They had been on the road four days and were within ten miles of Worthing, that quiet little seaside town in the more sheltered part of Sussex, when an incident occurred which almost revealed Tan’s identity. By so slight a thread was the truth frustrated that for the moment it seemed as though he was to be restored to those grief-stricken parents. But God had other things in store both for them and little Tan, and He whose ways are not as our ways, nor His thoughts as our thoughts, knew what would eventually be best for each.
The child cried many times for his mother, or more often for Ethel, as it was she who had had almost the complete charge of him during the months before he was stolen. But gradually the scenes of home-life and its happy memories were becoming a thing of the past to little Tan, so quickly do children forget. But one thing he clung to persistently, and that was his name.
His name had become so a part of himself that it was entirely useless for the gypsies to endeavor to change it into Tom. As often as they said the word, just as often was the little fellow ready to correct them by saying, “It isn’t Tom, it’s Tan.” Meg began to see how useless it was when the child was so determined, and besides, it might eventually lead to inquiries being made. At last she decided it would be far wiser to leave it alone. An incident which occurred when they were trying to change his name settled the matter.
The only thing that pacified little Tan when inclined to fret for Ethel was the delightful experience of sitting on a chair, or rather kneeling, at the front opening of the caravan, and leaning over the low doorway where he could watch everything that they passed. He was fascinated by watching the horses jogging along, an occupation of which he never tired. While so occupied, the caravan passed a pony carriage containing two elderly ladies who had stopped by the roadside. They had stepped down from the cart and were gathering blackberries, which were found in profusion on the hedges of those Sussex roads.
“Buy a basket, me lady?” said Meg, as they passed.
“Well, we do want something handy to hold these berries,” said one of the ladies, addressing her companion, who was evidently her sister. As they viewed the assortment Meg produced, their eyes were attracted by Tan’s fair little face peering over the doorway.
“What a dear little boy,” exclaimed one of the ladies. And advancing to the van which had drawn up and stood waiting for Meg’s customer to make her purchase, she said, “Would you like a cake, dear?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Tan, extending one chubby white hand through the opening.
“Tom,” called a voice from inside the van.
Tan turned round, and, in a clear, childish treble, emphatically exclaimed, “It isn’t Tom, it’s Tan,” still gazing at the kind face of the lady before him.
“Hello, Tan,” said the lady in a gentle voice, reminding the little fellow so strongly of his home that he burst out spontaneously before Mrs. Smith could by a silent gesture stop him.
“You speak like Mamma. Do you know Ethel?”
“Who is your mother, my dear?”
Meg interposed hastily, “ ’ Tis me sister’s little boy, and now she is dead. She used to be a nurse in a lady’s family and got to speak like her missus that nice and quiet way. Now he lives with me and my ole man, don’t you, my pretty?” and, without giving the child time to answer, called out to her husband to drive on and she’d follow with the baskets.
The purchases having been made, Meg hurried after the caravan, leaving the two ladies gazing after the party, which had so hastily left them. Then the elder of the two turned to her sister with the query, “Well, my dear, what do you think of the sweet child we have just seen? I should say he is very different to the people he lives with. Did you notice the expression in those large blue eyes, how innocently they looked at you?”
“Oh, yes,” returned her companion. “I can see the little face now in my mind with that crown of golden curls. Perhaps he doesn’t belong to them at all.”
“Well, what could we do? The woman says he is her sister’s child. We can only leave it.” And with those words the two ladies contentedly stepped into the pony carriage and drove off in the opposite direction.
What suffering and misery would have been saved, humanly speaking, had they responded to their suspicions and driven after the caravan and endeavored to find out more about the child so strangely situated, or at least reported their concern to the authorities.
Meanwhile, Meg decided something must be done immediately to prevent the child being commented upon in similar circumstances. Accordingly, some walnut juice was found, which, applied to little Tan’s face, so fair and white, quickly darkened his skin so that he looked much more like the other occupants of the caravan. And when the golden halo of curls had been cut short, few would have recognized him unless intimately acquainted. But the features and laughing, round, blue eyes remained the same. Meg’s art could not possibly alter those. His family would certainly have recognized their little Tan anywhere.
There was another thing Mrs. Smith would have been glad to have obliterated, but it was beyond her power, and that was a brown mark in the skin just below his right ear. Often Ethel and Jessie had laughingly told their little brother they couldn’t get him washed clean everywhere. One dirty mark was indelible. His mother, too, had said her boy was not “without blemish”; she could always tell him, however he might alter in features.
