JEFF LEARNS THAT HE IS TO BE SENT TO ENGLAND

A Little Hero

BY

MRS. MUSGRAVE

Author of "In Cloudland" "The Lost Thimble" &c.

BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
1887

Printed and bound in Great Britain

OTHER BOOKS IN THIS SERIES

Little Miss Vanity. Mrs. Henry Clarke.
What Hilda Saw. Penelope Leslie.
Kitty Carroll. L. E. Tiddeman.
Rosa's Repentance. L. E. Tiddeman.
The Coral Island. R. M. Ballantyne.
The Two Prisoners. G. A. Henty.
Among the Bushrangers. G. A. Henty.
Manco, the Peruvian Chief. W. H. G. Kingston.
An Indian Raid. G. A. Henty.
The World of Ice. R. M. Ballantyne.
The Loss of the "Agra". Charles Reade.
Charlie Marryat. G. A. Henty.
Martin Rattler. R. M. Ballantyne.
The Young Captain. G. A. Henty.
Up the Rainbow Stairs. Sheila E. Braine.
A Little Hero. Mrs. Musgrave.
The Skipper. E. E. Cuthell.
A Highland Chief. G. A. Henty.

BLACKIE AND SON, LIMITED

LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY

A LITTLE HERO

CHAPTER I

He was eight years old, and his name was Geoffry. But everyone called him Jeff. The gentle lady who was his mother had no other children, and she loved him more than words can say; not because he was a good or pretty child—for he was neither—but because he was her one little child.

Jeff had big wide-awake, brown eyes, that seemed as if they never could look sleepy. His hair was yellow, but cut so short that it could not curl at all.

This was very sensible, for he lived in the hottest part of India. But his mother certainly thought more about keeping him cool and comfortable than about his good looks. His hair would have made soft and pretty curls all over his head if allowed to grow longer. Jeff had no black nurse, like most little boys have in India. An old Scotchwoman called Maggie, who had left her northern home with Jeff's mother when she was married, did everything for the little boy that was required. She certainly had a great deal of mending to do, for Jeff was active and restless, and tore his clothes and wore holes in his stockings very often. And Maggie was not always very good-tempered, and used to scold the little master for very trifling matters.

But she loved her lady's child dearly for all that, and Jeff very well knew that she loved him and that her cross words did not mean much.

I think everyone in his home loved the little lad. He was so merry and bright, so fearless of danger, so honest and bold in speech, that he won all hearts.

His life had been a very happy one till now. But one day all the brightness and happiness came suddenly to an end, and Jeff thought that he could never feel quite so light-hearted again. He could never be sure that anything would last.

"Mother dear, do tell me, why are you getting me so many new clothes?" he said one morning, resting his elbow on his mother's knee, and playing with the soft blue ribbons that trimmed her white dress.

Upon the table there was quite a big heap of new shirts and dozens of stockings all waiting to be marked.

"I am sure I cannot wear all these things here, because they are quite thick and warm, and I know we are not going to the hills this summer, for I heard father say he could not afford it."

Maggie came in at this moment with another tray piled up with collars and handkerchiefs. Then the mother put down her book and drew her little boy's head closer to her breast. He could hear her watch ticking now. Jeff heard, and felt too, that her heart was beating quickly. He smiled upwards at the loving grave eyes.

"But you know you haven't been running, mother." And he laid his little brown hand against her breast. Poor heart! aching with a grief it dared not express, bursting with an anguish it had long concealed.

"My little lad, how can I let you go from me?" she said very softly, still holding him near to her. He raised himself out of her arms quickly and looked with wondering eyes at Maggie and the heap of clothes.

"Where to? Where am I going?" he said, with all a child's eager curiosity shining in his eyes. "But not without you, mother?"

Then the poor mother turned away with a sob, saying,

"Maggie, you tell him. I can't—I can't."

And when Jeff recovered his astonishment he saw that his mother had gone out of the room.

"My bairn, we're going over the water together—you and me—to England—to your grandmother's."

Old Maggie's nose was rather red, and it seemed to Jeff, not used to associate her with sentiment, that her voice sounded queer and choky. What could it all mean?

"Who is going?" he demanded imperatively. "Father and mother, and you and me, I s'pose?"

"No," said Maggie, beginning to sniff, "your father isn't going."

"Then mother is going, and you too, Maggie, will be there to mend my clothes," he said in a satisfied way.

"Yes, yes, I'll gang wi' ye, my bairn, my bonnie laddie—I'll no leave ye in a strange land by yersel'—but not your mother."

Jeff threw a look of extreme disdain towards the guardian of his wardrobe, and cried out angrily:

"Not mother! I don't believe you, Maggie. You can't know anything about it. Mother must be going. You know she has never left me since I was born."

Then he flew to the door and shouted down the passage in a boisterous way, his pale face growing quite red and angry with excitement.

"Mother, you are going to England. Say you are going, and that Maggie doesn't know."

No answer came. Perhaps in that short silence a dim presentiment of the terrible truth was felt by this little boy, so soon to be separated from all he so fondly loved.

Jeff was soon rattling the door-handle of his mother's room in his usual impetuous way.

"Mother, mother, open quickly!"

There never was a repulse to that appeal. But the door was opened without even a gentle word of expostulation, and Jeff was drawn into a darkened room. The mother had got up from her sofa, for there was a mark on the cushion where her head had been. She stood in the middle of the room, now quite still, with her arms thrown about her boy. He did not see at once how very pale she looked, nor did he notice how her lips trembled.

"You will not send me away from you, mother. Oh, I will be good. I will never be naughty or troublesome any more if you will come to England with me. Mother, I promise. I cannot go without you; oh no, I cannot!"

Jeff was sobbing loudly now. The silence oppressed him. He felt instinctively that a solemn time had come in his life.

"Do not break my heart, my boy. Come on the sofa and sit beside me, and I will try and tell you what you must know."

Then as he sat very close to her, clasping her thin hands in his own feverish little fingers, she told him why it must be. Jeff knew quite well that a great many children were sent to England from this station in the plains and that they never came back. He had