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´╗┐Title: Dick Lionheart
Author: Jarvis, Mary Rowles
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Dick Lionheart" ***

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[Frontispiece: "PAT RUSHED TO DICK'S FEET."]



DICK LIONHEART


BY

MARY ROWLES JARVIS.



WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS.



LONDON

S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO., LTD.

OLD BAILEY.



CONTENTS.

CHAP.

    I.  SOMETHING TO LOVE
   II.  FIGHTING FIRE
  III.  A DASH FOR FREEDOM
   IV.  IN A CARRIER'S WAGGON
    V.  PAT LOST AND FOUND
   VI.  A HOME IN IRONBORO'
  VII.  PADDY'S RESOLVE
 VIII.  LIONHEART'S BRAVE STAND
   IX.  STOPPING A BURGLARY
    X.  SUCCESS AT LAST



ILLUSTRATIONS

"PAT RUSHED TO DICK'S FEET." . . . _Frontispiece_

"WITHOUT A THOUGHT OF DANGER, LIONHEART DASHED TOWARDS THE HORSE'S
HEAD."

"'TAKE THAT FOR INTERFERING!'"

"'I TELL YOU THERE'S NO DANGER AT ALL!'"



DICK LIONHEART.


CHAPTER I.

SOMETHING TO LOVE.

"There, take that, and be off with you!  And no dawdling, mind.  It's
ten minutes late, and you'll have to step it to be there by one.
That's _your_ dinner, and more than you deserve."

Dick Crosby took the one thick slice she offered, slipped the handle of
the tin of tea on his arm, and with the big basin, tied up in a blue
handkerchief, in his other hand, marched off in the direction of the
tin works, while slatternly Mrs. Fowley went back into her cottage.

"Only bread and dripping again," he muttered, "while they've all got
cooked dinner.  How good it smells!  She might have given me at least
some taters and gravy.  And I'm so thirsty.  Perhaps if he is in a good
mood I shall get a drink of tea.  I s'pose nobody would know if I
helped myself in Fell Lane, but I can't be Lionheart and do mean
things, teacher said.  Only if ever I grow up and have a little chap in
my house what's only a 'cumbrance, he shall have the same dinner as all
the rest!"

Taking frugal bites at the bread and dripping, to make it last as long
as possible, Dick hurried on to the Works, whose tall chimney sent out
clouds of black smoke.

The hooter sounded for the dinner hour as he reached the last turning,
and a crowd of men and boys passed him, and one of the boys called out,
"Hulloa, Slavey!  How much a day for scrubbing floors and minding
babbies?"

Dick's face flushed hotly, and the small hard hand that held the dinner
trembled with a passionate desire to fight the tormentors, among whom
Tim Fowley, his cousin, laughed loudest.

But his uncle was standing at the gate, and he had to hurry up with the
dinner.

His reward for good speed was a surly word from the man and a box on
the ear, that made his head reel.

"Take that for dawdling, and be off with you!"

"Oi don't think he deserved that, mate," said the cheery voice of Paddy
the fireman, as he passed down the yard.  "Shure, ye can see by the
sweat of his brow he's been hurrying."

The man turned sulkily away, and Paddy whispered, "Come along of me,
Dick, I've got somethin' to show you--somethin' you'll like almost as
much as engines."

Dick followed eagerly, feeling that he had honestly earned ten minutes
of dinner hour for his own.

It was hot in the great boiler house, where the stoke holes were
glowing with fiery heat, and the throb of the machinery went on, like
giant's music, all the time.

Paddy had worked there for years, and had found out Dick's intense love
for engines and his secret ambition, some day, to be a stoker, too.
And the Irishman's warm heart had often been made angry by the Fowleys'
unkind treatment of the boy.

To-day he had a bacon sandwich and a drink of coffee to spare, and when
Dick had gratefully disposed of these he took him to a warm corner
behind the door, and showed him an old basket.

On the straw inside slept a tiny black and tan terrier, that as yet
could hardly see.  Dick was on his knees in a moment, fondling the
little bundle, and crying, "Oh, Paddy, is he yours?  What a _dear_
little doggie."

Paddy's homely face was beaming as he said, "Shure, an' I'm glad ye
like him, Dick, me boy.  Can ye kape a secret if I tell ye?  His
mother's dead and I begged him, and when he's a bit bigger, if I can
rare him, he shall be your very own."

Dick fairly gasped with delight, as the little warm bundle was put into
his arms, for he had never had a pet, or anything living, of his own,
to love since his father died.

"And his name's 'Pat,' unless there's something you'd like better, and
I'll kape him till he's big enough to look after himself."

Suddenly Dick's face changed, and a sob came into his throat as he
said, "Oh, Paddy, it's so good of you to offer him, but they'll never
let me have him to keep.  There is nowhere I could hide him, and Tim
would hurt him every time he came near."

"Bad luck to him then, for a ondacent spalpeen as he is.  It's a shame
how they trate you.  Oh, oi know, without telling.  But shure, ye won't
be there for ever.  They've no claim on ye at all, at all.  The bit of
money your father left, and the insurance, have paid for your keep over
and over, to say nothing of the work you're doing for that lazybones
all the while.  If you could only get to Ironboro' now, and find your
Uncle Richard, he'd see you righted.  And more by token he's a fitter,
and would put you in the way of the same trade, and give you engines to
your heart's content."

Dick's face was a study, as he held the puppy closely in his arms and
looked up eagerly at Paddy.

"Do you mean that the Fowleys are not relations, and that I'm not
beholden to stay there?"

"No relations in the world, me boy; and if I was you, I'd be off some
fine morning and give 'em the slip.  Your poor father was only a lodger
there, after your mother died, and they took all he had and kept you,
so to say, out of charity.  Of course you was too young to know any
different.  I was well acquainted with your father and your uncle,
years agone, but _he_ had got work at Ironboro' long before your father
died."

"And which is the way to Ironboro', and what is a fitter?"

"Ironboro'?  Oh that's a hundred and fifty miles off, way up in the
north, and you couldn't walk it yet, all alone.  But some day----  And
a fitter is a man who has learned his trade making engines, and can
pull them to pieces, and put them together again as easy as I can fire
these stoke holes."

Dick gently put the puppy back into the basket and straightened
himself, like one taking a great resolve.

"Thank you, Paddy, ever so much for telling me, and if you'll only keep
Pat till I can go, I'll save him a bit of my dinner every day."

"Indade and you won't, then, seein' as your dinner's none too hearty,
judging by the leanness of your bones.  No, I've no chick nor child of
me own, and shure I can let the cratur alone enough to pay the
milkman's bill for this little mite.  You'll have to bring the dinner
every day this week, and you'll see he'll get on fine in that time."

Dick gave his friend a hug of gratitude, and kissed Pat's silky head
before he went away.  And he hurried home and washed the dinner things,
and cleared up the untidy kitchen like one in a dream.  Sometimes it
seemed to Dick that all his work went for nothing at all, for Mrs.
Fowley always muddled things as soon as she came in.

She might have kept the house well on her husband's wages, but a large
slice went to the "Blue Dragon," and out of the remainder she never had
any left by the middle of the week.  And she never did any work that
could possibly be handed over to Dick, and the boy was in very truth
the "slavey" they called him, and he rarely had enough to eat.  Now she
told him that he must stay away from school that afternoon and mind the
baby, as she had business down the road at a neighbour's.  And slipping
a black bottle under her apron, she went out, and Susy, the youngest
but one, followed her, leaving the baby fretting in the old wooden box
that served as cradle.

As soon as Dick had finished he took her out into the dreary little
garden and tried to pacify her.  She was generally good with him, but
the heat, and teething, had made her fretful, and he had to walk up and
down the cinder path till his arms ached almost beyond bearing.  She
went to sleep at last, and Dick sat down and took a tattered book from
his pocket and began to read once more the story of Richard the King.

It was the story that he loved best in the history lessons, for his own
name was Richard Hart Crosby, and the fancy had come into his life like
a sunbeam, that he might be Richard Lionheart too.

There were no books in the Fowleys' kitchen, and none of the children
went to Sunday school regularly.  Just for a week or two before the
annual treat, or Christmas tree, they would go in great force, but Dick
could not be spared.

But he had one other little book that was kept as a hidden
treasure--his mother's Bible, that she had left to him.  And in that he
had learned how to be a true Lionheart and a good soldier of Jesus
Christ.  And every day he managed to read a few verses at least.

Now, as the sultry afternoon wore away, and the baby still slept, he
thought again and again of the discovery he had made, that he did not
really belong to the Fowleys.

"I _have_ tried to please them and be brave and do my duty because
they've given me a home," he reasoned to himself, "but perhaps if they
had money when father died, I'm not beholden after all, as they always
say I am.  And oh, I would like to find a real relation!  And isn't it
good of Paddy to get that dear little Pat for me?  I _must_ wait till
he is big enough to go too, and then I can have him for my very, very
own."

Dick was thirteen, and small for his age, but his mental powers were
keen, and he knew that if he stayed with the Fowleys he would have no
chance to get on in life.

And looking up into the blue summer sky, he prayed to his heavenly
Father to help him to get away.



CHAPTER II.

FIGHTING FIRE.

A sudden scream of terror from the cottage roused Dick from his
thinking, and laying the baby down he rushed in.

On the doorstep he met little Susy, with her lilac pinafore in flames.
She had been trying to reach something from the mantelpiece, and had
climbed up on the unsteady old fender.  There was no guard in front of
the open fire, and the draught had drawn her pinafore towards the bars
and set it on fire, and the flames were mounting around her, and
already her hair was singed.

But Lionheart knew what to do.  With a spring and a cry he caught her
just as she was rushing out-of-doors, and flinging her down he fell on
her, and tore and clutched at the burning rags with his bare hands.

She screamed with fright rather than with pain, but Dick did not let go
till the danger was past; and his clothes, being woollen, did not catch.

There was a scuffle of footsteps as Mrs. Fowley and two other women
came in with a great outcry.  And the sobbing child was wrapped in a
big shawl, and the doctor sent for.

And her mother, to relieve her own fears, began as usual to upbraid
Dick.

"It's all your fault, you good-for-nothing pauper!  Why didn't you look
after the child?"

"I thought you had her, she went out with you," he said, trembling with
dread of more than a scolding, and scarcely able to bear the pain in
his poor burned hands.

"Then you'd no business to think," she screamed.  "What you've got to
do is to mind the children, and anything else I've a mind to order you
to do.  Three years and better we've kep' you out of charity, and you
don't earn shoe leather yet.  Where's the baby?"

"Asleep in the garden, I put her down under the tree when I heard Susy
cry out."

"Then go and fetch her this minute.  And a fine hiding you'll get when
Fowley comes home.  Susy's his favourite out of 'em all."

Dick looked appealingly at the neighbours and muttered, "I--I can't
carry her--my hands----"

"Bless me, there's work for the doctor here," said one of the women in
consternation, as she looked at his poor scorched fingers.

"Depend upon 't, Mrs. Fowley, he's saved your Susy's life.  Best not
talk about hidings."

"What's the matter here?" cried a brisk voice at the door, as the old
doctor entered.  He had been visiting in the next street, and was
fortunately met by the messenger.

"Burns.  Ah! the old story--open fires and no guard.  When _will_ you
women learn wisdom?"

Mrs. Fowley shrank from his stern look, and whined, "How can the likes
of we afford guards, I should like to know?"

"Afford?" he echoed sharply, as he turned from his examination of
Susy's hurts.  "You women spend enough at the 'Blue Dragon' every week
to put a guard at every fire-place, to say nothing of what the men
spend.  If you hadn't been drinking together, and neglecting home, this
wouldn't have happened.  I can smell the gin here and now!"

The old doctor was noted for his plain speaking, but with all his
sternness to wrong doing, he was very tender-hearted, and nothing could
have been more gentle than his touch on Susy's arm.

Fortunately her hurts were surface burns, and no vital part had been
touched by the flame.  But Dick's were more severe, and the doctor took
infinite pains in bandaging the scarred hands and wrists.

"You're a brave lad," he said, when the pain was eased, and the last
strip of lint put on.  "How did _you_ come to be burned like this?"

"I ran in from the garden when she screamed, and I got her down and
scrambled out the flames somehow with my hands and jacket.  You see, I
_had_ to be Lionheart," he added softly.

"Lionheart, is _he_ your hero, the crusader king?"

Dick nodded, half scared at finding his cherished aspirations shared by
another.

"But there is a living Leader to follow, my boy, who is better than all
the knights of old.  Do you know whom I mean?"

"Yes, sir, the Lord Jesus."

"Yes, He is the Lion of Judah, and the true Captain of all true
crusaders to-day.  Follow Him, and he will make you Lionheart indeed."

Then turning to Mrs. Fowley, he said in a different tone, "You owe your
child's life to this brave little lad.  Now take care of him in return.
He'll not be able to work for a good while, and he wants feeding up as
well.  He has no business to be so thin and ill-nourished.  See that
his hands are kept covered, and Susy's arm too.  I'll send liniment
down to-night for both.  And you will have to nurse the baby yourself,
and do the work for many a day."

The old doctor's voice was stern as he finished, for he had known
Dick's father and mother in their own tidy little home, and he hated
Mrs. Fowley's drinking habits, and her neglect of the children, and
unkindness to the orphan boy.  For once she looked ashamed of herself,
and the neighbours, feeling guilty themselves, slipped away.  They knew
the doctor was right, and that most of the accidents he had to attend,
and the poverty that caused him to work for nothing, were alike due to
the drink.

And life was certainly a little easier for Dick in the next few days.

His bandaged hands made house-work impossible, and so he was allowed to
go to school in peace.

And the knowledge that Susy owed her life to him, made even the
ill-tempered father a shade less surly.

He could not write or do sums, but the teacher saw that his time was
well filled.  Dick was a favourite of his because his work was so
faithfully done, in spite of drawbacks.

Home lessons had small chance in Mrs. Fowley's presence, and the
frequent excuses for keeping him at home had sadly interfered with his
getting on, but in school no boy was happier than he.

In the playground there might be taunts about his shabby clothes, and
rough usage from the Fowley boys, that were hard to bear patiently.

And he did not always succeed in keeping his temper down.

But when, once or twice, he had struck a blow for freedom, garbled
tales were carried home and he had to suffer tenfold afterwards for his
daring.

But the thought of Lionheart and his long waiting made him brave to
suffer and endure.  And more and more the thought of Jesus, as the
Friend and Leader of those who follow Him, filled the darkest hours
with joy.

The annual examination was drawing near, and Dick was very anxious to
be able to use his hands by then, and "pass the standard" successfully.

Meanwhile, he worked doubly hard, and went far ahead of the other boys
in lessons that had to be learned by heart.

And the teacher lent him books to read that helped him wonderfully,
though he could only read them by snatches.

He saw how boys as poor and friendless as himself had had to bear
hardship and unkindness, and how they had fought their way onward,
through all difficulties, to success and freedom, and his own resolve
grew stronger every day.

Now and then Mrs. Fowley would order him to be off out of her way, and
when this happened in the evening he gladly went to Paddy's lodgings.

It was so quiet there, after the scolding and quarrelling at home, and
Paddy always had a welcome for him, while bright-eyed Pat quickly
learned to know his owner.

He grew very fast, and was so full of fun and frolic, that there were
no dull times when he was awake.

And Paddy, who seemed to know all about dogs and their doings,
suggested that he should be taught tricks "because of his knowingness."

And teaching him to beg and sing and shake hands, filled many a merry
half-hour that autumn, and the Fowley's would scarcely have known Dick,
if they had seen him there.

When the examination day came he managed to get through successfully,
though his paperwork had to have allowances made for its deficiencies.

But at home all the effects of Susy's rescue had passed away, and Dick
was more scolded and starved than ever before.



CHAPTER III.

A DASH FOR FREEDOM.

"Here, you young rascal, I'll teach you to meddle with my tools!  What
have you done with my knife?"

"I haven't had it," said Dick, looking up from the stocking he was
awkwardly trying to darn by the firelight.

His hands were quite healed now, but still stiff and scarred from the
burns, though the doctor had said the marks would get less as time went
on.

"None of your tales, now.  Tim said he saw you with it to-day.  Give it
me back this minute, or you shall have a dressing you won't forget in a
hurry!"

"But I haven't seen it even," cried Dick earnestly.  "Tim must have
made a mistake."

"Oh, of course!  Putting it on Tim, as usual," sneered Mrs. Fowley.
"Your impudence is getting past bearing.  Just go and get the knife
this minute."

Dick stood up uncertainly, not knowing how to prove his innocence.

Everything that went wrong in that ill-managed household, was always in
some mysterious way due to his shortcomings, but nothing had ever yet
made him tell a lie, and in their hearts they knew it.

"I haven't seen it," he repeated, and there was absolute truth in the
clear brown eyes, and Mrs. Fowley shifted her own uneasily as he looked
at her.

But she said aloud, "He wants something to break down his spirit,
Fowley, he ain't half so biddable as he used to be, and now he's passed
the standard and can go to work, we shan't live for his pride and
upstartness."

Now, Dick had not once refused to obey her commands, but since Paddy
had told him about his uncle, and the possibility of going next year to
find him and independence at the same time, the new hope had given him
a bolder bearing.

There were times when he quite forgot to be afraid of blows and short
rations, and when sharp words passed over him almost unheard.  He was
so sure the way would be made plain for him, and that his bondage would
soon be at an end.

"Impudent, is he?" said Fowley, with an ugly scowl on his face, as he
turned to the corner where the cruel strap was hung, to be the terror
of all the children.

"I'll teach you manners, you young thief that we've kep' out of the
workhouse and supported for nothing all these years."

"Not for nothing!" said Dick, with a sudden flash of passionate
indignation.  "You had all father's money and kept it, and I've worked
just like a slave besides.  It's not I that am a thief."

For a moment Fowley looked confounded, while his wife turned pale and
shivered.  Then, with a brutal laugh, he clutched the strap and reached
forward.

But the table was between them, and Dick had never felt more like a
Lionheart than at that moment.

"You shall never beat me again, or call me names, never!" he cried, as
he opened the door and dashed out into the November night.

There was a dense fog outside that seemed to swallow him instantly, and
by the time Fowley got to the door the boy had vanished.

"He's escaped me this time, but he shall have a double dose when I set
eyes on him again," said the man grimly, as he hung up the strap; "I'll
let him know about father's money!"

"But who could have told him?" asked his wife, in a frightened tone.
"What if he goes with his tale to the police, or to that meddling
doctor, that took such notice of him.  He's never been the same boy
since then."

"Police! not he, but if he should, 'mum's' the word, mind.  We never
had naught but just enough to pay for the buryin'.  He'll be back
again, meek enough, come bedtime, and then you can find out."

And flinging the tools back into the box, the man, who had already
drunk too much on his way home, lurched off to the "Blue Dragon," where
all his evenings now were spent.  But his wife sat over the fire and
looked at the grate Dick had laboriously black-leaded that morning, and
her thoughts were busy with the past.  And her long sleeping conscience
was awake, and she heard again the feeble voice of a dying man, "Send
this letter to brother Richard at once.  We quarrelled before he went
off to Ironboro', but he'll come and see to things and take charge of
little Dick.  And there'll be enough to pay for his upbringing, when
all's said and done."  But the letter was conveniently forgotten, and
presently thrust into the flames, and the leathern pouch with its store
of gold greedily taken possession of, as soon as the lodger was dead.
And like all ill-gotten gains, the gold rapidly melted away.

"Who could have knowed about it, and told the boy?" she muttered with
growing anxiety, as she went to the door to look out for the runaway.

But there was nothing but the murky gloom, with a faint reflection of
light from the lamps far down the road, and a noise of rough play in
the distance.  The children of the row--her own among them--were having
their usual street games in spite of the fog and chill, but Dick would
not be there, she knew.  For he was different from the rest, and hated
the rough horse-play and bad language with all his might.

"I must have a sup to make me forget it," she muttered again.  "He
looked for all the world like his father.  I told Fowley at the time it
would come home to us, and it will."

Noisily the children came in, clamoured for supper, and took it in
their dirty hands, and then went to bed.

Their father was helped home at closing time, too far gone to remember
what had happened, but no Dick came in.

Bareheaded he had run away through the fog, his thin jacket and broken
boots a poor protection from the biting cold, but in his excitement he
scarcely felt it.

In a hiding place in the lining of his old jacket he had the little
pocket Bible that had been his mother's gift, with his name, Richard
Hart Crosby, on the fly leaf.

Folded small within it were the torn remains of a once handsome crimson
and blue silk handkerchief, the only memento of his father he
possessed.  Somehow it had escaped the utter destruction that visited
all good things in Mrs. Fowley's keeping, and Dick treasured it more
than words could tell.

Feeling with his hand to be sure his treasures were safe, he ran
breathlessly on to Paddy's lodgings, in a back street not far from the
tin works.

Paddy had good work and fair wages, and might have been comfortably
off, but, alas, the "Blue Dragon" was not the only evil beast in
Venley, and much of Paddy's money went to the till of the "Brown Bear"
at the corner.  Not that he drank deeply himself, but he loved the
warmth and company, and was too generous to others in the matter of
treating.  There was always a chorus of welcome for Paddy when he
entered the bar.

