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Ebook has 260 lines and 13695 words, and 6 pages

David carefully locked up the book. "It may tend to prove your relationship with the said Simon Fluke; and who knows that he may be, or may have been, a rich man, and that you may become his heir," he remarked to Owen.

Owen, although he listened to what the young lawyer said, scarcely understood the full meaning of his observations. Farmer Rowe, ill as he could afford the expense, sent David off next day to London to make inquiries. Both the farmer and his family did their best to amuse the orphan.

Although the hearts of the young are elastic, his loss had been so recent, and his grief so overpowering, that, in spite of all the efforts of his kind friends, he could not recover his spirits. Owen, however, had become calmer when Jane Hayes came to wish him good-bye. She had been offered another situation, which, seeing that he was well taken care of, she had accepted. Owen was in the garden when Jane arrived; the sight of her, as she came to meet him, renewed his grief. They sat down on a bench together, under a tall old tulip-tree, just out of sight of the house. Owen burst into tears.

"That's just what I feel like to do, Master Owen," said the faithful woman, taking his hand; "but it seems to me, from all master used to say when he was down here with us, that up there, where he and missis have gone, there is no crying and no sorrow. So you see, Master Owen, you should not take on so. They had their trials on earth, that I am sure they had, for I seed it often before you was born; but when you came you was a blessing to them. Now they are happy, that is the comfort I have."

"I am not crying for them, Susan," said Owen, trying to stifle his tears, "I am crying for myself; I cannot help it. I know you love me, and you always have ever since I could remember--if you punished me it was kindly done--and now you are going away, and I do not know when I shall see you again. Mr Rowe is very kind and good, and so are Mrs Rowe, and John, and David, and their sisters, but, Jane, it is from pity, for they cannot care much about me, and I feel all alone in the world."

"Well, I will give up the place, Master Owen, and work for you; I cannot tell how I should ever have had the heart to think of going away and leaving you among strangers, although I have known Farmer Rowe and his family all my born days, and good people they are as ever breathed."

Owen took her hand and put his head on her lap, just as he used to do when he was a little child, and thus he remained without speaking. Jane looked down on him with the affection of a mother, and tears dropped slowly from her eyes.

"The Lord bless the boy," she murmured to herself, as she lifted her face towards the blue sky, "and take care of him, and give him strength against all the enemies he will have to meet--the world, the flesh, and the devil." Her plain features--for Jane had little to boast of in regard to good looks--were lighted up with an expression which gave her a beauty many fairer faces do not possess.

Owen lay still for some time; Jane thought that he was sleeping, and was unwilling to arouse him. At length, looking up, he said--

"I never can repay you enough for all you have done for me. I should be acting a cowardly part if I were to let you give up a good place for my sake, and allow you to toil and slave for me, when I am ready enough to work for my own support; you cannot tell how much I can do, and how much I know. I do not say it for the sake of boasting, but my father assured me that I knew enough to teach boys much older than myself. If I was bigger, I could become an usher at a school, or perhaps Mr Orlando Browne, David Howe's employer, would take me as a clerk. So you see, Jane, that I am not afraid of having to work, or afraid of starving; you must therefore go to Mrs Burden's and look after her children, I am sure that they will love you, and then you will be happy. It is the knowing that some one loves us that makes us happy, Jane. I know that you love me, and that makes me happy now."

"Ah, Master Owen, there is One who loves you ten thousand times more than I can do, and if you will always obey Him, you will never cease to be happy too. Master often used to say that to us, you mind. Ah! if you think of his sayings--and he spoke the truth out of the Book--it will be a blessing to you."

"Thank you, Jane, for reminding me," answered Owen, his countenance brightening. "I do, I do; I will try ever to do so."

"That's right, Master Owen, that's right," said Jane; "it makes me very glad to hear you say that."

The shades of evening were coming on; they warned Jane that she ought to be on her way. Unwillingly she told Owen that she must be going. He accompanied her to the gate, for she could not bring herself to go in and say good-bye to the farmer's family. "They will know that it was from no want of respect," said Jane. "God bless you, Master Owen, God bless you."

