Joe Wilson and His Mates [99]
had told me, and wrote stories
for the Sydney `Bulletin' and other Sydney papers. She had her hair done
and was dressed in the city style, and that took us back a bit at first.
`It's very good of you to come,' said Mrs Baker in a weak, weary voice,
when we first went in. `I heard you were in town.'
`We were just coming when we got your message,' said Andy.
`We'd have come before, only we had to see to the horses.'
`It's very kind of you, I'm sure,' said Mrs Baker.
They wanted us to have tea, but we said we'd just had it. Then Miss Standish
(the sister) wanted us to have tea and cake; but we didn't feel
as if we could handle cups and saucers and pieces of cake successfully
just then.
There was something the matter with one of the children in a back-room,
and the sister went to see to it. Mrs Baker cried a little quietly.
`You mustn't mind me,' she said. `I'll be all right presently,
and then I want you to tell me all about poor Bob. It's seeing you,
that saw the last of him, that set me off.'
Andy and I sat stiff and straight, on two chairs against the wall,
and held our hats tight, and stared at a picture of Wellington meeting Blucher
on the opposite wall. I thought it was lucky that that picture was there.
The child was calling `mumma', and Mrs Baker went in to it,
and her sister came out. `Best tell her all about it and get it over,'
she whispered to Andy. `She'll never be content until she hears
all about poor Bob from some one who was with him when he died.
Let me take your hats. Make yourselves comfortable.'
She took the hats and put them on the sewing-machine.
I wished she'd let us keep them, for now we had nothing to hold on to,
and nothing to do with our hands; and as for being comfortable,
we were just about as comfortable as two cats on wet bricks.
When Mrs Baker came into the room she brought little Bobby Baker,
about four years old; he wanted to see Andy. He ran to Andy at once,
and Andy took him up on his knee. He was a pretty child,
but he reminded me too much of his father.
`I'm so glad you've come, Andy!' said Bobby.
`Are you, Bobby?'
`Yes. I wants to ask you about daddy. You saw him go away, didn't you?'
and he fixed his great wondering eyes on Andy's face.
`Yes,' said Andy.
`He went up among the stars, didn't he?'
`Yes,' said Andy.
`And he isn't coming back to Bobby any more?'
`No,' said Andy. `But Bobby's going to him by-and-by.'
Mrs Baker had been leaning back in her chair, resting her head on her hand,
tears glistening in her eyes; now she began to sob, and her sister took her
out of the room.
Andy looked miserable. `I wish to God I was off this job!'
he whispered to me.
`Is that the girl that writes the stories?' I asked.
`Yes,' he said, staring at me in a hopeless sort of way, `and poems too.'
`Is Bobby going up among the stars?' asked Bobby.
`Yes,' said Andy -- `if Bobby's good.'
`And auntie?'
`Yes.'
`And mumma?'
`Yes.'
`Are you going, Andy?'
`Yes,' said Andy hopelessly.
`Did you see daddy go up amongst the stars, Andy?'
`Yes,' said Andy, `I saw him go up.'
`And he isn't coming down again any more?'
`No,' said Andy.
`Why isn't he?'
`Because he's going to wait up there for you and mumma, Bobby.'
There was a long pause, and then Bobby asked --
`Are you going to give me a shilling, Andy?' with the same expression
of innocent wonder in his eyes.
Andy slipped half-a-crown into his hand. `Auntie' came in and told him
he'd see Andy in the morning and took him away to bed,
after he'd kissed us both solemnly; and presently she and Mrs Baker
settled down to hear Andy's story.
`Brace up now, Jack, and keep your wits about you,' whispered Andy to me
just before they came in.
`Poor Bob's brother Ned wrote to me,' said Mrs Baker,
`but he scarcely told me anything. Ned's a good fellow, but he's very simple,
and never thinks of anything.'
Andy told her about the Boss not being well after he crossed the border.
`I knew he was not well,'
for the Sydney `Bulletin' and other Sydney papers. She had her hair done
and was dressed in the city style, and that took us back a bit at first.
`It's very good of you to come,' said Mrs Baker in a weak, weary voice,
when we first went in. `I heard you were in town.'
`We were just coming when we got your message,' said Andy.
`We'd have come before, only we had to see to the horses.'
`It's very kind of you, I'm sure,' said Mrs Baker.
They wanted us to have tea, but we said we'd just had it. Then Miss Standish
(the sister) wanted us to have tea and cake; but we didn't feel
as if we could handle cups and saucers and pieces of cake successfully
just then.
There was something the matter with one of the children in a back-room,
and the sister went to see to it. Mrs Baker cried a little quietly.
`You mustn't mind me,' she said. `I'll be all right presently,
and then I want you to tell me all about poor Bob. It's seeing you,
that saw the last of him, that set me off.'
Andy and I sat stiff and straight, on two chairs against the wall,
and held our hats tight, and stared at a picture of Wellington meeting Blucher
on the opposite wall. I thought it was lucky that that picture was there.
The child was calling `mumma', and Mrs Baker went in to it,
and her sister came out. `Best tell her all about it and get it over,'
she whispered to Andy. `She'll never be content until she hears
all about poor Bob from some one who was with him when he died.
Let me take your hats. Make yourselves comfortable.'
She took the hats and put them on the sewing-machine.
I wished she'd let us keep them, for now we had nothing to hold on to,
and nothing to do with our hands; and as for being comfortable,
we were just about as comfortable as two cats on wet bricks.
When Mrs Baker came into the room she brought little Bobby Baker,
about four years old; he wanted to see Andy. He ran to Andy at once,
and Andy took him up on his knee. He was a pretty child,
but he reminded me too much of his father.
`I'm so glad you've come, Andy!' said Bobby.
`Are you, Bobby?'
`Yes. I wants to ask you about daddy. You saw him go away, didn't you?'
and he fixed his great wondering eyes on Andy's face.
`Yes,' said Andy.
`He went up among the stars, didn't he?'
`Yes,' said Andy.
`And he isn't coming back to Bobby any more?'
`No,' said Andy. `But Bobby's going to him by-and-by.'
Mrs Baker had been leaning back in her chair, resting her head on her hand,
tears glistening in her eyes; now she began to sob, and her sister took her
out of the room.
Andy looked miserable. `I wish to God I was off this job!'
he whispered to me.
`Is that the girl that writes the stories?' I asked.
`Yes,' he said, staring at me in a hopeless sort of way, `and poems too.'
`Is Bobby going up among the stars?' asked Bobby.
`Yes,' said Andy -- `if Bobby's good.'
`And auntie?'
`Yes.'
`And mumma?'
`Yes.'
`Are you going, Andy?'
`Yes,' said Andy hopelessly.
`Did you see daddy go up amongst the stars, Andy?'
`Yes,' said Andy, `I saw him go up.'
`And he isn't coming down again any more?'
`No,' said Andy.
`Why isn't he?'
`Because he's going to wait up there for you and mumma, Bobby.'
There was a long pause, and then Bobby asked --
`Are you going to give me a shilling, Andy?' with the same expression
of innocent wonder in his eyes.
Andy slipped half-a-crown into his hand. `Auntie' came in and told him
he'd see Andy in the morning and took him away to bed,
after he'd kissed us both solemnly; and presently she and Mrs Baker
settled down to hear Andy's story.
`Brace up now, Jack, and keep your wits about you,' whispered Andy to me
just before they came in.
`Poor Bob's brother Ned wrote to me,' said Mrs Baker,
`but he scarcely told me anything. Ned's a good fellow, but he's very simple,
and never thinks of anything.'
Andy told her about the Boss not being well after he crossed the border.
`I knew he was not well,'