But to-night he was at home, busily engaged in putting a clumsy patch
on his blue "slop" jacket, and he answered Dick's timid knock with a
boisterous welcome.

"And have ye railly left the wretches entirely and going off to
Ironboro' to seek your fortin?  Shure, and its could weather for the
job.  And of course ye want Pat.  But ye can't have him to-night.  Come
and have a bite and a sup and share me cot, and ye can be off in the
mornin' before anybody's astir, if ye like.  Down then, me beauty;
shure and ye needn't' be so glad at the prospect of leaving Paddy!"

For Pat was wagging his short tail and barking and jumping in a storm
of delight, while Dick hugged him with the blissful thought that now he
would have him for always.

"You're so good to me," he cried gratefully, "but I'm afraid they'll
find me if I wait till morning."

"Not they.  Let me look at your boots."

Dick held up a shabby foot, and Paddy sniffed in disdain.  Two of the
Fowley's had worn the boots in turn, and they were now falling apart
from stress of wear and weather.

"They're no good for the road, me boy.  We'll see."  And soon a supper
of herrings and bread and butter and tea smoked invitingly on the
table, and when this had been disposed of Paddy went out, locking the
door.

In a surprisingly short time he came back with a stout pair of boots
and some warm stockings, and a half-worn cloth overcoat and cap.
"Shure, and ye won't mind their coming from the second-hand shop with
the three yallow balls put up for ornyment.  Me uncle lives there and
he's very obligin'."

Dick flushed with a mixture of gratitude and shrinking.  All his
experiences at the Fowley's had not made him _like_ to wear other
people's clothes.  But the boots were such a good fit.  And the jacket
would keep him so warm and be such a grand bed quilt if he and Pat had
to sleep out.

But how could he take so much from Paddy?  The Irishman's quick eyes
saw and understood, and he said easily, "You can pay me back when
you're Lord Mayor of Ironboro', with a gold chain round your neck and
Pat with a leather collar and a brass plate to tell his name and
nation."

"I'll pay long before that, if I live," cried Dick earnestly.  "I don't
mean to beg my way, either, if I can only get work going along."

"That's right, lad, work your passage out; but anyways this half-crown
won't come amiss--we'll put it down in the ledger with the rest of the
good debt accounts.  You'll look out for your uncle--a foine dark man
with brown eyes like your own, only maybe not so shiny.  Give my best
respecks to him, and tell him I persuaded you to get clear away from
the villains."

Dick took out his pocket Bible to read his chapter with a glad feeling
of security.  He would never need to hide it from the Fowley's again.
"Read it out, me boy, read it.  There's good words in it, whatever the
praste may say."  And Dick read the first chapter of Joshua, and his
voice rang out triumphantly in the words, "Be strong and of a good
courage, be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed, for the Lord thy God
is with thee, whithersoever thou goest."

"Shure, them's good marching orders," said Paddy thoughtfully.  "A body
could even get past the 'Brown Bear' o' nights if he thought of them."

"It's easy to be Lionheart when the Lord God is along," said Dick
wistfully.  "I _wish_ you wouldn't go in any more, Paddy, because I
love you so, and God wouldn't maybe care to go into such places, and
you'd have to leave Him outside."

"Just hark to the boy," said Paddy lightly, jumping up and making ready
for bed.

But long after Dick's gentle breathing told of peaceful sleep Paddy lay
wide awake, thinking of wasted money and worse than wasted health and
time, and he _almost_ resolved to leave the drink alone for ever.



CHAPTER IV.

IN A CARRIER'S WAGGON.

There was a good breakfast ready by candle light next morning, and then
Dick and Paddy parted, with an affectionate good-bye.  When the hooters
summoned the hands to the tin works at seven o'clock Pat and his little
master were out on the dark north road, with houses and lamplight left
far behind.

At first they went quickly, for fear of pursuit, but, as the short day
wore on, Dick lost his fears and enjoyed Pat's runs and gambols by the
roadside.  Apparently he quite realised the new position, and had no
regrets at leaving Paddy for his lawful owner.

Their noonday lunch, provided by their kind Friend, tasted wonderfully
good, but both the travellers were feeling very tired before any
prospect of the next meal came in sight.  The brief daylight was
already fading when they saw a neat thatched cottage, standing back
from the roadside.

Close to the rustic gate was a heap of firewood, logs and blocks and
smaller chips together, and an old woman was stooping painfully, trying
to carry them in.

"Let me help you," cried Dick, hurrying forward, "I'd be so glad of a
job!"

The worker looked sharply at him, and at once said, with a sigh of
relief, "I don't mind if you do.  Carry them into the woodshed there
and stack them tidy, and I'll give you three-pence.  You look honest,
and that's a nice little dog you've got."

"Yes, isn't he?  Sit up, Pat!"

The old woman laughed, as Pat stood up obediently on his tired little
legs and begged, and Dick went on, "I don't beg myself, though I am
tramping, but Pat learned to do it before we came."

And encouraged by this friendly notice Pat wagged his tail and
immediately followed the old woman into her bright kitchen and
stretched himself on the gay rag carpet before the fire.

Like her, he kept one eye on the little toiler outside, but Dick had
set to work with a will.  He plodded on, making a threefold stack in
the woodshed, with the logs at one end and the blocks at the other, and
all the chips in the middle.

"Must be Lionheart when there's threepence to be earned, even if you
are tired all over," he murmured, as he trudged to and fro.  Presently
a cheerful sound of teacups and a delightful smell of toast came from
the cottage, and then the old woman brought out a broom to sweep up the
mess.

"That's right, my lad.  Why, bless me, you _have_ been quick!  And
you've stacked them a sight better than I could myself.  You shall wash
your hands and come in and have some tea before you go on.  As to the
little dog I should like to keep him, he's so pretty and peart.  I
s'pose you don't want to part with him?"

"Oh, no, thank you, ma'am," said Dick quickly, "but I _should_ like
some tea, I am so thirsty."  And in five minutes Dick was sitting at
the round table and telling Mrs. Grey a little bit of his story, while
Pat finished a saucerful of sop and then looked up knowingly at his
master, as if to say, "These are famous quarters--don't tramp any
further to-night."

"Poor boy," said Mrs. Grey, as she wiped her spectacles, "it's a long
way for you to go, and coming on dead of winter too.  I don't see how
you're going to manage it.  But you shall have a shakedown on the old
sofa here, for to-night.  I am sure I can trust you, or rather trust
Him who said 'Inasmuch.'"

"I _knew_ He would help me," said Dick gratefully, "but I didn't expect
anything so good as this."

"But He always gives more than our expectings or deservings," said the
old woman kindly, as she put another log on the fire.  "See what a
splendid load of wood He's sent me for the winter, and then He sent you
along, just in time to stow it away.  As I get older my prayers always
seem turned to praise before I've done, there's so much to be glad for."

Dick slept soundly on the old sofa, with Pat curled up at his feet, but
he woke next morning in time to light the fire and put the kettle on,
before Mrs. Grey came down.  And, looking at his bright face and seeing
his handy ways, she felt almost inclined to keep Pat _and_ his master.

But after breakfast they started at once, Dick's jacket pockets stuffed
full of provisions and the threepenny bit jingling merrily against
Paddy's half-crown.  But there was no chance of earning more that day,
and they had to sleep in the loose hay at the foot of a hay rick,
belonging to a distant farm.

Fortunately the wind had changed and the weather was warmer, and they
were none the worse for the camping out.

Dick was trudging manfully on a day or two afterwards, hoping to reach
the town of Weyn before nightfall, when a lumbering carrier's waggon
with a black canvas roof came jolting along, at a great rate, behind.
"Steady, there!  Whoa, I say.  What ails thee now?  Steady!"

The big brown horse was pulling and straining at the bit and looking
very wild, while the driver tugged at the reins in a frantic attempt to
pull up, and two women passengers inside the van began to scream.

Without a thought of danger Lionheart sprang from the side of the road
and dashed towards the horse's head, clutching at the reins, and a farm
labourer, coming in the opposite direction, threw up his arms in front.

[Illustration: "WITHOUT A THOUGHT OF DANGER, LIONHEART DASHED TOWARDS
THE HORSE'S HEAD."]

Startled by this double onslaught the horse swerved and then stood
still, trembling with fright.

"It's the strap!" cried Dick, breathlessly.  "See, that strap has
broken and the end was flicking his side, and that frightened him."

"Sure enough, and I couldn't think what ailed him," cried the driver,
wiping the perspiration from his brow.  "Seven years I've had Boxer,
and he never played me that trick afore.  I'm very much obliged to ye,
my brave lad, and you too, friend, and I'll stand a shilling apiece and
thankful.  The canal bridge is just a half mile further on, and if he
hadn't been stopped and the bridge had chanced to be open----"

The labourer took the shilling with a grin, and held the horse while
the carrier mended the broken strap with string, but Dick said
hesitatingly, "I don't want a whole shilling just for _trying_ to hold
him, it's too much.  But would you mind giving me a lift instead.
We're going to Weyn, and we've walked such a long way."

"With all the pleasure in life," said carrier Brown, good-naturedly.
"You want to get to fair, I suppose?  Ah well, a fair's no good without
money to spend.  So take this and jump up.  Boxer will be all right
when he's had a bite from his nose-bag."

The inside of the van was like a cave, and the narrow seat that ran
round the inside was packed with country folks and their baskets and
parcels, going to the fair.  Clean straw carpeted the floor, and a tiny
glass window at the back, six inches square, let in a few murky rays of
daylight.  Two schoolboys shared the front seat with the driver, but he
made a few inches of room for Dick, and Pat snuggled down contentedly
at his feet.

The women inside talked loudly of their feelings when Boxer bolted, but
the driver still looked pale and anxious, and Dick, feeling shaken now
the strain was over, was very glad to lean back against the side and
rest.  Mile after mile they rumbled on, leaving the canal with its
barges behind, and the low lying meadows with their fringes of elm and
willow.

Sometimes the way lay through narrow lanes, where the branches almost
met overhead, and the tangled hedgerows swept the canvas roof; and
sometimes the road wound upwards, and Boxer plodded from side to side
taking a zigzag course to ease the climbing, while Dick rested
luxuriously and dreamed of Ironboro'.  Gradually the way became less
lonely, carts and waggons and droves of sheep were passed and houses
were more frequently seen by the wayside, and from these groups of
children came, talking joyously about the fair and counting their
pennies as they went along.

Half-a-mile from the little town they had to wait.  A gaily painted
group of show waggons filled the roadway, for one of these had broken
down, and for a time nothing could pass by.

There was a great noise of talking and shouting orders, and one big
man, with tiny corkscrew curls of very black hair and silver rings in
his ears and a coat of faded velveteen, stood close by the carrier's
waggon and ordered others to do his bidding.

Pat was broad awake now, and when the carrier, seeing they would have
to wait awhile, took out a lunch of bread and meat and began to cut it
with a pocket knife, the dog stood on his hind legs and begged in his
most insinuating way.

"He's as smart as his master," said the carrier, laughing, while the
gipsy-like man turned and glanced keenly at the van.

"Does he know any more tricks?" asked one of the boys eagerly.

Dick bent down and whispered something to Pat, and he threw back his
head, half shut his eyes, and gave vent to a succession of shrill howls
that were the best music his voice was capable of, while his master
whistled the air of "Killarney" as an accompaniment.

Everybody laughed, and then Pat made a funny little bow and held up his
paw to shake hands.

"How much do you want for him?" said the showman in the velveteen coat.
"I'm looking out for a smart little terrier to guard my show.  I
wouldn't mind a couple of shillings."

"He's not for sale, thank you," answered Dick politely.

"Nonsense!  Every dog has a price, and most likely you've picked him up
somewhere underhanded.  So come along."

Dick flushed scarlet at the insult and again said "No!" decidedly.

The man turned and whispered something to a girl in an orange scarf and
black and green frock, who had come out of the show waggon, and she
tossed her head and laughed merrily.  But now the broken caravan was
pulled aside and the road was partly clear again, and the carrier drove
on, and soon with a mighty flourish of the reins he stopped in front of
the "George Inn" at Weyn, and everyone got down.



CHAPTER V.

PAT LOST AND FOUND.

For two days in the year at the annual fair, the quiet little town of
Weyn gave itself up to merrymaking.  Shows and caravans choked the
narrow streets; huge roundabouts as "patronised by all the crowned
heads of Europe," swung giddily round in the market-place, and the
shouts of the stall-keepers, and the din of the orchestra, and the
ceaseless crack of the rifle ranges, where boys were shooting for
cocoa-nuts, made a noise that was almost deafening.

The piles of gingerbread and coloured rock on the stalls looked very
tempting, and Dick, with Pat in his arms, and three-and-ninepence in
his pocket, felt rich as he walked by.  But though he liked sweet
things, all the more because he had had so few to enjoy, he would not
be tempted to buy.

"Don't believe Lionheart had cakes and candy--not when he was on the
crusades, anyhow.  It must be bread and cheese, and maybe a whole
ha'poth of milk for us, Pat, to-day.  When I'm a fitter you shall have
a good meaty bone every day of your life!"

Pat looked up, as if he quite understood, and on some old stone steps
in one of the quieter streets they were soon sharing rations, with
appetites that a duke might have envied.

"Here, boy, hold my horse for a couple of minutes, will you?  Don't let
go; he doesn't like this pandemonium any better than I do."

In a moment Dick was on his feet and ready for business, and for the
second time that day he gripped a bit of strap, with the resolve to
hold on at all costs.

Only _this_ horse was a beautiful chestnut, with a coat like satin, and
harness that must have cost more than carrier Brown's whole turn-out.

The gentleman went into the post-office opposite, but the noise of the
fair evidently upset the spirited horse, and he was very restless and
impatiently pawed the ground and tossed his head.

"What a lot of stamps he must be getting!" thought Dick, when five
minutes had gone by and there was still no sign of the rider's return.
A party of children, blowing penny trumpets, clattered past and the
horse gave a spring that taxed Dick's wrists to the utmost.

He was too busy and anxious to think about Pat, so he did not see or
hear the girl in the orange scarf steal up to him and offer a dainty
piece of meat, as he sat patiently waiting behind.  Alas! for dogs'
nature, the temptation was too great!  He followed the decoy for a few
yards and was then allowed to seize the bait.  In a moment a black
shawl was flung over the silky head, and the dog was snatched up and
carried round the corner and across the Market Place.

Pat struggled and snapped and barked in vain, and the girl hurried
through the town to a back lane where a number of caravans were drawn
up out of the way.  At one of these the showman in the velveteen coat
was standing, and he instantly opened an inner compartment and, giving
Pat a sharp blow, thrust him inside and turned the key.

"Good for you, Meg!" he cried with a chuckle.  "That dog 'll be worth
money to the show, by the time I've trained him.  'The Wonderful Black
and Tan Performer,' &c.  We'll keep him shut up till we're far from
here, and if any questions is asked it's our dog, and that boy's a
thief that have stole him from our 'appy 'ome."

"All right, dad, that's a good idea.  We'll go back to the Square now.
They won't be likely to come and look here."

The Post Office was very full that morning, and the girl behind the
counter looked worried, as she tried to meet all the demands of hurried
customers.

But at last the owner of the chestnut horse got his business of money
orders and telegrams finished and came out.

"That's right, my lad; here's sixpence for your trouble," he said as he
took the reins from Dick and mounted and rode off.

"Sixpence."  Another good payment for a small piece of hard work!

Dick looked down triumphantly at the coin, but his face changed in a
moment.  This was no sixpence, such as he had often been entrusted with
on Mrs. Fowley's errands, but a coin of shining yellow gold.

"It's half a sovereign," he cried breathlessly, and just for one moment
the thought came, "Now I can take the train and ride to Ironboro'.
Surely ten shillings would buy a ticket for all the way."

But like a flash the temptation came and went.  "Lionhearts don't
steal," he cried as he dashed down the street after the horseman
crying, "Stop!  Stop!"

But the fleet and spirited horse was already far on the way, and though
Dick ran as fast as his feet could go the distance increased every
moment.

He would have had no chance of success but for a carriage coming in the
opposite direction.  It carried several ladies and the rider reined in
his horse for a chat.

Dick ran on and reached the group just as the rider was preparing to go
on again.

"You are followed," said one of the ladies softly.  "I am sure this boy
wants to speak to you."

The rider looked round, and recognising Dick said, "Well, my boy, what
is it?"

"The money sir, please, you said you gave me sixpence and it was half a
sovereign.  I've brought it back."

"Well done.  There's one honest boy in the fair, at any rate.  Take
this for your trouble, but don't spend it all on ginger bread."

"Oh, thank you, sir, I shan't spend any.  I'm going to Ironboro'."

"But that is a hundred miles off, at least.  Why are you going so far?"
asked the lady.

"To find my uncle and learn to be an engineer."

"H'm, a large order for a small man," said the gentleman kindly.
"Here, I'll give you a character that may help you more than money."
And tearing a leaf out of his pocket book, he wrote on it, "I have
proved the bearer to be a quick and honest boy.  Dale Melville."

"There, laddie, that name is known in Ironboro', and it may do you a
good turn."

"Are you going alone?" asked the lady with white hair, who had been
listening to all that passed, and seemed amused at Dick's gratitude.

"Oh, yes, ma'am--at least only Pat and me.  He is my little dog, you
know."

Then with sudden recollection he turned hurriedly and looked for his
faithful follower.  But there was no Pat in sight, and flushing
painfully, he cried, "Oh, he's left behind.  I must run back at once,
or he'll be lost in the fair."

And scarcely waiting to lift his old cap to the ladies, he darted back
towards the town.  Thrusting the new half-crown deep into his pocket,
he sped on, calling Pat and whistling for him in vain.

"Maybe he dropped asleep from tiredness, and I'll find him by the steps
again."

But there was no trace of the little dog there, and Dick felt very
unlike Lionheart as he searched for his lost companion, and asked all
the passers by if they had seen him.  But all the people seemed intent
on their own pleasure, and for an hour Dick walked up and down without
any tidings of Pat.

Then a mischievous looking urchin playing marbles looked up as Dick
passed and said mysteriously, "I know about your dog, but I shan't tell
for nothing.  Give me a penny, for a ride on the gallopin' horses."
Dick put a penny into the grimy hand, and the boy said in a loud
whisper, "A girl had him while you was holding the horse--'ticed him
off with a piece of meat.  I see her."

"What was she like?" cried Dick eagerly, "and which way did she go?"

"Down the Market Place, and she was belonging to one of the shows.  She
was bigger'n you, and she had a yellow scarf on and eardrops."

The girl on the caravan whose master had wanted Pat!  Dick had the clue
now, but how could he recover his treasure?

Shutting his eyes for a moment he prayed to his Heavenly Father for
help, and then began another tour of the shows.

There were dogs in plenty, ugly and lean-looking curs lying on the
straw under the waggons or loafing around the shops in search of
plunder, but none at all like Pat.

Again and again as he passed he called and whistled, but there was no
answering bark.  Suddenly he saw the girl just inside a gaily painted
show while her father stood on the steps and called out, "Walk up,
ladies and gentlemen!  Walk up and see the smallest dwarf in the world
with his performing happy family, dogs and cats and birds, all living
together.  Only 2d., for the greatest wonder of the age."

Without a moment's hesitation, Dick ran forward and said to the girl,
"What have you done with my dog?  Please let me have him back at once!"

"Your dog," she said with a toss of her head that set the earrings
dancing.  "I like your impudence.  Haven't seen or heard of your dog."

"But you had him and took him away; a boy told me so!"

"Haven't seen him, I tell you."

"Now, you young rascal, be off at once, or I'll give you in charge!"
said the man threateningly.  "Coming here with such cock-and-bull
tales."

"What's it all about?" said a tall policeman, stepping forward.

"Why, this young varmint has lost his dog and comes here after it, as
cheeky as can be.  We ain't got no dog except the happy family one in
here as we've had for years, and that's a white one, as you can see for
yourself."

"Was yours white?" said the officer to Dick.

"No, sir, black and tan.  A boy told me he saw that girl pick him up
and run off."

"Best go and find the boy," said the policeman not unkindly, "then
we'll see."

"I'll make it hot for you, if you show your impudent face here again!"
shouted the man, who was red with passion.  He grew redder still as the
officer asked quickly, "How did you know this dog was not white?"

"They've got him, I know they have," Dick muttered as he turned away
with a sob in his throat.  "James Cross--that's the name on the show,
and I'll follow them everywhere, till I get Pat back."

But he went through all the Fair again, without finding any trace of
the boy who had told him.  Presently he saw the empty waggons drawn up
in the side alley, and with fresh hope in his heart he hurried along.

And in the last in the row "James Cross" was painted and, from
somewhere within, there came a low, unhappy whine.

Instantly Dick was at the door calling "Pat!" and whistling the
familiar call, and this was answered by a storm of eager muffled
barking.  The locked door was shaken in vain, and there was no possible
way of rescue there.

