In the Heart of the Rockies | Page 2

a month ago, and the
sergeant who gives us lessons in single-stick and boxing says that he
considers me his best pupil with the gloves, but all these things put
together would not bring me in sixpence a week. I don't want to go
away, and nothing would induce me to do so if I could be of the
slightest use to you here. But can I be of any use? What is there for me
to look forward to if I stay? I am sure that you would be always
worrying over me if I did get some sort of situation that you would
know father and mother would not have liked to see me in, and would
seem to offer no chance for the future, whereas if I went out there it
would not matter what I did, and anything I earned I could send home
to you."
The speaker was a lad of sixteen. He and his sister, who was two years
his senior, were both dressed in deep mourning, and were sitting on a
bench near Southsea Castle looking across to Spithead, and the Isle of
Wight stretching away behind. They had three days before followed
their mother to the grave, and laid her beside their father, a lieutenant of

the navy, who had died two years before. This was the first time they
had left the house, where remained their four sisters--Janet, who came
between Carry and Tom; Blanche, who was fourteen; Lucie, twelve;
and Harriet, eight. Tom had proposed the walk.
"Come out for some fresh air, Carry," he had said. "You have been shut
up for a month. Let us two go together;" and Carry had understood that
he wanted a talk alone with her. There was need, indeed, that they
should look the future in the face. Since Lieutenant Wade's death their
means had been very straitened. Their mother had received a small
pension as his widow, and on this, eked out by drafts reluctantly drawn
upon the thousand pounds she had brought him on her marriage, which
had been left untouched during his lifetime, they had lived since his
death. Two hundred pounds had been drawn from their little capital,
and the balance was all that now remained. It had long been arranged
that Carry and Janet should go out as governesses as soon as they each
reached the age of eighteen, but it was now clear that Carry must
remain at home in charge of the young ones.
That morning the two girls had had a talk together, and had settled that,
as Janet was too young to take even the humblest place as a governess,
they would endeavour to open a little school, and so, for the present at
any rate, keep the home together. Carry could give music lessons, for
she was already an excellent pianist, having been well taught by her
mother, who was an accomplished performer, and Janet was
sufficiently advanced to teach young girls. She had communicated their
decision to Tom, who had heartily agreed with it.
"The rent is only twenty pounds a year," he said, "and, as you say, the
eight hundred pounds bring in thirty-two pounds a year, which will pay
the rent and leave something over. If you don't get many pupils at first
it will help, and you can draw a little from the capital till the school
gets big enough to pay all your expenses. It is horrible to me that I don't
seem to be able to help, but at any rate I don't intend to remain a drag
upon you. If mother had only allowed me to go to sea after father's
death I should be off your hands now, and I might even have been able
to help a little. As it is, what is there for me to do here?" And then he

pointed out how hopeless the prospect seemed at Portsmouth.
Carry was silent for a minute or two when he ceased speaking, and sat
looking out over the sea.
"Certainly, we should not wish you to go into a shop, Tom, and what
you say about going into an office is also right enough. We have no
sort of interest, and the sort of clerkship you would be likely to get here
would not lead to anything. I know what you are thinking about--that
letter of Uncle Harry's; but you know that mother could not bear the
thought of it, and it would be dreadful for us if you were to go away."
"I would not think of going, Carry, if I could see any chance of helping
you here, and I don't want to go as I did when the letter first came. It
seems such a cowardly thing to run away and leave