Sam Rattler himself.  He cut up rough, as he said my Lord had done him an ill turn, and he had the game in his hands now, and was not going to let him know what was become of his child, without he came down handsome enough to make up for what he had done him out of.  So then I had to go off to Mr. Forman.  He has such a place, p. 264a house such as any one might be delighted to have—pine trees behind, a garden in front, no end of barns and stables, with houses and cows, fine wheat fields spreading all round, such as would do your heart good.  That is what Mr. Forman and his brother-in-law, Captain Alder, have made, and there’s a sweet little lady as ever you saw, Alder’s sister.  The Captain was greatly puzzled to hear it was Lord Northmoor’s son I was looking for.  He is not up in the peerage like your father, you see, and I had to make him understand.  He thought Lord N. must be either the old man, or Lady Adela’s little boy.  He said some of his happiest days had been at Northmoor, and he asked after Lady Adela, and if Miss Morton was married.  He came with me, and soon made Mr. Rattler change his note, by showing him that it would be easy to give him the sack, even if he was not laid hold of by the law on my information for stealing the child.  They are both magistrates and could do it.  So at last the fellow growled out that he wasn’t going to be troubled with another man’s brat, and just before embarking, he had laid it down asleep at the door of Liverpool Workhouse!  So no doubt poor little Michael is there!  I would have telegraphed at once; but I don’t know where my uncle is, or whether he knows about it, but you can find out and send him this letter at once.  I have asked him to pay your advance out of my quarter; and as to the rest of it, it is all owing to you that the poor little kid is not to grow up a pauper.

‘I am staying on at Northmoor—it sounds natural; they want another hand for their harvesting, p. 265so I am working out my board, as is the way here, at any rate till I hear from my uncle, and I shall ask him to let me stay here for good as a farming-pupil.  It would suit me ever so much better than the militia, even if I could get into it, which I suppose I haven’t done.  It is a splendid country, big enough to stretch oneself in, and I shall never stand being cramped up in an island after it; besides that I don’t want to see Ida again in a hurry, though there is some one I should like no end to see again.  There, I must not say any more, but send this on to my uncle.  I wish I could see his face.  I did look to bring Mite back to him, but that can’t be, as I have not tin enough to carry me home.  I hope your loan has not got you into a scrape.