But Dick rushed back to the middle of the Fair, and going at once to
the friendly policeman cried, "I've found him!  I've found him!  He's
locked up in their waggon down that side street.  Oh, please make them
come and let him out."

"Is this true?" said the officer sternly to the showman, who had heard
every word.  "Have you got his dog?"

"'Tisn't his, it's mine.  The young rascal stole him from me and now
wants to make out it's his own."

"But you said just now you hadn't got another dog.  When did he steal
it?"

"This morning, and I got him back, of course."

"I didn't steal it, sir," cried Dick indignantly.  "It's my very own.
Come and hear how he barks when I call him."

"Come and let him out at once," said the officer, "and we'll soon
settle the ownership."

"Can't leave the show," muttered the man angrily.

"Oh, yes, you can.  It isn't far, and this girl can manage without you!"

The man sullenly got down and marched along most unwillingly with the
officer and Dick, followed by an interested crowd.

"Now open the door; there's a dog in there, undoubtedly.  We shall know
directly who's telling the truth."

Two doors were unlocked, and then like a small whirlwind Pat scrambled
out, rushed to Dick's feet and grovelled there in an ecstasy of joy.
"Hum, considering you say this boy only stole him this morning, they've
got uncommon fond of one another!  Call him and see if he'll come to
you."  But the showman's wiles were in vain.  Pat would not go near him.

"Have you any witnesses to prove he's yours, my lad?"

Dick thought a moment and said, "I couldn't find the boy who saw him
stolen from me.  But Mr. Brown the carrier knows.  He heard this man
offer to buy Pat this morning."

"Run round to the George Yard and ask Brown to step here a minute, if
he's still there."

Two or three messengers at once darted away.

"Anything else in proof?"

"He'll do tricks for me, sir."

And Dick stooped and whispered in Pat's ear, and the dog, not at all
abashed by the cheers and laughter of the crowd, begged and danced and
sang in his very best manner, till Mr. Brown appeared, driving his
carrier's van, for he was just starting again for the homeward journey.
His emphatic testimony settled what nobody doubted, and the officer
prepared to take the showman to the lock-up.

But Dick's only desire was to get away as soon as possible on his
delayed journey, and he begged that nothing more might be said about
prosecution.

So the showman was allowed to go, scowling and muttering, and the crowd
jeered as he went, though more than one present would have been willing
to risk stealing and its penalties for the possession of Pat.

"Best get away at once, and don't let him out of your sight again,"
said the man in blue, kindly.  "That dog's too fetching to be on the
road with such a small owner."

"Better both jump up into the van and go back with me to Turningham,"
said carrier Brown.  "I want a boy to help with the horse and do odd
jobs about the shop, and I know the missus would take to you and the
dog.  You've been a brave boy and a smart one to-day.  Eighteen-pence a
week and your keep to begin.  Come, now!"

But Dick shook his head.

"I'm ever so much obliged, sir, but I must go on to Ironboro', whatever
happens."

"Well, then, take my advice and train it as far as your money will go.
A ticket for thirty or forty miles will get you beyond the beat of
these fair folks, and be cheaper than tramping in the end.  Jump up,
and I'll drive round by the station and see about a train.  Nonsense
about trouble.  You've saved me more than that to-day."

Dick made a rapid calculation, and felt that he could not spend more
wisely the rider's half-crown, and, indeed, all the wonderful takings
of the day, and in a few minutes he found himself in the corner of a
third class carriage, bound northwards, with a ticket good for forty
miles of travel in his hand, and Pat's fare "seen to" by his
kind-hearted friend.



CHAPTER VI.

A HOME IN IRONBORO'.

Dick could only dimly remember one railway journey before and he curled
up in the corner of the carriage with a sense of luxurious ease and
held Pat close, rejoicing in his rescue.  An old woman sat on the same
seat, dressed in a black gown and lilac print apron, with a curtain
bonnet of the same print on her head.  She held tightly the handle of a
huge marketing basket that seemed full to overflowing, while on the top
a bunch of late chrysanthemums made a spot of gay colour.

Opposite, a tired-looking mother sat with two fractious children, going
home from the fair.  They were very naughty at first, but the sight of
Pat's black head arrested their crying, and Dick and his dog kept them
amused till they got out at the next station.  "A pity to bring
children up like that," said the country-woman, confidentially.
"Sweets enough to make 'em bad for a week, to say nothing of the
giddy-go-rounds and ginger-bread.  Ah, well, 'twasn't like it in my
young days.  Not that I'm against a good wholesome cake or two,
especially for young folks.  I'll give _you_ one if you'll read this
letter to me?" she added, looking inquiringly at Dick.  "You see, I'm
going to see my son at Manchester, and they've sent to tell me all
about the changing at Crow Junction, and I can't read writing very
well."

Dick had been enjoying the sight of fields and hedges rushing past and
trying to count the telegraph wires, but he turned at once and said,
"I'll read it with pleasure, if I can.  And I'm getting out at Crow
Junction, and I can help you change, if I can find out what it means."

"It's getting out of one train into another, and you might carry my
basket, maybe.  You see, I've got a band-box, and my umbrella and
pattens besides.  I had to bring them, not knowing how the roads might
be up there, and with damp feet I get rheumaticy directly."

Dick managed to get through the ill-spelled letter, and learned its
instructions by heart, and then was rewarded with a home-made flakey
cake, out of the big basket, that was better than all the fairings they
had left behind.

It was splendid to feel that the swift engine was bearing him on
towards his destination so easily, and that every mile made one less to
be tramped on foot.

Both Pat and his master would have been willing to travel on all night
by rail, but the forty miles were soon passed, and they got out at the
busy junction.

The old woman was helped in her changing, and then Dick earned twopence
by carrying a heavy portmanteau for another passenger.  And then the
two pilgrims took to the road again.

The days that followed were very much alike, and in after years Dick
remembered little about this part of the journey.

Sometimes he earned enough to buy a meal or pay for a humble night's
lodging, but they would often have been very hungry but for Paddy's
half-crown.  This was spent carefully, a penny at a time, and chiefly
for dry bread.

The last sixpence had been changed when a sign-post with the words
"Ironboro' two miles" was passed.  Dick took off his cap and looked up
to the wintry sky with joy and gratitude, and there and then thanked
God.

No Lionheart crusader could have felt more fervent gladness at the
first sight of the Holy City!

Bub Dick's goal did not look very promising, as he drew near.  A pall
of smoke hung low over the narrow streets, tall chimneys sent black
clouds into the biting air, and there was the clang and whirl of
machinery, and the throb of huge hammers going on all the time.

He was entering the town by the least inviting road.  On one side were
rows of miserable houses with broken windows and grimy walls and doors,
that looked as if all their brightness had gone into the smart
public-houses on each corner.

On the other side stretched a piece of waste land, where iron clinkers
and slag lay in great heaps, and rubbish of all kinds was deposited.
Not a blade of grass or tree could be seen, and the children playing
and quarrelling together were as dingy as the dirt they played with.

Two big lads were standing by the edge of a dark pool, not far from the
roadside, laughing at something that wriggled in their hands.

Suddenly a little girl darted across and snatched at this, crying,
"It's my kitty!  It's mine, I tell you.  Give her to me, she's mine!"

But the cruel tormenter only held the kitten higher, and showed the
string and the stone his companion was tying to her neck.

The little girl screamed aloud, and flung herself upon him in a vain
attempt to reach the kitten, which was mewing pitifully.  In her
excitement she was in great danger of falling into the black water.

"Now then, one, two, three, and----"  Before he could finish and throw
the captive in, Dick had sprung to the rescue.

"For shame!  How can you be such a coward?" he cried, seizing the
outstretched arm of the bully so fiercely that he released his hold.

"And who are you, I should like to know?  Take that for interfering!"
And he flung out his clenched fist for a terrific blow.

[Illustration: "'TAKE THAT FOR INTERFERING!'"]

But Lionheart was too quick for him, darting aside he dodged the blow
and at the same moment snatched the kitten and pushed her into the
child's outstretched arms.  The other coward had drawn back at Pat's
threatening growl.  The dog looked fierce enough for anything, and when
he saw the blow aimed at his master he seized the bully by the leg and
held him fast.

What might have happened next cannot be told, for at that moment the
little girl raised a joyous shout.  "Daddy, oh, daddy, come quick!
Here, daddy!"

At her eager cry a man hurrying down the road stopped and then ran to
the pool.

"Nellie, where have you been, and what's all this?"

"It's my kitty, daddy, they were going to drown her, and this boy and
his doggie saved her life."

And with tears and smiles together the child clung to her father and
hugged the almost suffocated kitten in her pinafore.

"Jem Whatman, at your cowardly pranks again!  How dare you touch the
kitten?"

At this moment, as if conscious that able reinforcements had come, Pat
let go the mouthful of cloth, and without stopping to reply Jem darted
away after his companion, muttering threats as he went.

"You are a brave boy to tackle two bullies at once in that fashion,"
said the father kindly as he swung the little girl up in his strong
arms.  "And there's breeding about that terrier of yours, and no
mistake!"

Pat was still breathing quickly and wagging his tail excitedly, as if
expecting another battle.  "You are a stranger to me, and yet I seem to
know your face.  What is your name?"

Dick almost answered "Lionheart," but stopped just in time.  "Richard
Hart Crosby."

"Of course!  And you're his living image; but he had neither wife nor
child."

"Do you mean my uncle, sir.  Do you know him."

"Know Dick Crosby?  Almost as well as I know Nellie here.  And I've
heard him speak of his brother many times."

"Then, sir, if you know him, won't you tell me where he lives, that I
may go to him at once?  I only heard about him just lately, and I've
come all the way from Venley to find him."

"I'll tell you all I can, but you can't go to him to-day, for he went
off to Klondyke more than a year ago, and I've only heard from him once
since he went."

Poor Dick!  The disappointment following so quickly on success was
almost too much.  A big lump came in his throat and tears blurred his
sight, so that he could scarcely see the ugly rubbish heap and the
cinders that lay around.

But he had made resolve that he would not cry, whatever happened, and
so he resolutely ordered tears away and again faced his new friend.

"How did you get here, laddie?"

"Walked from Venley--all but forty miles I came by train."

"Well, then, you must walk a bit further and come home with me.  Dick
Crosby was my good friend, and you have saved the kitten and maybe
Nellie herself from ill-usage.  It's dinner time, so you are just
right.  Run, Nellie, there is mother watching at the door."

