Peters Mother | Page 7

western sky.
"What made you harp upon the war, man, knowing what his opinions
are?" the doctor asked vexedly, as he stumbled along the uneven stone
passage towards the hall.
"I did not exactly intend to do so; but I declare, the moment I see Sir
Timothy, every subject I wish to avoid seems to fly to the tip of my
tongue," said the poor canon, apologetically; "though I had a reason for
alluding to the war to-night--a good reason, as I think you will
acknowledge presently. I want your advice, doctor."
"Not for yourself, I hope," said the doctor, absently.
"Come into the gun-room for one moment," said Birch. "It is very
important. Do you know I've a letter from Peter?"
"From Peter! Why should you have a letter from Peter?" said the doctor,
and his uninterested tone became alert.
"I'm sure I don't know why not. I was always fond of Peter," said the

canon, humbly. "Will you cast your eye over it? You see, it's written
from Eton, and posted two days later in London."
Dr. Blundell read the letter, which was written in a schoolboy hand,
and not guiltless of mistakes in spelling.
"DEAR CANON BIRCH,
"_As my father wouldn't hear of my going out to South Africa, I've
taken the law into my own hands. I wrote to my mother's cousin, Lord
Ferries, to ask him to include me in his yeomanry corps. Of course I let
him suppose papa was willing and anxious, which perhaps was a
low-down game, but I remembered that all's fair in love and war; and
besides, I consider papa very nearly a pro-Boer. We've orders to sail on
Friday, which is sharp work; but I should be eternally disgraced now if
they stopped me. As my father never listens to reason, far less to me,
you had better explain to him that if he's any regard for the honour of
our name, he's no choice left. I expect my mother had better not be told
till I'm gone, or she will only fret over what can't be helped. I'll write to
her on board, once we're safely started. I know you're all right about the
war, so you can tell papa I was ashamed to be playing football while
fellows younger than me, and fellows who can't shoot or ride as I can,
are going off to South Africa every day._
"Yours affectionately,
"PETER CREWYS.
"_P.S._--_Hope you won't mind this job. I did try to get papa's leave
fair and square first_."
"I always said Peter was a fine fellow at bottom," said Canon Birch,
anxiously scanning the doctor's frowning face.
"He's an infernal self-willed, obstinate, heartless young cub on top,
then," said Blundell.
"He's a chip of the old block, no doubt," said the canon; "but still"--his

admiration of Peter's boldness was perceptible in his voice--"he doesn't
share his father's reprehensible opinions on the subject of the war."
"Sons generally begin life by differing from their fathers, and end by
imitating them," said Blundell, sharply. "Birch, we must stop him."
"I don't see how," said the canon; and he indulged in a gentle chuckle.
"The young rascal has laid his plans too well. He sails to-morrow. I
telegraphed inquiries. Ferries' Horse are going by the Rosmore Castle
to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock."
Dr. Blundell made an involuntary movement, which the canon did not
perceive.
"I don't relish the notion of breaking this news to Sir Timothy. But I
thought we could consult together, you and me, how to do it," said the
innocent gentleman. "There's no doubt, you know, that it must be done
at once, or he can't get to Southampton in time to see the boy off and
forgive him. I suppose even Sir Timothy will forgive him at such a
moment. God bless the lad!"
Dr. Blundell uttered an exclamation that did not sound like a blessing.
"Look here, Birch," he said, "this is no time to mince matters. If the boy
can't be stopped--and under the circumstances he's got us on toast--he
can't cry off active service--as the boy can't be stopped, you must just
keep this news to yourself."
"But I must tell Sir Timothy!"
"You must not tell Sir Timothy."
"Though all my sympathies are with the boy--for I'm a patriot first, and
a parson afterwards--God forgive me for saying so," said Birch, in a
trembling voice, "yet I can't take the responsibility of keeping Peter's
father in ignorance of his action. I see exactly what you mean, of course.
Sir Timothy will make unpleasantness, and very likely telegraph to his
commanding officer, and disgrace the poor boy before his comrades;

and shout at me, a thing I can't bear; and you kindly think to spare
me--and Peter. But I can't take the responsibility of