The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 3

"Poor Jem!" she said softly; "I'm afraid I'm very unkind to him sometimes."

Just at that moment Jem was sitting on an empty cask, eating his bread and b.u.t.ter, and watching a boat manned by blue-jackets going off to the sloop of war lying out toward the channel, and flying her colours in the evening breeze.

"Poor little Sally!" he said to himself. "We don't seem to get on somehow, and I'm afraid I'm a bit rough to her; but knives and scissors!

What a temper she have got."

Meanwhile, in anything but a pleasant frame of mind, Don had gone home to find that the tea was ready, and that he was being treated as a laggard.

"Come, Lindon," said his uncle quietly, "you have kept us waiting some time."

The lad glanced quickly round the well-furnished room, bright with curiosities brought in many a voyage from the west, and with the poison of Mike's words still at work, he wondered how much of what he saw rightfully belonged to him.

The next moment his eyes lit on the soft sweet troubled face of his mother, full of appeal and reproach, and it seemed to Don that his uncle had been upsetting her by an account of his delinquencies.

"It's top bad, and I don't deserve it," he said to himself. "Everything seems to go wrong now. Well, what are you looking at?" he added, to himself, as he took his seat and stared across at his cousin, the playmate of many years, whose quiet little womanly face seemed to repeat her father's grave, reproachful look, but who, as it were, s.n.a.t.c.hed her eyes away as soon as she met his gaze.

"They all hate me," thought Don, who was in that unhappy stage of a boy's life when help is so much needed to keep him from turning down one of the dark side lanes of the great main route.

"Been for a walk, Don?" said his mother with a tender look.

"No, mother, I only stopped back in the yard a little while."

His uncle set down his cup sharply.

"You have not been keeping that scoundrel Bannock?" he cried.

"No, sir; I've been talking to Jem."

"Ho!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old merchant. "That's better. But you might have come straight home."

Don's eyes encountered his Cousin Kitty's just then, as she gave her head a shake to throw back the brown curls which cl.u.s.tered about her white forehead.

She turned her gaze upon her plate, and he could see that she was frowning.

"Yes," thought Don, "they all dislike me, and I'm only a worry and trouble to my mother. I wish I was far away--anywhere."

He went on with his tea moodily and in silence, paying no heed to the reproachful glances of his mother's eyes, which seemed to him to say, and with some reason, "Don't be sulky, Don, my boy; try and behave as I could wish."

"It's of no use to try," he said to himself; and the meal pa.s.sed off very silently, and with a cold chill on every one present.

"I'm very sorry, Laura," said her brother, as soon as Don had left the room; "and I don't know what to do for the best. I hate finding fault and scolding, but if the boy is in the wrong I must chide."

"Try and be patient with him, Josiah," said Mrs Lavington pleadingly.

"He is very young yet."

"Patient? I'm afraid I have been too patient. That scoundrel at the yard has unsettled him with his wild tales of the sea; and if I allowed it, Don would make him quite a companion."

"But, Josiah--"

"There, don't look like that, my dear. I promised you I would play a father's part to the boy, and I will; but you must not expect me to be a weak indulgent father, and spoil him with foolish lenity. There, enough for one day. I daresay we shall get all right in time."

"Oh, yes," cried Mrs Lavington, earnestly. "He's a true-hearted, brave boy; don't try to crush him down."

"Crush him, nonsense!" cried the merchant, angrily. "You really are too bad, Laura, and--"

He stopped, for just then Don re-entered the room to flush up angrily as he saw his mother in tears; and he had heard enough of his uncle's remark and its angry tone to make him writhe.

"Ill using her now," he said to himself, as he set his teeth and walked to the window.

The closing of the door made him start round quickly, to find that his mother was close behind him, and his uncle gone. "What has Uncle Jos been saying to you, mother?" he cried angrily.

"Nothing--nothing particular, my boy," she faltered. "He has," cried Don fiercely; "and I won't have it. He may scold and abuse me as much as he likes, but I will not have him ill use you."

"Ill use me, Don?" cried Mrs Lavington. "Nonsense, my dear boy. Your uncle is all that is kind and good; and he loves you very dearly, Don, if you could only try--try a little more, my dear boy, to do what he likes, and please him."

"I do try, mother, but it's no good."

"Don't say that, Don. Try a little harder--for my sake, dear, as well as your own."

"I have tried, I am always trying, and it's of no use. Nothing pleases uncle, and the men in the yard know it."

"Don, my boy, what foolish obstinate fit is this which has come over you?" said Mrs Lavington tenderly.

"I'm not obstinate," he said sullenly; "only unhappy."

"Is it not your own fault, my darling?" she whispered; "believe me, your uncle is one of the kindest and best of men."

Don shook his head.

"Are you going to prefer the opinion of the men of the yard to mine, dear?"

"No, mother, but uncle is your brother, and you believe in him and defend him. You know how harsh and unkind he is to me."

"Not unkind, Don, only firm and for your good. Now come, my boy, do, for my sake, try to drive away these clouds, and let us all be happy once more."

"It's of no use to try, mother; I shall never be happy here, tied down to a desk. It's like being uncle's slave."

"What am I to say to you, Don, if you talk like this?" said Mrs Lavington. "Believe me you are wrong, and some day you will own it.

You will see what a mistaken view you have taken of your uncle's treatment. There, I shall say no more now."

"You always treat me as if I were a child," said Don, bitterly. "I'm seventeen now, mother, and I ought to know something."

"Yes, my boy," said Mrs Lavington gently; "at seventeen we think we know a good deal; and at forty we smile as we look back and see what a very little that 'good deal' was."

Don shook his head.

"There, we will have no more sad looks. Uncle is eager to do all he can to make us happy."

"I wish I could think so," cried Don, bitterly.