Life in London | Page 5

it, although it condemned their own
conduct, more especially when they had to go to him not unfrequently,
and say, "Weston, I shall get in a scrape with these lessons to-morrow,
unless you can help me a bit with them. Do give me a leg up, that's a
good fellow!" and though George never said "No," he did sometimes
take an opportunity to say, "If you did not waste so much time in play,
you might be independent of any help that I can give."
It was a source of great pleasure to his parents to hear from time to time,
through Dr. Seaward, some good account of his conduct; and when he
returned home at the holiday seasons, generally laden with prizes which
he had victoriously borne off, they did not feel a little proud of their
only son.
George remained at the school at Folkestone for five years, during
which time he rose from the lowest to the highest form. It was the

intention of his parents then to place him in a college for a year or two,
in order to give him in opportunity to complete his education, and have
the means to make a good start in life. But this purpose was frustrated
by an event which happened only a month before George was to have
been removed.
One day, when all the boys were out in the playfield, busily engaged in
marking out boundaries for a game at hockey, Dr. Seaward was seen
coming from the house towards the field. This was an unusual event, as
he rarely interfered with them during play hours. "Something's up,"
said the boys; and waited expectantly until the Doctor came up to them.
"Call George Weston," said he; "I want to speak to him."
"Weston! George Weston!" shouted one or two at once; and George
came running up, nothing abashed, for he knew he had done nothing
wrong.
"George," said the Doctor, laying a hand on his shoulder, "I want you
to come with me; I have something to tell you;" and they walked
together away from the field.
"What is it, sir? You look pained: I hope I have done nothing to offend
you?"
"No, George," replied the Doctor; "few lads have ever given me so
little cause of offence at any time as you have. But I am pained. I have
some sad news to tell you."
"Sad news for me, sir? Oh, do tell me at once. Is anything the matter at
home?"
"Yes, George; a messenger has just arrived to say that your father has
met with a serious accident; he has been thrown from his chaise, and is
much hurt. The messenger is your uncle, Mr. Brunton; and he desires
you to return at once to London with him."
George waited to hear no more; he bounded away from the Doctor,

cleared the fence which enclosed the garden at a leap, and rushed into
the room where Mr. Brunton was anxiously awaiting him. No tear
stood in his eye; but he was dreadfully pale, and his hands trembled
like aspen leaves. "Oh, uncle!" was all he could say; and, throwing
himself into a chair, he covered his face with his hands.
"Come, George, my boy," said Mr. Brunton, tenderly; "do not give way
to distress. Your poor father is seriously hurt, but he is yet alive. We
have just half an hour to catch the train."
That was enough for George; in a moment he was calm and collected,
ran up to his room to make a few hasty arrangements, and in five
minutes was again with his uncle prepared for the journey.
"Good-bye, Dr. Seaward," he said as he left the house.
"God bless you, my young friend," said the kind-hearted Doctor; "and
grant that you may find His providence better than your fears."
George thought he had never known the train go so slowly as it did
during that long, wearisome journey to London. At last it arrived at the
terminus, and then, jumping into a cab, they were hurried away towards
Stamford Hill as quickly as the horse could travel.
"Now, George," said Mr. Brunton, as they came near their journey's
end, "we know not what may have happened while we have been
coming here. Be a man, and recollect there is one who suffers more
than you."
"Do not fear, uncle. I will not add to my mother's grief," was all he
could reply.
We will not pry into that interview between mother and son when they
first met; there is a grief too solemn for a stranger's eye.
Mr. Weston was still alive, and that was all that could be said. The
doctors had pronounced his case beyond human skill, and had
intimated that there were but a few hours