That Stick ...

It was this gentleness that touched Mrs. Morton p. 269above all.  Years had softened her; perhaps, too, his patience, and the higher tone of Mr. Deyncourt’s ministry, and she was, in many respects, a different woman from her who had so loudly protested against his marrying Mary Marshall.

p. 270CHAPTER XXXIX

THE HONOURABLE PAUPER

Lord Northmoor’s card was given to the porter with an urgent request for an interview with the Master of the workhouse.

He steadied his voice with difficulty when, on entering the office, he said that he had come to make inquiry after his son, a child of three and a half years old, who had been supposed to be drowned, but he had now discovered had been stolen by a former nurse, and left at the gate of the workhouse, and as the Master paused with an interrogative ‘Yes, my Lord?’ he added—‘On the night between the Wednesday and Thursday of Whitsun week, May the—’

‘Children are so often left,’ said the Master.  ‘I will ascertain from the books as to the date.’

After an interval really of scarcely a minute, but which might have been hours to the father’s feeling, he read—

‘May 18th.—Boy, of apparently four years old, left on the steps, asleep, apparently drugged.’

‘Ah!’

p. 271‘Calls himself Mitel Tent—name probably Michael Trenton.’

‘Michael Kenton Morton.’  Then he reflected, ‘No doubt he thought he was to say his catechism.’

‘Does not seem to know parents’ name nor residence.  Dress—man’s old rough coat over a brown holland pinafore—no mark—feet bare; talks as if carefully brought up.  May I ask you to describe him.’

‘Brown eyes, light hair, a good deal of colour, sturdy, large child,’ said Lord Northmoor, much agitated.  ‘There,’ holding out a photograph.

‘Ah!’ said the Master, in assent.

‘And where—is he here?’

‘He is at the Children’s Home at Fulwood Lodge.  Perhaps I had better ask one of the Guardians, who lives near at hand, to accompany you.’

This was done, the Guardian came, much interested in the guest, and a cab was called.  Lord Northmoor learnt on the way that the routine in such cases, which were only too common, was the child was taken by the police to the bellman’s office till night and there taken care of, in case he should be a little truant of the place, but being unclaimed, he spent a few days at the Union, and then was taken to the Children’s Home at Fulwood.  Inquiries had been made, but the little fellow had been still under the influence of the drug that had evidently been administered to him at first, and then was too much bewildered to give a clear account of himself.  He was in confusion between his real home and Westhaven, and the difference between his p. 272appellation and that of his parents was likewise perplexing, nor could he make himself clear, even as to what he knew perfectly well, when interrogated by official strangers who alarmed him.

Lord Northmoor was himself a Poor Law Guardian, and had no vague superstitions to alarm him as to the usage of children in workhouses; but he was surprised at the pleasant aspect of the nursery of the Liverpool Union, a former gentleman’s house and grounds, with free air and beautiful views.

The Matron, on being summoned, said that she had from the first been sure, in spite of his clothes, that little Mike was a well-born, tenderly-nurtured child, with good manners and refined habits, and she had tried in vain to understand what he said of himself, though night and morning, he had said his prayers for papa and mamma, and at first added that ‘papa might be well,’ and he might go home; but where home was there was no discovering, except that there had been journeys by puff puff; and Louey, and Aunt Emma, and Nurse, and sea, and North something, and ‘nasty man,’ were in an inextricable confusion.

She took them therewith into a large airy room, where the elder children, whole rows of little beings in red frocks, were busied under the direction of a lively young nurse, in building up coloured cubes, ‘gifts’ in Kindergarten parlance.

There was a few moments of pause, as all the pairs of eyes were raised to meet the new-comers.  With a little sense of disappointment, but more of anxiety, Frank glanced over them, and encountered p. 273a rounded, somewhat puzzled stare from two brown orbs in a rosy face.  Then he ventured to say ‘Mite,’ and there followed a kind of laughing yell, a leap over the structure of cubes, and the warm, solid, rosy boy was in his arms, on his breast, the head on his shoulder in indescribable ecstasy of content on both sides, of thankfulness on that of the father.

‘No doubt there!’ said the Guardian and the Matron to one another, between smiles and tears.

Mite asked no questions.  Fate had been far beyond his comprehension for the last five months, and it was quite enough for him to feel himself in the familiar arms, and hear the voice he loved.

‘Would he go to mamma?’

The boy raised his head, looked wonderingly over his father’s face, and said in a puzzled voice—