They were walking now in a wider thoroughfare with better houses on
either side.  At the door of one a motherly woman stood looking out
anxiously, and to her Nellie ran with a joyous shout.  "Oh, mother,
I've got kitty, and daddy's got a boy out there with such a nice dog,
only kitty doesn't like him.  She makes her tail like a sweeping brush."

"But where have you been, Nellie?  We lost you, and father had to come
after you."

"It's all right now, wife.  I found her--or rather this little man
found her, and helped her too, so I've brought him home to dinner."
And in a few words he told the tale, while Pat sent Nellie into shrieks
of delight by standing up and begging in his best manner.  Doubtless he
smelled the savoury Irish stew that was just ready.

And Mrs. Dainton hurried them all in to enjoy it.



CHAPTER VII.

PADDY'S RESOLVE.

Over the pleasant little dinner table Dick's heart was quite won.  The
room was so clean and pretty, and the hot meal so good after the meagre
fare of the last fortnight.  And the new friends were so kind and
sympathising, it was easy to tell them about the long march from
Venley, and all his hopes about the future.  Only there was no uncle
Dick to help him in his heart's desire to become an engineer, and he
would have to fight his own way.

But Mr. Dainton was quite disposed to be a true friend.

"I like your pluck, my boy, and I'll see what I can do, for my old
friend's sake, and for your kindness to a little kitten.  I may be able
to get you into our yard, though you'll have to be content with rough
work and very small wages at first.  I suppose you haven't a reference
or testimonial of any sort?"

Dick suddenly remembered the slip of paper given him by the gentleman
on horseback, and he gave it silently into Mr. Dainton's hand.

"Why, this is first-rate, my boy!  Couldn't be better.  Sir Dale
Melville is one of the directors of the line we do so much work for,
and it was luck, or something better, that brought you in his way."

"Something better, I should say," Mrs. Dainton remarked softly, and
Dick answered her smile with one as bright.

"You're right, wife, it strikes me God has been guiding Dick here right
to our door, and I can see he thinks so, too."

"He could stop here, couldn't he mother, till Teddy comes back from
grandma's, and have his little room?" said Nellie, eagerly.  "Then Pat
and Kitty could quite make friends, and have such fun together."

"That's not a bad notion, pet, if mother is willing."

And Mrs. Dainton at once said "Yes," and so Dick found himself with
home and food and friends, before he had been an hour in Ironboro'.

How wonderfully God had answered his prayers!

"Hulloa, you young hopeful, what do you mean by sleeping all through
dinner, and then waking just as we've cleared the dishes?"  And Mr.
Dainton stooped to the cradle by the hearth, where a bonny six-month's
old baby had wakened with a cry.

"What, fretty, little man?  Those teeth do bother you, don't they?  And
I can't stop to take you now."

"Let me have him!" cried Dick, quickly, holding out his arms.  "I've
had a lot to do with babies."

And to their great surprise, baby Jack went to him at once with a
contented chuckle, and settled down as if he had known him always.

"I like that, now," said the father as he took his cap to go.  "He's
mostly so shy with strangers."

Mrs. Dainton nodded her head as if to say "He'll do."  And before the
day was over she was inclined to think they had indeed entertained an
angel unawares.

"He's as handy in the house as a woman," she told her husband that
night, "and a master-hand with baby.  I think we had better keep him,
instead of the nurse-girl you've been wanting me to have."

"Too late, wifie.  I'm hoping to get him into the starting shed
to-morrow or Monday.  Anyhow, the loco. manager will see him.  We'll
keep him here this week and rig him out with clothes, if only for
Richard's sake."

"And for Christ's sake," said the mother softly.  "It will be a case
for 'Inasmuch' I know.  He says his teacher used to call him
'Lionheart' and he means to earn the name."

"I rather think he's done that already, judging by the way he stood up
to those bullies on the Waste.  We'll see if old Mrs. Garth can give
him a lodging.  He'll be comfortable there, and we can have him round
often, and I hope he and Teddy will be chums.  I believe he's going to
do well."

The next day it was settled, and Dick was seen by the manager and
engaged as handy-boy for the cleaning shed.  The small wages he would
have at first seemed wealth indeed to Dick, though anybody else might
have wondered how lodging and food and clothing could be managed on
such an income.  But Mr. Dainton had a private understanding with the
tidy old woman where Dick's uncle had lodged, and she agreed to find
board and lodging for what he could afford to pay, if he would carry
coal and chop sticks and do errands for her, for a little while every
day, now that she was growing old.

It was a good bargain for both, and Dick faithfully kept his share of
the compact, spending half-an-hour morning and evening in helping her,
while Pat fitted into the little household as if he had belonged there
always.  It was the proudest moment of Dick's life when he entered the
great gates of the engine works on Monday morning.

The crowd of men going in at the summons of the hooter was not so large
as on other days.  So many of the workmen were keeping Saint Monday
after drinking hard on Saturday and Sunday, and of those who came some
looked sleepy and muddled as if, they, too, had been having too much.

But Dick was not in a critical mood.  Everything looked strange and
delightful to the eager boy, and even the dirty work he was ordered to
do seemed pleasant because there were engines everywhere, and mysteries
of cogs and wheels that he would be able to find out, as the days went
by.

The all-pervading smell of oil and grease reminded him of Paddy's
boiler-house, and he resolved to spend his first evening in writing to
him.

There were three other boys in the shed, all older than himself, and
half-a-dozen men, and Dick was fairly bewildered by the orders they
gave him.

As a new hand and the youngest it was quite evident he would be
expected to fag for all, and long before night his back and legs were
very tired.

But Mrs. Garth had a good tea all ready, and Pat, who had been
disconsolate all day, nearly wagged off his short tail for joy when he
got home.

And then he wrote a letter.


"DEAR PADDY,

"We got to Ironboro' quite safely, after a lot of ups and downs on the
road.  Pat was nearly lost, so many people wanted to steal, or beg, or
buy him, and no wonder.

"My uncle Richard is gone to Klondyke, and I am going to write him a
letter.

"His friend, Mr. Dainton, found me, or I found his little girl, and
they have been so kind.  He is a foreman at Lisle & Co.'s, and he knew
uncle ever so well.  He has got me a place in their sheds, and I began
work to-day.

"Our firm is splendid, I should think six times as big as the tin
works, and I am going to try so hard there.

"Ironboro' is very dirty, and there are publics everywhere.  The men
drink a great deal here, and it is such a pity.  Mr. Dainton says they
could do well if they liked, because the pay is so good.

"One of the men offered me a drink of beer to-day, but of course I said
'No.'  When I told him I never meant to touch it the others laughed,
and said they'd soon make me know better.  But I mean to be Lionheart
still.

"Pat sends his love to you.  He has a box for a kennel in Mrs. Garth's
wood shed where I lodge.

"Dear Paddy, I know God _does_ hear when we pray, because he brought me
here, and made people so kind to me coming along, and gave me friends
and work directly.  I wish you would come here, too, that Pat and I
could see you again.  He is so knowing.  Everybody likes him.  Do come.

"Your loving friend,
  DICK."

"I've got slops and overalls just like the other men, to work in, and
I'm going to a night school and a technical class, and Mr. Dainton has
lent me a big book about engines, with pictures all through.

"I should like to know how baby Lily is at Mrs. Fowley's, if you could
find out, and whether they were vexed at my running away.  But please
don't tell them I am here.

"DICK."


This letter gave Paddy so much pleasure when it reached him that his
first impulse was to take it to the "Brown Bear" and read it to some of
his cronies there, just for the joy of sharing it.

But better thoughts came.

"And shure if I hearkened to the good book he was reading that night
and what he says here about the drink I should never touch the beer
again at all, at all.  He said we could all be Lionhearts, and that God
wouldn't like to go into them places with me.  And he says again here
that God does answer when we pray.  Maybe if I went round to Dick's
teacher and signed the pledge the Almighty would help me to keep it,
and then I could save a bit of money and go to Ironboro' too."

Paddy had been sitting by his little fire after tea when the letter
came, and he sat on for a long while, staring into the bright coals and
seeing in fancy Dick's pleading face again.  Suddenly he got down
awkwardly upon his knees, and with the letter in his hand prayed his
first real prayer.

And that night he signed the pledge and hung up the card over his
mantelpiece where all might see it, and the sight of his own name, put
to such a promise, was a continual help to him in the fight that lay
before him.



CHAPTER VIII.

LIONHEART'S BRAVE STAND.

Paddy's courage and determination were soon put to the test.  He had
been a bar favourite so long that his absence was soon noticed, and the
men he had so often entertained and treated were loud in their
complaints and jeers.  The ridicule was hard enough to bear, but the
sneers at his stingy ways hurt him most.

For Paddy's warm Irish heart loved to give, and to make pleasure for
others, and many a time he had spent his last coin in treating a
comrade.

The publicans, too, missed his songs and merry stories, that always led
to rounds of applause and renewed treating.  The landlord of the "Brown
Bear" stood at his door to watch for Paddy, and offers of free drinks
and boisterous welcome met him almost every night.

But he had learned to distrust his own strength, and to lean upon the
promised help of God.  Night and morning he knelt by his chair and
prayed for the victory, and with the thought of Lionheart to help him
he went out to the battle girded with the strength that never fails.

On the first wage night after signing the pledge he went straight to
the Post Office and put a good portion of his money into the Savings
Bank, and then went home by a roundabout way to avoid the
public-houses.  "It's no use to pray 'Lead us not into temptation' and
then go right by the Bear's Den when you aren't obloiged to," he said
to himself.

He bought a large print New Testament and spelled out a chapter before
he went to bed--the chapter which told of the Prodigal going home to
the Father's house, and the sweet sense of God's forgiveness for all
his wasted years, made him feel so happy that he could not sleep for a
long while.

"I'll save me money and go after that boy to Ironboro', for shure; it's
to him I owe it all.  And maybe we could help one another there, for
something tells me he'll still need a friend."

And truly Dick had not been long in the cleaning shed before his trials
began.  The man who had offered him beer on his first day was Jem
Whatman's father, and Dick's quiet refusal had angered him greatly, and
his threat to make him know better had not been an idle one.

"We'll have no Band-of-Hopers amongst us jokers, eh mates?" he said
with rough wit, a few days afterwards.

"So look here, young 'un, the boss is out of the way, and you take this
shilling and nip across to the 'Jolly Founders' and fetch half-a-gallon
of fivepenny in this jar.  We'll soon see where your teetotalling will
be."  The other workers in the shed applauded loudly at the prospect of
a drink and some fun into the bargain.

But Dick had spent a very serious quarter of an hour on his first day
in reading the Rules posted up conspicuously in every workshop, and one
of them said, "No intoxicating drinks must be fetched during working
hours."