Owen looked after her until she was lost to sight at the end of the lane. It was some time before he could command himself sufficiently to go back into the house.

David Rowe had been a week in London engaged in the search for Owen's relatives. At last a letter came from him, desiring that the trap might be sent over to Reston, as he would be down, God willing, by the coach that day.

His arrival was eagerly looked for by all at Fenside Farm. David's laconic letter had not mentioned anything to satisfy their curiosity.

"Well, lad, what news?" exclaimed the farmer, as David stood while his mother and sister Sarah assisted him off with his great-coat. "Have you found out friends likely to help young Owen?"

"As to that I cannot exactly say," answered David; "I have discovered a relative who ought to help him--the identical Simon Fluke who gave the book to Susan Walford. Simon Fluke must be the boy's cousin, although removed a couple of degrees; but that should make no difference if Simon had any affection for his cousin, for the boy is certainly her only surviving descendant."

"But have you had any communication with Simon Fluke?" inquired the farmer.

"No, I thought that would be imprudent; it would be politic to let the boy introduce himself. I made all inquiries in my power, however, and ascertained that Simon Fluke is a bachelor, reputed to be rich, and has a flourishing business as a ship's chandler. As to his character, all I can learn is, that he is looked upon as a man of honour and credit in his business, although of somewhat eccentric habits. In regard to his private character I could gain no information; he may be as hard-hearted as a rock, or kind and generous. I went to his place of business in the hopes of having the opportunity of forming an opinion for myself, but I failed to see him, and therefore had to come away as wise as I went."

"What step do you advise us to take next?" asked the farmer.

"Send him up at once, and let him present himself at Simon Fluke's--say who he is, that his parents are dead, and that he wishes for employment. Do not let him appear like a beggar asking for alms; he will succeed best by exhibiting an independent spirit, and showing that he is ready to do any work which is given to him. We know he is quick, intelligent, writes a beautiful hand, and has as good a head on his shoulders as many a much older person."

"But surely we cannot send the boy up by himself," urged Mrs Rowe; "and you, I suppose, cannot go again! David?"

"I'll go with him, mother," said John, the eldest son, "and willingly bear the charge, for I should be glad to get a chance of seeing the big city. If Simon Fluke were to refuse to receive young Owen, what would become of the boy? I have heard of dreadful things happening to lads in London, especially when they have no friends to care for them."

And so it was settled. John undertook to start the very next morning, if Owen was willing to go.

Owen, who had been out in the garden making himself useful, now came in. David gave him the information he had obtained, and inquired whether he wished to pay a visit to his supposed relative?

"If he is likely to give me something to do, I am willing to go and ask him," answered Owen.

"There is nothing like trying, and you can lose little by asking for it," observed David.

Susan had prepared Owen's wardrobe to the best of her ability, so that he was ready the next morning to start with John Rowe. They duly reached the great city, and John and Owen managed to find their way to Wapping. They walked about for some time, making inquiries for Paul Kelson, Fluke and Company, whose place of business was at last pointed out to them. They had passed it once before, but the name on the side of the door was so obliterated by time that it was scarcely legible.

"Now, Owen, you go in, and success attend you," said John, shaking him by the hand, as if they were about to separate for an indefinite period. "Do not be afraid, I will not desert you!"

Owen, mustering courage, entered the dingy-looking office. John remained outside while Owen presented himself, as has been already described, to Simon Fluke.

Faithful John walked up and down, keeping a watchful eye on the door, in case Owen might be summarily ejected, and resolved not to quit his post until he had ascertained to a certainty that the boy was likely to be well cared for. "If the old man disowns him, I will take him to some London sights, and then we will go back to Fenside, and let him turn farmer if he likes, and I'll help him; or it may be that David will hear of something more to his advantage, or perhaps find out some of his other relatives. David is as keen as a ferret, and he'll not let a chance pass of serving the lad." John's patience was seriously tried. He saw seafaring men of various grades pass in and out, corroborating the account of the flourishing business of Paul Kelson, Fluke and Company, and he concluded, while Simon Fluke was engaged with them, that young Owen would have but small chance of being attended to.

