We Two | Page 7

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, and it meant a great deal to them. She was his only child, and it had at first been a great disappointment to every one that she was not a boy. But Raeburn had long ago ceased to regret this, and the nickname referred more to Erica's capability of being both son and daughter to him, able to help him in his work and at the same time to brighten his home. Erica was very proud of her name, for she had been called after her father's greatest friend, Eric Haeberlein, a celebrated republican, who once during a long exile had taken refuge in London. His views were in some respects more extreme than Raeburn's, but in private life he was the gentlest and most fascinating of men, and had quite won the heart of