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Updated: May 31, 2025
For the moment, in the clutch of the past, with associations laying gripping hands on him and with his curious faculty of responding to the outward call, Aston House and the Astons became suddenly a faint blurred impression to Christopher, less real and tangible than these worn, sordid surroundings. Had anyone just then demanded his name he would undoubtedly have responded "Hibbault."
Aston who answered, putting his hand gently on the boy's head. "No, little Christopher, nothing will make you cease to belong to her; we do not wish that. But it will be more easy for you to have our name. We want Christopher Aston to have a better time than poor little Jim Hibbault.
Aymer continued: "At last I felt it was time to end it. Peter had been in town some time then. I knew the senior Hibbault and he were coming to some understanding, but I guessed nothing of the nature of it. She never mentioned him to me at this time.
Before he was thirty he had well started his fortune as he raced to wealth. I raced to ruin and found every inch of the road made easy for me. Peter came into conflict with the socialistic party. There was a certain James Hibbault, who was a great power, and Peter, who was not so heavy a power in those days, employed the wisdom of the serpent to crush him.
When Aymer had first approached him on the subject of adopting a boy he had consented willingly enough, but when, coincident with this, Fate or Providence had pointed out to them the person of Christopher Hibbault, he, Mr.
"I'm Jim Hibbault." "Garn!" "Yes, I am really." Poor Christopher began to feel embarrassed and a little disappointed. He was Jim Hibbault at that moment and he felt queerly lonely and stranded. Martha pulled down her sleeves and went to the inner door. "Jessie, come out 'ere," she screamed. Christopher felt his heart go thump.
Then he leant back in his chair thoughtfully. "Hibbault says that boy has just got a rise in that berth of his in Liverpool. I'll let him have a year or so more to prove his grit. I suppose Hibbault's to be trusted, but I might write to the firm and ask how he gets on! However, Aymer's boy shall have the vacancy!"
Therefore he took up his pen again and wrote the following brief letter: PRINCES BUILDING, Birmingham, April 10. Are you going to 'prentice that boy of yours to me or not? I've an opening now in the Steel Axle Company, if you like to take it. Yours, PETER MASTERS. Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker
He felt confused and wretched, alive to the fact that little Jim Hibbault had neither people nor home nor relations in the world, if these once kindly women had no welcome for him. "I heard you call Jim," he hazarded at last, in an extremity of disconcerted shyness. Mrs. Sartin eyed the four-year-old nestling in her apron and pulled him from cover. "Yes, that be Jim. We called 'im Jim arter you.
The elderly gentleman cast a puzzled, inquiring glance from the boy to his companion as they came near. "Fortune meets us on the road-side, Stapleton," said the owner of the phaeton. "Let me introduce you to Christopher Hibbault. Get up, child." Get up? Mount that quietly magnificent carriage, ride behind those beautiful animals with their pawing feet and arched necks?
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