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    A Little Hero
    A Little Hero
    A Little Hero
    Ebook87 pages1 hour

    A Little Hero

    By H. M. (Henry Matthew) Brock and Mrs. H. Musgrave

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    A Little Hero

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      Book preview

      A Little Hero - H. M. (Henry Matthew) Brock

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Little Hero, by Mrs. H. Musgrave

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: A Little Hero

      Author: Mrs. H. Musgrave

      Illustrator: H. M. Brock

      Release Date: March 4, 2010 [EBook #31498]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE HERO ***

      Produced by Al Haines

      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

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      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.

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      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

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