We Two | Page 7

brought up in what seemed to him so
barren a creed. His dream of love, which had been bright enough only
an hour before, was suddenly shadowed by an unthought of pain, but
presently began to shine with a new and altogether different luster. He
began to hear again what was passing between his father and the shop
keeper.
"There's a sight more good in him than folks think. However wrong his
views, he believes them right, and is ready to suffer for 'em, too. Bless
me, that's odd, to be sure! There is Mr. Raeburn, on the other side of
the Row! Fine-looking man, isn't he?"
Brian, looking up eagerly, fancied he must be mistaken for the only
passenger in sight was a very tall man of remarkably benign aspect,
middle-aged, yet venerable--or perhaps better described by the word
"devotional-looking," pervaded too by a certain majesty of calmness
which seemed scarcely suited to his character of public agitator. The
clean-shaven and somewhat rugged face was unmistakably that of a
Scotchman, the thick waves of tawny hair overshadowing the wide
brow, and the clear golden-brown eyes showed Brian at once that this
could be no other than the father of his ideal.
In the meantime, Raeburn, having caught sight of his daughter, slowly
crossed the road, and coming noiselessly up to her, suddenly took hold
of the book she was reading, and with laughter in his eyes, said, in a
peremptory voice:
"Five shillings to pay, if you please, miss!"
Erica, who had been absorbed in the poem, looked up in dismay; then
seeing who had spoken, she began to laugh.
"What a horrible fright you gave me, father! But do look at this, it's the
loveliest thing in the world. I've just got to the 'very strong man
Kwasind.' I think he's a little like you!"
Raeburn, though no very great lover of poetry, took the book and read a
few lines.
"Long they lived in peace together, Spake with naked hearts together,
Pondering much and much contriving How the tribes of men might
prosper."
"Good! That will do very well for you and me, little one. I'm ready to
be your Kwasind. What's the price of the thing? Four and sixpence!
Too much for a luxury. It must wait till our ship comes in."

He put down the book, and they moved on together, but had not gone
many paces before they were stopped by a most miserable-looking
beggar child. Brian standing now outside the shop, saw and heard all
that passed.
Raeburn was evidently investigating the case, Erica, a little impatient of
the interruption, was remonstrating.
"I thought you never gave to beggars, and I am sure that harrowing
story is made up."
"Very likely," replied the father, "but the hunger is real, and I know
well enough what hunger is. What have you here?" he added, indicating
the paper bag which Erica held.
"Scones," she said, unwillingly.
"That will do," he said, taking them from her and giving them to the
child. "He is too young to be anything but the victim of another's
laziness. There! Sit down and eat them while you can."
The child sat down on the doorstep with the bag of scones clasped in
both hands, but he continued to gaze after his benefactor till he had
passed out of sight, and there was a strange look of surprise and
gratification in his eyes. That was a man who knew! Many people had,
after hard begging, thrown him pence, many had warned him off
harshly, but this man had looked straight into his eyes, and had at once
stopped and questioned him, had singled out the one true statement
from a mass of lies, and had given him-- not a stale loaf with the top
cut off, a suspicious sort of charity which always angered the waif--but
his own food, bought for his own consumption. Most wonderful of all,
too, this man knew what it was to be hungry, and had even the insight
and shrewdness to be aware that the waif's best chance of eating the
scones at all was to eat them then and there. For the first time a feeling
of reverence and admiration was kindled in the child's heart; he would
have done a great deal for his unknown friend.
Raeburn and Erica had meanwhile walked on in the direction of
Guilford Square.
"I had bought them for you," said Erica, reproachfully.
"And I ruthlessly gave them away," said Raeburn, smiling. "That was
hard lines; I though they were only household stock. But after all it
comes to the same thing in the end, or better. You have given them to
me by giving them to the child. Never mind, 'Little son Eric!'"

This was his pet name for her,