"Well, I can but wait until they are about to close the place; then, if Owen does not come out, I must go in and look for him," thought John. He was resolved, however, not to do anything which might interfere with the boy's interests; it took a good deal to put John out of temper.

Meantime Owen's patience was undergoing a severe trial. The two brown-coated old gentlemen appeared to him to be a long time looking over those big books. They had just concluded, when a junior clerk came in to say that Captain Truck wished to see Mr Fluke. Glancing at Owen as he passed, Mr Fluke hurried into his private room, while the old clerk, tucking the big books under his arm, and filling his hands with the papers, left the office. He stopped as he was passing young Owen.

"Sit down there, boy," he said, pointing to a bench near the door; "Mr Fluke will speak to you when he is disengaged."

Several persons came in, however, before Captain Truck had gone away. They were admitted in succession to speak to Mr Fluke; so Owen had to wait and wait on, watching the clerks as they sat at their desks, and observing the visitors as they paced up and down, while waiting their turns to have an interview with the principal of the establishment. This impressed Owen with the idea that the brown, snuffy old gentleman was a far more important personage than he had at first supposed. Several of the clerks who were moving about with papers in their hands frequently passed the young stranger, but no one spoke, or bestowed even an inquiring glance at him. Owen, who was tired with his journey and long walk, was, in spite of his anxiety, nearly dropping asleep, when he heard the words--

"Well, boy, what is it you want? Quick, say your business, I have no time to spare."

The words were spoken by the brown-coated old gentleman. Owen, starting up, followed him into the inner office. Here Mr Fluke, nimbly taking his seat on his high stool with his back to the desk, again asked in a testy tone, "What is it you want?" Owen stood, hat in hand, as he had done nearly two hours before, and began briefly recounting his history.

"Tut, tut, what's all that to me?" exclaimed the old gentleman, pushing up his spectacles, and taking a huge pinch of snuff, as he narrowly scrutinised the boy with his sharp grey eyes. "What more have you got to say for yourself?"

"I did not explain, sir, as I ought to have done at first, that my mother's name was Walford, and that she was the daughter of a Miss Susan Fluke, who married my grandfather, Mr Henry Walford."

The old gentleman had not hitherto ceased kicking his legs against the high stool, a custom which had become habitual. He stopped, however, on hearing this, and looked more keenly than ever at Owen.

"What proof have you got, boy, that your mother was once Susan Fluke?" he asked in a sharp tone.

"David Rowe, who is clerk to Mr Orlando Browne the lawyer, found the name in a book which had once been my grandmother's, and left by her to my mother, called `Sturm's Reflections.'"

"I should like to see the book," said Mr Fluke, in a tone which showed more interest than he had hitherto exhibited.

"David Rowe has the book at Fenside, but I could get it sent to you, sir, if you wish to see it," said Owen.

"I do wish to see it; I want proof of the strange story you tell me," said the old man, taking another pinch of snuff. "And suppose it is true, what do you want of me?"

"I want to find employment, sir, and the means of supporting myself. I don't wish to be a burden on Farmer Rowe, the only friend I have beside Jane Hayes, my old nurse."

Mr Fluke surveyed Owen from head to foot. "What can such a boy as you do, except run errands, or sweep out the office?" he asked in a tone of contempt. "What do you happen to know? Can you write? Have you any knowledge of arithmetic?"

"Yes, sir," said Owen, "I am tolerably well acquainted with quadratic equations; I have gone through the first six books of Euclid, and have begun trigonometry, but have not got very far. I am pretty well up in Latin. I have read Caesar and Virgil, and a little of Horace; and in Greek, the New Testament, Xenophon, and two plays of Aeschylus; and my father considered me well acquainted with English history and geography."

"Umph! a prodigy of learning!" muttered the old gentleman. "Can you do the rule of three and sum up?--that's more to the purpose. What sort of fist do you write? Can you do as well as this?" and he exhibited a crabbed scrawl barely legible.

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