Our Frank | Page 3

him." Weakness and delicacy were conditions entirely
unknown to him and all his other relations, and might, he thought, be
avoided by everyone except very old people and women; so Frank must
be hardened, and taught not to shirk his work.
The hardening process went on for some time, but not with a very
satisfactory result, for added to his weakness the boy now showed an
increasing terror of his father. He shrank from the hard words or the
uplifted hand with an evident fear, which only strengthened Mr
Darvell's anger, for it mortified him still more to find his lad a coward
as well as a bungler over his work.
Frank, on his side, found his life almost intolerable just now, and all his
trembling efforts "to work like a man" seemed utterly useless, for he
was crippled by fear as well as weakness. He could not take things like
the other Green Highland lads of his age, who were tough of nerve and
sinew, and thought nothing of cuffs on the head and abuse. It was all
dreadful to him, and he suffered as much in apprehension as in the
actual punishment when it came. Mingled with it all was a hot sense of
injustice, for he tried to do his best, and yet was always in disgrace and
despair. Where was the use of having been such a good "scholard?"
That seemed wasted now, for Frank's poor little brain felt so muddled
after a day's field-work, and he was altogether so spent with utter
weariness, that the only thing to do was to tumble into bed, and books
were out of the question. He was being "hardened," as his father called
it, but not in a desirable way; for while his body remained slender and
weak as ever, his mind became daily more stupid and unintelligent.

Frank's only refuge in these hard times was his mother's love. That
never failed him, for the very incapacity that so excited the wrath of his
father only drew him more closely to Mrs Darvell, and made her
watchful to shield him, if possible, from harsh treatment. She was
always ready to do battle for him, and her strong big husband quailed
before the small determined mother when she had her boy's cause in
hand. For Mrs Darvell was gifted with a range of expression and a
freedom of speech which had been denied to her "man," and he had
learned to dread the times when the missus was put out, as occasions
when he stood defenceless before that deadly weapon--the tongue. He
was dreading it now, although he sat so quietly smoking in the
chimney-corner. The air had that vaguely uneasy feeling in it that
precedes a storm. Presently there would be the first clap of thunder.
The clock struck nine. No Frank. An unheard-of hour for any of the
Green Highland folk to be out of their beds and awake. Mr Darvell rose,
stretched himself, glanced nervously at his wife, and suggested
humbly:
"Shall us go to bed?"
"You may," she replied, "but I don't stir till I see the lad. If so be," she
added, "you can go to sleep with an easy mind while the lad's still out,
you'd better do it."
Her husband scratched his head thoughtfully, but made no answer; then
Mrs Darvell rose and stood in front of him, shaking a menacing finger.
"Frank Darvell," she said slowly and solemnly, "you've bin leatherin'
that lad. Don't deny it, for I know it."
Mr Darvell did not attempt to deny it. He only shuffled his feet a little.
"An now," continued his wife with increasing vehemence, "you've druv
him at last to run away; don't deny it."
"He ain't run away," muttered Mr Darvell. "He ain't got pluck enough
to do that. He's a coward, that's what he is."

"Coward!" cried his wife, now fairly roused, and standing in an
aggressive attitude. "It's you that are the coward, you great, hulking,
stupid lout, to strike a weak boy half yer size. An' to talk of goin' to bed,
an' him wandering out there in the woods. My poor little gentle lad!"
She sank down on the settle and wrung her hands helplessly, but started
up again the next minute with a sudden energy which seemed to petrify
her husband.
"Put on your boots," she said, pointing to them; and as Mr Darvell
meekly obeyed she went on speaking quietly and rapidly. "Wake up
Jack Gunn and send him down to Danecross. Tell him to ask at the
rectory and at schoolmaster's if they've seen the lad. Take your lantern
and go into the woods. There's gypsies camping out Hampden way; go
there, and tell 'em to look out for him. Don't you dare to come back
without