For the Children

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16738, 20 May 1922, Page 15

For the Children

LEFT BEHIND. (“ My Magazine.”) School was to break up in a week’s time, and of all the hundred or so boys at Grafton not one was looking forward more keenly to the holidays than little Tim Nairne. Tim was one of the youngest boys in the school, and being by nature rather shy and silent, lie made few friends. He was not unpopular, but he Avas one of those boys who are so reserved that others leave them alone, simply because they don’t know what to make of them. So Tim had not greatly enjoyed his first term at Grafton, and was counting the days till he would get back to the jolly little house that lii6 people had taken at Canford Cliffs, and to the 'much-loved society of His father, Caj>tain Nairne, and of his young and charming mother. It was next day that the blow r fell. Just after breakfast a message came from Dr. Price, tho headmaster, that ho wished to see Nnirqe at -once. Tim went, wondering. He was not nervous, for he knew that he had not done anything particularly outrageous, and as for his class work he had gone on with that quite well. He found Dr. Price in his study. The headmaster was a big, rather pompous, but very competent man, who ran the. school like a machine. He looked at Tim through his glasses, and hesitated a moment before he spoke. " Er- Nairne. I’m afraid I have some rather unpleasant news for you.*’ he said and Tim realised with a queer sinking sensation, that the letter that lay in front of him on the desk was in his mother’s handwriting. “Is anything wrong, sir? T mean, is father ill? he gasped out. No. no, my hoy/’ hastily replied the doctor. “ Not so bad ns that. No. Tour parents are quite well, hut your mother writes to say that your father has been suddenly ordered to India, and that she herself is to go with him They sail to-morrow from Southampton Tim stood stock-still. The blow was so sudden that be could not answer. Dimly he realised that Dr. Price was speaking again. 1 liis is hard luck for you. Nairne/’ he was saying. “ It means I fear, that you will have to spend the holidays here at school. It will, of course, be very dull for you. but we shall do our best to make yon bappy.’’ “ B—but shan’t I see them, sir?’’ burst out Tim. “ Nee, yes. certainly you shall. You are to sec them off to-morrow. That is all arranged. You will go to Southampton to-night, and spend the night with them at their hotel. Three days had passed, and on Saturday morning Tim found himself wandering alone, around the quadrangle. A bright but. cold pun shone on the. clean gravel and leafless trees, and Tim himself had had an excellent, breakfast in the master’s own house. Yet at that minute there was probably not a more unhappy boy to be found On the previous day he had watched the whole school depart., from big (iuv Wallace, captain of the dot- | ball team, down to Simpkinson, the j smallest and grubbiest fag in the sec- I ond form. Now the place 'airly ached I with desolation, and Tim’s heart ached. ‘ too.

A month of this was before him, a month of utter loneliness, and every hour that big ship was carrying his dearly loved father and mother farther and farther from him. As far as Tim knew, lie had not a single relation, except some distant cousins whom lie had never seen; and though Dr. Price and Mrs Price were both most kind to him. they had no children. There was no companion for him, nothing to do. nowhere to go. His very soul shrank at the prospect of this mockery of a holiday. But Tim had good stuff in him, and presently lie pulled himself together. " I’m not going to mope. I’ll go for a walk/’ lie said to himself. “ I’ve got to keep fit, anyhow. Besides, anything is better than this dreadful empty place.” A minute later he was out of the gates and plodding away in the direction -of the sea. Soon lie was put on the open common bordering the tall cliffs. A sharp whistle cut the air. “ Here, Patch !” came a voice; and a big boy carrying a gun appeared front behind a gorse bush, while a beautiful, little rough-haired terrier came tearing after him. Tim stopped short. ‘' Why, it’s Wallace,” lie said to himself. He was right. It was Guy Wallace himself, the school captain, a splendid person of seventeen whom Tim had worshipped from afar. And now Tim remembered that the Wallaces lived at Walreddon, only a few miles from Grafton. Tim longed for a word from his hero, but Guy, busy with rabbits, never even ! saw the small, lonely figure, and walk-{ ed straight on. Tim, feeling more forsaken than ever. went slowly towards the. edge, of the cliffs. Ho was standing there, gazing out to sea, when a sharp yapping made him turn. Here came, a rabbit, running all out. and bard at its heels Patch. “ Patcii ! Patch !” shouted Guy from the distance; but Patch was far too busy to obey. The rabbit shot past Tim, within half a dozen yards, and vanished over the edge of the cliff. And Patch—Patch, unable to stop himself, followed. “Oh.” cried Tim. in horror, as he ran to the spot. You young idiot !” It was Guy. panting, with his face working, who came tearing breathlessly up. “Why didn't you stop her?” Not waiting for an answer, Guy rushed towards the cliff’. “Patch !” lie cried in a voice of agony. Five yards from the edge he stopped. and. flinging himself down, began to creep forward. ‘ She’s killed !” Tim heard him groan. Tim followed and passed Guy. He looked over. A hundred and fifty feet below the surf creamed against the foot of the precipice, but there was no sign of either the rabbit or of Patch. “ She’s dead. Oh. my little dog ! groaned Guy. At that moment Tim heard a slight vliine. Jt came from quite close at h and. Ho gave a joyful chout. She’s not dead at all. Wallace. She’s on a ledge rulv about < n feet do.vn ov was- fiat on the D'ort turf. “ On a lodge., you . y ! Is . he I

