Shadow in the North

Chapter Fifty-Seven - Time Flies

'Johnny, young man,' said Mr Thornton, softly, and with a very serious look. 'You are a very fortunate boy. You have a loving family, and a large, warm home. You are always well fed, and will receive an education. You may have this mill one day, if you should wish it. Would you wish it?' And he knew that his son did wish it, because Johnny idolised his father, and if he was not playing with Matthew Lyndhurst's trainset, he was to be found trying to follow his father about the mill, or studying books on the machines (but failing to understand the words, for he was yet, too young).

'Yes, Papa,' replied Johnny, solemnly. 'I should like to be a tall man, just like you, and wear black and run the mill.'

'If you wish to be just like me and run the mill, you will have much responsibility, young man. You cannot act the small boy, but must be a man. A man does not cry about a trainset. A man is grateful for what he receives, and if he receives nothing for his birthday, he does not complain, because he knows himself to be very lucky in having a warm home, and food upon the table, when others have no such thing.'

'Yes, Papa,' whispered Johnny, now hanging his head, in the face of his father's gentle censure.

'You were rude and ungrateful, Johnny, and so you shan't have a birthday gift this year. Let it be a lesson to you.' Now Mr Thornton lifted his son from his lap, set him on the bed, and ruffled his hair affectionately. 'You are my young man, Johnny, so I expect you to accept this punishment without complaint, as a man would.'

'Yes, Papa.' The boy's lip trembled at seeing such disappointment in his father's look, but he held back his tears, because his father never cried, and he wished to be a man like him.

'Now,' said Mr Thornton, softly, 'it is my turn to read to you, to-night. What should you like me to read?' He gave a little knowing smile, for he knew his son well.

'The machines, Papa!' exclaimed Johnny, excitedly. And because Isabel was reading to Elizabeth that night, and could not complain that a reference book about mill-works was not a proper bedtime story, Mr Thornton only smiled broadly at his son, and bid him to change into his nightshirt, and clean his face and teeth, whilst he went to his study to retrieve the book.

As Mr Thornton walked down the hallway, he stopped at the door to his daughter's bedroom, and pressed it gently open. There he found Isabel sat with her arm about a sleepy Elizabeth, reading to her, a tale about wolves.

'Papa!' smiled Elizabeth, stretching out her hands. And smiling, Mr Thornton came towards the bed, and leant down to press his daughter to him.

'My treasure,' said he, in his quiet way, which was so simple and yet conveyed such tender affection.

'Shall I still get a birthday gift?' asked the little girl, 'or are we not to have them anymore?'

'It is only Johnny who is not to have one, and only this year; because he behaved badly,' explained Isabel, in a consoling voice.

'Good,' nodded Elizabeth. 'I should like toy soldiers.' Mr Thornton grimaced.

'Not a doll?'

'No, Papa!' frowned Elizabeth. 'When we go to Aunt Fanny's, all they have is dolls, and dolls cannot fight.' Mr Thornton's eyes widened in alarm, as Isabel tried to stifle her laughter.

'Papa must go now, so that he may read to Johnny,' encouraged Isabel, bidding her husband from the room, before father and daughter could bicker with one another (which they were often wont to do).

'Goodnight, my treasure,' whispered Mr Thornton, kissing his daughter's cocoa hair, before retrieving the book from his study, and reading to his son.