So he looked up bravely and said, "I can't do that, for it would be
breaking the rules to fetch beer.  Besides, I can't go inside a
public-house, at any time.

"Rules be hanged!" said Whatman fiercely.  "You are here to do as
you're told and not to cheek your betters.  Quick!  Off with the jar,
or it'll be the worse for you."

But Dick stood still, while the thought of Lionheart gave him courage.

"I'll do anything for you that's right, but I can't do that," he said
bravely.  "I'll never go into a public-house, and the rules are up
there as plain as can be."  And he pointed to the glazed and somewhat
dingy copy of rules and regulations on the wall.

"You young impudence, I'll teach you!" said Whatman in ungovernable
rage.  "If you don't go this minute I'll give you such a hiding as
you'll never forget.  I owe you one for interfering with Jem the other
day."

But Dick did not move, and his brown eyes met Whatman's angry scowl
without shrinking.

Suddenly, Hal Smith, one of the other lads, said, "Here, Whatman, I'll
fetch it this time, same as I have before, and we'll make him have a
drink, and that will put a stop to his teetotal whining."

Seizing the jar and looking out cautiously to see that the coast was
clear, he hurried off, while Whatman, muttering angrily, turned away.

Dick went on with his cleaning of some brass fittings, polishing and
rubbing till they shone like gold.

But while his hands worked vigorously his thoughts were away beyond the
grimy shed and the troubles of the hour, seeking One who said, "I will
never leave thee nor forsake thee."

He needed all his faith a few minutes afterwards, when Hal came back
with the foaming jar.

"Now, young sir," said Whatman, with mock politeness, "you'll drink
best respects to us in this here cup of beer.  Every drop, mind!  What,
you won't have it?  Here, Smith and Perkins, hold his head while I pour
it down.  He's got to learn manners!"

Dick struggled violently in his captors' hands and almost got free.
But the men were too strong for him, and he was held fast.

Clenching his teeth and resolved to choke rather than swallow it he
waited till the cup was at his lips, and then, with a sudden jerk of
his head, knocked it aside and caused the stream of brown liquid to
fall on the dirty floor.

Whatman's answer to this was a violent blow that made blue and green
stars dance before the boy's eyes and almost stunned him.

"What is going on here?" said a stern voice in the doorway.  Instantly
the men closed round the jar, hoping to hide it, but Macleod, the
Scotch foreman, was not easily hoodwinked.

"Drinking and fighting too.  What do you mean by it?"

"It's this young rascal here," said Whatman.  "Cheeking us and drinking
our beer."

Dick was too dazed to answer, but there was no need.  Macleod had seen
the cowardly blow.  "Your beer?  And how did that jar get here at this
time of day?  I shall report you, Whatman and Smith; you've had
warnings enough, I should say, but one of these times will be the last.
And if you put upon this boy again you'll have to reckon with Dainton
and me.  He's under Dainton's care, anyhow, and you haven't heard the
last of this, I can tell you."

For the time Whatman and the other men were silenced, but Dick had a
black eye, as the result of the blow, and the reason had to be told
when he went to Mr. Dainton's that evening to tea.

For Teddy had come home from his visit to the country, and Dick was
eager to see the brother of whom little Nellie talked so much.

He was a fun-loving urchin who never spent a minute more over his
lessons than he could possibly help, and was only clever in getting
into mischief and, at Dick's age, was far behind him in learning.

In his frequent visits to his grandmother's farm he had been allowed
too much of his own way, and his father grumbled and threatened to stop
this spoiling, by keeping him at home.

To ride, bare backed, the farm colts and to go fishing and birds'
nesting at all hours was far more pleasant than sitting at a school
desk and bothering one's head with fractions, and over the tea table he
spoke his mind.

"You won't catch me going into the sheds, father, when I leave school.
I'm going to be a farmer and ride on horseback all day long."

"You'll be a poor farmer at that rate, Ted," his mother said quietly.
"What about feeding stock and ploughing and sowing and reaping?"

"Oh, but I should keep men to do all that," was the lofty reply.

"Yes, but you must at least know how it is all done, if you are to make
farming pay.  That's why Dick here has to begin at the very bottom and
do all sorts of black work before he can be a great engineer and come
out at the top of the tree."

"And must he have black eyes as well?" asked Nellie pointedly; "and
have his face spoiled?"

"No, little one, that is another matter.  Whatman ought to be sent
about his business and should be, if I had the management.  But a black
eye is no disgrace when you get it for resisting evil."

"There's a verse that's just meant for you, Dick," said Mrs. Dainton
kindly, "and you ought to learn it by heart.  'Consider Him who endured
such contradiction of sinners against Himself, lest ye be weary and
faint in your minds.'  I'll show it to you after tea."

"And then, as it is a wet night, you can all have a game with Pat in
the kitchen before Dick goes to school."

"School at night," asked Teddy in amazement.  "And after working all
day.  Haven't you learned enough?"

"Not half," said Dick, laughing at the comical tone of dismay.

"There's a world-full of things I don't know anything about, especially
drawing and hard sums.  I want them because they'll help me to be a
fitter by and by."

But Teddy whistled in a very unbelieving way, and presently went off to
the kitchen, as he explained, to give the poor dog a bone.

And when the others moved a few minutes afterwards, they were startled
by a cry from Nellie, who had gone after Teddy.

All her family of five cherished dolls were hanging by their back hair
from the hooks on the kitchen dresser, while Pat marched about with her
Sunday doll's best velvet hat set rakishly on his head, and a Red
Riding Hood cloak on his back!



CHAPTER IX.

STOPPING A BURGLARY.

It was Saturday afternoon and the great machine shops at Lisle & Co.'s
were closing for the weekly half holiday.  There was to be an important
football match at the Marshes outside the town, and the boys and men
had talked of little else all the week.

"Art coming, Dick, to see the match?" asked one of the lads, who had
seemed inclined to be friendly during the last week or two.  "Yon's a
grand team ours are going to play."

"To the match?  Not he," sneered Hal Smith, who stood near.  "He
couldn't spare a tanner for gate money, and he's going to stop at home
and say his prayers, little dear, because football's wicked, and he's
got to get ready for the Sabbath day."

"Nonsense!  There's no harm in football.  Own up now, Dick, wouldn't
you like to see the match?"

"Maybe I should, especially if I could be in it," said Dick, good
humouredly.

"Hear him?" shouted Hal in derision, "he wants to be captain of our
team, no doubt, the little upstart!  Come on, lads, we don't want his
company.  See, all the others are going."

Soon the tramp of many feet died away, and the yards were left to
Saturday's quiet and loneliness.

The throb of the machinery and all the stir and clatter of toil had
ceased till midnight on Sunday, when the first shift of workers would
begin again.

But Dick felt entirely happy as he took a huge "doorstep" of bread and
cheese and a rosy apple from his bag, and began to munch it in the
shadow of a great locomotive that stood on the lines, not far from the
manager's office.

A few days before this engine had been brought in smoking hot for
repairs, and on Monday the work would be finished.

Dick's quick eyes had seen new features in the make of this visitor,
and he resolved to use part of his holiday in investigations.  Mrs.
Garth would be busy with her cleaning and would not need him, and Pat,
who was beginning to know Saturday afternoon, must wait for his weekly
outing.

He had on his dirty slop that was already very grimy from the week's
wear and toil, and as soon as he had finished his dinner he began a
minute inspection of the beautifully finished monster.

Every little cog and wheel was worth looking at, and the smallest nut
and screw more interesting to him than all the football in Ironboro'.
Mr. Dainton had given him leave to stay, and Joe, the watchman, would
let him out when he was ready.

He had watched the fitters at their work and thought wistfully of the
years that must go by before he would be as clever as they.  But every
hour of learning would help and he would find out some things now.

So he got down and crawled under the boiler and inspected everything
there, trying to understand the massive architecture of the iron steed.

Perhaps the faint warmth lulled him unconsciously, but in a place where
most boys would have felt very uncomfortable, he presently went fast
asleep.  How long he had been there could not be told, but suddenly a
sound of voices close by roused him completely.

"I tell you, man, there's no danger at all!  That bottle of whisky will
make old Joe sleep till midnight, and the little gate's ajar, and
everybody off to the match.  Just help me up and I'll spring back the
fastening and get in through the side window.  I've got keys, and with
luck I can get the tracings and have them all copied out before dark.
And there's a sovereign for your trouble as soon as I've put them back
again to-night.  Monks' will see _me_ right if I can manage it, and
their draughtsman's waiting.  I shan't touch anything else, so nobody
'll be the wiser."

[Illustration: "'I TELL YOU THERE'S NO DANGER AT ALL!'"]

Dick felt the perspiration on his brow as he recognised Whatman's
voice.  Then peering out cautiously he saw him walk towards the
manager's office with a tall, well-dressed stranger.

He was not _quite_ sure what tracings might be, but he knew the firm
had plans for new machinery in hand, from which great things were to be
expected, for he had heard the fitters talking about it.

And these men were going to steal them.  All sorts of ideas as to how
he could stop them flitted through his eager brain while he noiselessly
slipped off his shoes, and crawled out, inch by inch.  If only the
window fastenings would prove refractory and hinder them till he could
steal behind the engine sheds and reach the big gates!

With cat-like speed and lightness he crept round the corner, and as
soon as he gained shelter, ran at full speed to the small gate, that
was half an inch ajar.

Inside the watchman's box old Joe slept heavily, from the effects of
the drugged whisky.  Dick dashed out almost into the arms of Policeman
X., who looked suspiciously at the breathless lad, in his stockinged
feet.  "Oh, please, come quick!" he cried, laying hold of the strong
hand as no criminal would have done.  "They're burglaring the office
and stealing tracings.  Come now at once!"

"How many?" asked, the policeman with alacrity, as he beckoned to a man
in plain clothes opposite.

"Two."

"All right, lead on, and if you're telling a true yarn we'll nab them.
If not--well, mind yourself."

But there was unclouded truth in Dick's bright eyes, and the man in
blue followed him confidently, his mate bringing up the rear.

Dick led them cautiously till they came close to the locomotive.

Then somebody trod on a piece of loose iron, and there was a slight
clinking noise.  In affright Whatman darted round the office, to be
instantly taken possession of by the second man, while policeman X. ran
forward and caught the stranger, who was just emerging from the window
with a slim roll of papers in his hand.

"Well caught!" said the man in plain clothes, as he slipped the
handcuffs on.

"You young spoil-sport, so this is _your_ doings!" said Whatman
vindictively.  "I'll have my revenge on you, see if I don't."

The stranger, who looked very pale and cowed, tried to offer a bribe,
but the policeman stopped him at once and warned them that anything
they said would be used against them at their trial.