“ Quite cafe for the minute. But it’s a horrid place, and she can t get up again.” Tim looked again, and considered. “ r say, Wallace, he suggested shyly “if you could give me a hand, I believe 1 could get down there, and hold her. Then you could go for a rope and haul us up.” Guy’s face Avas so Avliito and strained it frightened Jim. “I can't,” groaned Guy. “ I’ve got no head. It 1 go to the. edge I shall fling myself over. I couldn’t help it. The words gaA’e Tim the most extraordinary shock. He could not bring himself to believe that the great Guy Wallace Avas unable to do such a simple thing. You see. he himself had never known what it was to feel giddy. He looked at Patch again. She was moving and trying to scramble up. 11 she slipped nothing could save her. In a flash he had made up his mind. “ All right, Wallace,” he said. “ 1 think I can get doAvti. A'on go for a rope.” “ You —you'll be killed,” quavered Guy. •• I’m going to try, anyhow,” said Tim quietly. “ You sec, I’m lucky 1 never get giddy.’’ Without pausing any longer, he set to work. I irst ho’kicked the edge to make sure it avus sound. Then lie sat doAvn, with his legs dangling over space, and, looking down, made up lvis mind just where he could gel hand and loot hold. Having done that, he turned and gradually let himself over. The cliff avus limestone, full of juts and crags, and presently he had his toes sate in a niche and had begun to AA'ork down. The wind caught him, and he had to flatten himself, and cling like a limpet to the rocks; but presently the gust passed, and he Ava<s able to get on. Slowly but very surely he wormed his way at a slant across the jagged rocks, and inside, live minutes had gained the ledge. “’All light, Wallace,” he shouted. “ I’ve got her. But please hurry the rope/’ “I’ll be as quick as ever l can," came back Wallaces voice. Then silence fell, broken only by the boom of tho ay a A’es in the depths below and the rush of the Avind across the hare face of the cliff. The ledge was horribly narrow- not more than eighteen inches at most. And the Avind Ava-s not only strong, but cold. Tim looked up at the rim of tho cliff. Alone he could perhaps have climbed back, blit not av hen carrying the dog. It AYould be as much as he could do to look alter himself. There ay as nothing to do but stick it out, and wait where he was until Guy came back. The Avind grew stronger. Tim had to crouch down and cling to the rock. Heheld Patch under one arm, and the little dog lay quiet, as if she knew that she had been the cause of all the trouble. -Minutes dragged by, and Tim’s teeth chattered in the bitter draught. His feet began to groAv numb, and his lungers had gone blue. For the first time since he had clambered over the edge lie began to be. afraid. What lie feared avus that, even Avhen the rope did come, it would he too late, and he avou ld bo unable to grasp re. Presently a drowsiness came oA*er him, his eyes closed, and ho lay quite stillIt Avas pain that brought Tim to Ins senses- -pain that shot- through every limb. He opened his eyes, to find himself in his bed in Dr, Price’s house. “ Where’s Patch?” he muttered ” Safe as houses, thanks to you” answered someone from beside the bed : and Tim became aware that it was Guy AY all ace himself who was bending over him. “And how are you, old chap?” “ AH right, thanks/’ Tim replied -lorA'ously. " But how did 1 get hero?” Wo hauled you up. I got ttvo men. ! thought you Avert*’ dead/’ abruptly. Tim stared. “ 1 I say, it’s all

right,” he said awkwardly. " It’s all right now, 1 hope,” replied Guy. " but I’d never haA r e forgiven myself if anything had happened to “See here, Nairne, the doctor tells me you’re stuck here for thq holidays. I ay a lit to know if you’ll come to AY a 1 - j reddvm for Ohrbtmas? Do say you will !” Tim .looked up. He could hardly believe his ears. ‘ But I’m only a Lower School kid." he faltered. “ You’re the pluckiest kid I ever knew. anyhoAv," returned Guy. “ And we ll all be pleased if you’ll come. Will you?” “ AYill I?” Tim repeated “There’s notliing I’d like bettei Guy grasped his hand. “Good!" ho said. • Then I’ll lie over with the car to-morrow. Good-bye till then.” The door d-oso/i behind him, leaving Tim in a. state delight that onlv 1 • coubl nca er have be! icved ixr/sildo.