Little Tan could not understand why he now always had to wear clothes that were none too clean. “Where did you put the coat Mamma bought me a little while ago?” he had inquired of Sal one day. Her answer had completely satisfied the child.
“We ain’t agoing to let yer wear ’em till yer meets Ethel, ’cause they’d spoil.”
One thing gave intense delight to Tan — the sea. Shortly after meeting the ladies, whose speech had reminded him of home, the caravan drew within sight of the sea. It was not his first glimpse of the ocean, for he had spent many happy hours with Ethel, playing by the waves during summer holidays. He was at his favorite spot, looking over the low doorway, as Meg had deemed it quite safe now for the child to be “on view,” as she called it, when the caravan came within half a mile of Brighton’s extensive sea front.
“The sea! The sea!” he called in shrill, childish treble. “May I get out and run down the road?”
A gruff “Stop where yer are, and be quiet!” silenced little Tan at once. He stood in awe of Jim Smith, who only occasionally addressed the child, and then only in a surly, hoarse manner. Yet no one was absolutely unkind to the little fellow. In their rough way they dealt gently with him — at least Meg and Jack did. The girl took after her father’s more hardened nature.
Tan’s life was by no means hard nor always unhappy. Although only a week had passed since leaving Wandsworth, the thoughts of home and family were beginning to be replaced by new scenes and experiences. Jack had picked up a plaything, too, in the shape of another kitten, and many happy hours did little Tan pass playing with his treasure. Meg had allowed him to keep it, knowing it would divert the child’s attention from noticing too much about their deceitful business transactions. Tan was particularly intelligent for his age, and was too observant for Meg’s peace of mind.
A constant source of distaste to the gypsy family was the little fellow’s persistent habit of kneeling down night and morning in prayer, during the week he had lived in the caravan. Nothing would shake him from “speaking to God,” as he called it. Meg had tried both threats and promises to make him stop, but, in simple, childish trust, he held to that which had been instilled into his mind from the time he could only lisp a few words.
Not until Monday morning, a week after being stolen, was Tan allowed to leave the van, which had been pitched on an unused piece of ground in the more unfrequented part of that busy town, just now full of visitors. Jack had begged his mother to just let him take the little chap down to the sea and “give ’im some fun.” Meg had agreed on the condition that he kept Tan away from the “grand folks and suchlike.”
Very quaint did the young boy look in the old gypsy clothing, his rosy cheeks showing through the artificially tanned skin, such a contrast to his golden hair. Many a mother turned and looked after the “gypsy child” on her way to the beach. Tan chattered constantly in his excitement. When they came in sight of the emerald-colored sea, he stood transfixed with silent admiration. The place was far away from the crowded, fashionable part of the beach, and in the early morning looked calm and pretty.
“What are yer looking at and thinking about, young un?” asked Jack.
Tan turned, and in a sweet, subdued voice answered his rough inquirer, “I was thinking about where God puts people’s sins who trust Him.”
“What der yer mean?” said the boy, who was interested in spite of himself.
“Ethel told me a verse about the sea. I’ll tell it to you, for she made me say it over and over again until I could say it myself,” and, putting his little hands behind him, Tan solemnly repeated, “Thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.”
“Do you think He will cast yours in?” he inquired, looking Jack full in the face. The blue eyes searched the dark countenance of the lad. Jack did not answer. Again came the pleading words, “Do you think He will cast your sins in there?”
“What do you mean about my sins! Suppose I ain’t got any,” said Jack. In his conscience and heart he knew better, but did not want to admit it to this little, innocent child.
“Ethel says everyone has sinned,” said Tan bravely.
“Well, I reckon you ain’t had any,” remarked Jack.
“Yes, I have,” returned Tan, “ ’cause no one’s good. Look! Look! There’s something over there on the water,” and, with a child’s natural temperament, which can so easily change from one subject to another, he had forgotten all about the great, all-important truth he was imparting to the rough gypsy lad.
“That’s a steamboat going along there, and a good rate she’s running at, too,” said Jack.
The half hour that Meg had stipulated to be the extent of time allowed for Tan’s recreation passed all too quickly, but the words so simply spoken by Tan remained. Jack knew there was a God that hated sin, and he was fully conscious that he, though still young, had sinned against that Holy Being. His sins were as a load upon him. If it were possible to have all his sins cast away into the depths of the sea, what a different person he would be! But how was it to be done? He didn’t know if it were possible, or, if it were, how it could be done.
The fervent, childish prayers that little Tan had sent up to God each day were already bearing fruit, unknown to the child or even to Jack himself. The words uttered in childish simplicity had revealed more to the rough gypsy boy about his condition before God than any eloquent sermon could ever have done.