Then when Dick had fetched his discarded shoes, and told what he had
overheard, the little procession moved out into the street.

"We must wake up that dolt of a watchman and get the place made fast
once more."

And after giving his name and address, Dick was glad to go home away
from the sight of Whatman's rage.

"I am sorry I had to do it," he told Mrs. Garth over the fire that
evening, "but it wouldn't have been right to let them steal, would it?"

"In course not, my boy, you only did your duty; though maybe Whatman
would have said you were up to no good if he had found you there alone.
It was lucky for you they didn't find you out when you went to give the
alarm."

The news of the attempted burglary was soon known among the workmen,
and proved a more exciting topic than the result of the football match.

"That's a smart lad," said the manager to Dainton that evening, "and if
the firm doesn't do something for him, I will."

"You're right, sir," said Dainton emphatically.  "He's smart and plucky
too.  Whatman's neither more nor less than a brute when he's roused,
and this affair proves that he's none too honest.  You know he was more
than suspected when the brass filings were missed, that time."

"It'll be a fine exposure for Monks, too, if this fellow proves he was
only a cat's-paw for them."

"Maybe you could move Dick into my shop, sir?  I want to lend the boy a
hand, though it strikes me he'll get on whether or no.  He's so keen on
learning, and would stop up half the night to pore over any old book of
mechanics he can get hold of.  And the way he has taken hold of
drawing, at the night school, in the few weeks he's been there is
something wonderful.  I only wish my boy had the same gift."

"His uncle was a clever workman," said the manager thoughtfully.
"Foolish fellow to take gold fever and go off into the wilds after it
when he was doing so well with good British ironwork!  I'll speak to
Mr. Alfred about Dick, and he'll certainly have some promotion."

The manager did speak, and to good purpose, for Dick was raised to the
rank of an apprentice and his indentures were made out and signed by
the firm.  He did not leave all disagreeable work behind, but he was
under Mr. Dainton's oversight now, and Whatman's friends had little
chance to torment him.  When the Assizes came he had to give evidence
against the would-be burglars, and as a result they were both sentenced
to hard labour.

Dick would have gladly evaded this unpleasant duty, but he had no
choice in the matter.

It was a great trouble to him, for a long while afterwards, and again
and again he prayed that Whatman might have a new heart and right
spirit and come out to lead a better life.



CHAPTER X.

SUCCESS AT LAST.

The winter passed quickly away and in the spring Paddy came to
Ironboro'.  He knocked at Mrs. Garth's door one evening, and Dick, who
happened to answer the summons, looked at him for a moment in
astonishment, he was so completely changed.  In a new suit of clothes
and with smart collar and tie he looked altogether unlike the slovenly,
poorly-clad Paddy of old.

But his smile was the same, and Dick almost fell upon him in his
delight, while Pat was in no doubt at all.  He recognised his former
benefactor at once with that strange power of memory dogs possess in a
way that is almost human.

"Ye see, I was bound to come, Lionheart, to see with my own eyes how
they were serving you, and to let you know I've gave up the drink for
ever an' ever!  Twas all through you, and the Almighty's power, and now
I belong to Him body and soul, and He kapes me every day."

Dick's joy was almost too great for words.  It was splendid to see his
friend like this, and to know that he had helped in the great change.

There were no lessons done that evening.  Instead they talked, as Mrs.
Garth declared, "enough to fill a newspaper."

It happened that she had a room empty, for her other lodger had left a
week before, and when she found that Paddy meant to stay if he could
find work in Ironboro', she offered him the room, and he was only too
glad to have it.

"You can come here, and welcome," she said, "only if my old lodger, the
boy's uncle, comes back I shall let him have the chance of it again.
He used to say if he didn't get the dollars out foreign he should come
back to me, and Dick here is hoping he will."

"We had a letter from him," said Dick, "and he's coming home as soon as
he can get luck, he says, but he hasn't found any gold yet."

"It was a pity he went on a sort of wild goose chase, but still it was
a good thing you came to look for him, eh lad?  Maybe it'll be the
making of your fortune!"

"I don't know about that," said Dick eagerly, "but I love to be here.
And I've nearly saved up enough to pay you back the debt."

"Pay!  Now if you begin to talk like that I'll go back again.  I should
most likely have been a neer-do-weel all my days, and maybe have died a
drunkard, if it hadn't been for you, Dick, and the good words of the
Book.  Besides, I've got plenty," and he pulled out a handful of silver
from one pocket and the little bank book from the other and tapped it
merrily.  "All saved from the paws and the jaws of the 'Brown Bear,'
that squeezes all the comfort out of so many homes in Venley.  If only
I'd got all the money that have gone out of my pocket that way, I
shouldn't need to stoke for a living now.  But if God will give me
health and work I shan't come to the workhouse yet awhile!  That's
where the Fowley's are shaping for.  Both drinking, and the children
left anyhow, and everything going to rack and ruin."

"I should like to see the baby again and little Susy," said Dick, "but
I could never go back."

"I should think not!  Why, you've nearly doubled since you've had
decent living and no nagging."

Next day, with Mr. Dainton's kind help, Paddy got work.  Trade was
specially good in Ironboro', and his honest face carried its own
recommendation.  That summer Teddy persuaded Dick to join the boys'
cricket club in connection with the Sunday School the Daintons
attended.  On Sundays he and Paddy always sat together in the game
church.

The Sunday's rest and the games in the marshes were a great means of
health, after the heat of the Works and the close study of other
evenings.

Out in the fresh air with other boys listening to Teddy's fun or
Paddy's latest joke his face lost the pinched and anxious look it had
worn at Venley.

He grew tall and strong, and as he threw his heart into play as keenly
as into work, he soon became an important member of the club's junior
eleven.

But though he enjoyed the play as much as anyone he never lost sight of
his aim to become a clever engineer, and many a half-hour was stolen
from sleep for his books and drawing and models.

Mrs. Garth sometimes said he ate and drank and dreamed engines, his
thoughts were so filled with the work done at Lisle and Co.'s.

But the months went by with no other tidings from his uncle, though
Dick never forgot to pray for his return.

When his apprenticeship was halfway through he went with Teddy for a
long ramble one summer evening.

Beyond the marshes the road skirted a belt of stunted woodland.  This
was Pat's happy hunting ground, though he never found any rabbits
there.  Running in and out of the tangled bushes they heard him begin
to bark loudly, and then he rushed back to his master in great
excitement and tried to hurry them on, and following quickly they left
the road and plunged into the undergrowth.  And there, under the
shelter of a clump of elder, they saw a man, unconscious, on the ground.

He looked like a tramp, his clothes were so old and broken, and his
face was deadly pale.  Teddy looked scared and suggested going for the
police, but Dick had more courage.

He remembered a little stream that ran through the Dingle not far away,
and fetching some water in his cap he bathed the man's face.

Presently there was a feeble movement, and then the stranger opened his
eyes and looked up at Dick, who was bending anxiously over him.  And
then he smiled faintly and said, "Good old George, is it you?"

"He thinks he knows you," said Teddy in a hurried whisper.

But Dick had been studying the face on the ground and recalling Paddy's
description.  And with a half-frightened cry he guessed the truth, and
said "Uncle!  It is Uncle Richard come back!"

"Are you little Dick?" asked the voice feebly.  "I was coming to look
for you, but I couldn't get any further.  I should have died if the
little dog hadn't found me.  I heard him bark in my sleep and he saved
me.  But for that I might have died, unknown to anybody."

And Pat, knowing very well that he had done a good deed, barked again
in a perfect chorus of joy.

"Let's take him home," said Teddy eagerly, not to be outdone in
goodwill.  "He used to play with me and I can remember him now."

But the stranger had sunk back exhausted again and Dick said quickly,
"Run back, Teddy, and tell your father, and see if you can find Paddy,
and ask them to get a cart or something to carry him home, or, if you
will stay here, I will go."

But Teddy preferred action, and went off like an arrow, while Dick
raised his uncle's head and made him as comfortable as he could during
the waiting time.

Help was soon forthcoming, and in a very short time the wanderer was
lying in a comfortable bed at Mr. Dainton's house and fed and tended
with affectionate care.

Presently he revived a little and tried to talk.  "I've come back
poorer than I went, though I did find a streak of gold.  But I fell ill
and the thieves stole all I had.  I just managed to get down to a ship
and I worked my passage home, though I felt I was only coming back to
die.  But I did want to get to the old place again and to see George's
boy.  He's the very image of what I used to be, and like his father
too, only a taller build, I fancy."

"And as good as he is high," said Mrs. Dainton with a smile at her
favourite.

But Dick could not laugh just then, his throat had such a lump in it.

The dream he had cherished so long of finding a "very own relation" had
come true, but with such pain and disappointment if his uncle had only
come back to die!  But Mrs. Dainton's faith refused to listen to
thoughts of dying, and her husband seconded all her efforts in the sick
room.

And Paddy made a splendid nurse and cheerfully sat up at night in turn,
and, as the patient began to mend, his bright talk and Irish yarns made
him laugh and forget all the hardship and failures of the past.

But most of all the invalid liked to have Dick with him.

"You must take warning by me, lad, and stick to hard work.  Don't try
to get rich by taking short cuts that lead nowhere."

But as he grew stronger and was able to listen while Dick talked about
machinery and showed his own drawings, the older man began to believe
that Dick was well on the way to a Klondyke at home.

And when Paddy presently set up a happy home of his own, with Mrs.
Garth's youngest daughter at the head of it, Dick and his uncle lived
on at the old place together with Pat as an honoured member of the
family.  And health and strength came back enough to make wage earning
possible again.

Step by step Dick advanced in the good opinion of masters and men, and
before he was out of his time one of his ideas in valves was patented
by the firm and he received a handsome present.

Lionhearted against wrong doing and ready to help in every good cause,
he won the respect even of those who disliked him, and at each
promotion earned the goodwill of the men.  To-day he is
manager-in-chief, and there is a rumour that backed by the influence of
his old friend, Sir Dale Melville, he will rise to a junior partnership
at no distant date.  And in every department of the works some evidence
of his inventive genius may be found.  But he does not forget the
struggles and sorrows of the early days when he was only a
"'cumbrance," and in his own happy life there is always sympathy for
the poor and oppressed.  Perhaps nobody will be surprised to hear that
he married pretty Nellie Dainton, his first little friend in Ironboro',
and in their home beyond the marshes, all sorts of schemes for the help
of friendless children are brought to pass.

His own small boys and girls are devoted to their great-uncle Richard,
but even better than his tales of Klondyke adventure, they like to hear
Paddy tell the story of Dick Lionheart and his dog Pat.





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