She went singing into the room.
"Pa, dear," she cried merrily; "Uncle-pa, dinner is all beautifully ready!"
"Come, Unky-pa. How sound you sleep!"
Then a terror crept up from the earth, as it were, and a cold hand seemed to clutch her heart.
She ran out of the room.
"Oh, Auntie-ma!" she cried, "come, come quickly, pa won"t wake, nor speak!"
Heigho! the summons had come, and dear "Uncle-pa" would never, never wake again.
This is a short chapter, but it is too sad to continue.
So falls the curtain on the first act of this life-drama.
CHAPTER VIII--FIERCELY AND WILDLY BOTH SIDES FOUGHT
The gloomy event related in last chapter must not be allowed to cast a damper over our story.
Of course death is always and everywhere hovering near, but why should boys like you and me, reader, permit that truth to cloud our days or stand between us and happiness?
Two years, then, have elapsed since poor, brave Tom St. Clair"s death.
He is buried near the edge of the forest in a beautiful enclosure where rare shrubs grow, and where flowers trail and climb far more beautiful than any we ever see in England.
At first Mrs. St. Clair had determined to sell all off and go back to the old country, but her overseer Jake Solomons and Mr. Peter persuaded her not to, or it seemed that it was their advice which kept her from carrying out her first intentions. But she had another reason, she found she could not leave that lonesome grave yet awhile.
So the years pa.s.sed on.
The estate continued to thrive.
Roland was now a handsome young fellow in his eighteenth year, and Peggy, now beautiful beyond compare, was nearly fifteen.
d.i.c.k Temple, the bold and reckless huntsman and horseman, was quieter now in his attentions towards her. She was no longer the child that he could lift on to his broad young shoulders and carry, neighing and galloping like a frightened colt, round and round the lawn.
And Roland felt himself a man. He was more sober and sedate, and had taken over all his father"s work and his father"s responsibilities. But for all that, lightly enough lay the burden on his heart.
For he had youth on his side, and
"In the lexicon of youth which fate reserves For a bright manhood there is no such word As fail".
I do not, however, wish to be misunderstood. It must not be supposed that Roland had no difficulties to contend with, that all his business life was as fair and serene as a bright summer"s day. On the contrary, he had many losses owing to the fluctuations of the markets and the failures of great firms, owing to fearful storms, and more than once owing to strikes or revolts among his Indians in the great india-rubber forest.
But Roland was light-hearted and young, and difficulties in life, I have often said, are just like nine-pins, they are put up to be bowled over.
Besides, be it remembered that if it were all plain sailing with us in this world we should not be able to appreciate how really happy our lives are. The sky is always bluest "twixt the darkest clouds.
On the whole, Roland, who took stock, and, with honest Bill and Jake Solomons, went over the books every quarter, had but little reason to complain. This stock-taking consumed most of their spare time for the greater part of a week, and when it was finished Roland invariably gave a dinner-party, at which I need hardly say his dear friend d.i.c.k Temple was present. And this was always the happiest of happy nights to d.i.c.k, because the girl he loved more than all things on earth put together was here, and looked so innocent and beautiful in her simple dresses of white and blue.
There was no such thing as flirtation here, but d.i.c.k was fully and completely in earnest when he told himself that if he lived till he was three- or four-and-twenty he would ask Peggy to be his wife.
Ah! there is many a slip "twixt the cup and the lip.
d.i.c.k, I might, could, would, or should have told you before, lived with a bachelor uncle, who, being rather old and infirm, seldom came out. He had good earnest men under him, however, as overseers, and his plantations were thriving, especially that in which tobacco was cultivated.
The old man was exceedingly fond of d.i.c.k, and d.i.c.k would be his heir.
Probably it was for his uncle"s sake that d.i.c.k stayed in the country--and of course for Peggy"s and Roland"s--for, despite its grand field for sport and adventure, the lad had a strange longing to go to England and play cricket or football.
He had been born in Britain just as Roland was, and had visited his childhood"s home more than once during his short life.
Now just about this time Don Pedro, or Mr. Peter as all called him, had asked for and obtained a holiday. He was going to Para for a change, he said, and to meet a friend from England.
That he did meet a friend from England there was little doubt, but their interview was a very short one. Where he spent the rest of his time was best known to himself.
In three months or a little less he turned up smiling again, and most effusive.
About a fortnight after his arrival he came to Jake one morning pretty early.
Jake was preparing to start on horseback for the great forest.
"I"m on the horns of a dilemma, Mr. Solomons," he said, laughing his best laugh. "During the night about twenty Bolivian Indians have encamped near to the forest. They ask for work on the india-rubber trees. They are well armed, and all st.u.r.dy warriors. They look as if fighting was more in their line than honest labour."
"Well, Mr. Peter, what is their excuse for being here anyhow?"
"They are bound for the sea-sh.o.r.e at the mouths of the river, and want to earn a few dollars to help them on."
"Well, where is the other horn of the dilemma?"
"Oh! if I give them work they may corrupt our fellows."
"Then, Mr. Peter, I"d give the whole blessed lot the boot and the sack."
"Ah! now, Mr. Solomons, you"ve got to the other horn. These savages, for they are little else, are revengeful."
"We"re not afraid."
"No, we needn"t be were they to make war openly, but they are sly, and as dangerous as sly. They would in all probability burn us down some dark night."
Jake mused for a minute. Then he said abruptly: