THE ATTIC DESIRE CH:3

hristian made no reply. She drew a step or two nearer the window, and stared out with the most forlorn feeling in her heart. The only view she could obtain from the very small dormer-window of the attic was of some of the neighboring roofs, black with smoke and smuts. They were hideous in the extreme. Christian had never before known what real, absolute ugliness meant. She shuddered, and yet, with a certain fascination, drew nearer. A cat, meant by nature to be white, but of a dull uniform gray, stepped gingerly over the roofs towards her.[Pg 70] He met a brother cat, and they saluted each other in the customary manner. Christian turned away with a shudder.

"Miss Christian," said Rosy again.

"What is it, Rose?"

"You are miserable," said Rosy, "and you blame me."

"Well, I never thought it would be like this. I never imagined anything so awful. And is it true that as we ran away we—we'd——"

"Nonsense, Miss Christian! I don't believe it's true for a single minute. It's only Judith's way to frighten you, miss."

"But Mrs. Carter said the same."

"Yes, Miss Christian, I know it; but she was put up to it by Judith."

"I thought you said you liked Judith—that you thought her a nice girl."

"I never seed her afore in the light I do to-day, miss, and that's the truth."

"Rose, I'm frightfully miserable."

"Well, I aint too happy," said Rose.

"Can't we get away from here? I'm frightened."

"We might creep out of a night, for certain, but in the daytime they're a-watchin us."

"Who? Who are watching us?" said Christian. She went up to Rose and clasped her hand in an access of terror.

"Well, that Mrs. Carter; and most like there are others in the house, and they all know you have money. I tell you what, Miss Christian, there's only one thing to do."

"What is that? Oh, what? Oh, I am frightened! I never thought I should be so terrified."

"It's a clear case when one ought to be terrified," said Rose, and she sank down on one of the chairs and stared[Pg 71] straight in front of her. "Yes," she repeated, "it's clear it means terrifying; there aint a doubt of that."

"What is to be done?" said Christian. "Oh, if mother could see me now! Oh, father, father! Rosy, I'd rather be in the most awful strict-discipline school in the whole world than here."

"You think so because you aint at the school," was Rosy's astute reply. "Now, Miss Christian, let me think; don't speak for a minute. It were I who got you into this, so it must be me to get you out; that's but fair."

"It is—it is; but can you?"

"Let me think, miss. Judith will be back in half an hour. I'll think for a bit and then speak."

To Christian those few minutes seemed like eternity. At last Rosy stood up. She crossed the room, went to the door and examined it.

"There aint never a lock," she said. "That's bad. But we can put the chest of drawers agen' the door to-night, so that no one can come in without us hearing 'em. And if we are really frightened we can push the bed up agen' the chest, and squeeze it in between the door and the wall; then we'll be as snug and safe as any girls could be. Then we must take the first chance that offers to get away; we must. Judith aint what I thought her. We mustn't tell her—not on any account. We must steal away when she aint here. The folks here won't let us go if they think we want to, so we must pretend."

"Pretend?" said Christian, in amazement.

"For sure, miss; there aint no other way. We must pretend we are delighted—you to be free of the school, me to be your companion. We must have a right good time to-night and turn Judith's head with our merriment. We must laugh and sing and pretend to enjoy ourselves. We must have a sort of feast, and we must talk a lot about buying the tambourines; and Judith must see about hiring[Pg 72] a proper tambourine-girl's dress for you and another for me. It will mean maybe five shillings more, but that can't be helped. We must catch 'em by guile, Miss Christian—Mrs. Carter and the rest. They must hear me talking to you about the awful prison life you has escaped, and you must say out very loud that you never did enjoy yourself so much before. We must take 'em in. You leave it to me, miss. You follow up when I speak. When I give you a look you will know what I mean. That's it, miss. Then to-morrow we'll creep away. If anybody meets us we'll say we are going out to buy things. We'll leave the cups and saucers and things behind us, and we'll never come back—never. That's what we must do. It's the only way, for I don't believe that we can be locked up for running away. But I do think the folks in this house will keep us from ever getting home again; or, at any rate, from getting home until they have got all the money they can from us."

Rosy spoke with great confidence. Christian felt cheered by her words.

"It will be horribly difficult," said Christian; "and I hate deceiving. I never did deceive anyone yet in my life."

"It's a case of play-acting," said Rose stoutly; "and if you aint been play-acting all your born days, I don't know who has. Haven't you been Joan of Arc one day, and Charlotte Corday another and poor me Marat in his bath, waiting for you to stab me—and William Tell and the characters in the Bible? There aint no fear that you can't act. You've just got to act once more."

"But what?"

"Why, a girl who loves the slums, and dotes on her freedom, and is determined that nothing shall make her a slave. Now you know what to do. Oh, here comes Judith! I'd know Judith's step in a thousand."

[Pg 73]

As Rosy said the last words she began to hum in a high, excited, staccato voice:

"For Britons never, never, never shall be slaves."

Judith burst into the room. She carried a heap of parcels and a sack full of coal.

"If this aint love!" she said. "If this aint, so to speak, the height of devotion! Now then, look spry, both of you."

"Oh, yes," said Rosy, bursting into a loud and apparently delighted laugh, "you are good. Now we'll have fun. Bustle up, Miss Christian; take off your hat and jacket. See, aint I thoughtful? I brought a little apron for you in my pocket. You slip it on; deary miss, and then you won't spoil your nice things."

"What do it matter if she spoils her things or not?" cried Judith. "She can't go on dressing in that fashion; she'd be nabbed at once. The police would bustle round her just like birds round a strange bird. She'll have to dress like the poor folks. The best thing is to pawn her dress, and get her one of them thick woolen sort like the tambourine-girls wear from the pawn-shop."

"That's the right thought, Miss Christian, aint it?" said Rosy. "And you'll be sure to get a good price for such solid clothes as you wear. I could go out now and pawn them."

"No you don't!" said Judith. "If there's any pawning to be done, I do it. And you needn't think for a moment that your Miss Christian—your fine, guarded young lady, who'd get finely punished by the law of the land were it known what she'd done—would get much for her clothes. It's very, very little she'll get; although, of course, I'll do my best for her."

"Oh, I am so hungry!" said Christian, making a valiant effort to speak naturally.

[Pg 74]

For one instant she looked towards the window. It was like looking out of prison. Even the roofs, so close at hand, seemed to her at that moment the land of the free. But it was true she had often acted before, and she could and would act for dear life now. So she fell on her knees and began to build up the fire. How badly she did it! Judith roared with laughter, and dropping down by her side, began to give directions. Presently Rosy pulled them both aside and lit the fire herself. She was quite an adept at this sort of thing. For a wonder the chimney did not smoke, and the sight of crackling wood and cheerful blaze brought the first moment of comfort to poor Christian's heart. When the fire was lit the dirty table was laid with the plates and cups and saucers, and pewter spoons, and ugly black-handled knives. Judith thought they were very fine, but Christian, if she had not been acting a part, would have found it impossible to have eaten with them or on them.

But the tea was fairly good, and it was made in the tiny little brown teapot; and the herrings were put on the pan to fry. Mrs. Carter, attracted by the excellent smell, popped her nose in at the door.

"My word!" she said, "here's comfort; here's dainties; here's a real feast. Would a poor neighbor who has scarcely tasted a morsel all day be welcome, or would she be unwelcome? You say the word, miss—welcome or unwelcome—the truth, miss, and nothing but the truth."

Rosy gave Christian an anxious glance. Christian, still forcing herself to continue her play-acting, replied in a hearty tone:

"Of course you are welcome."

"Then do, like a good creature," suddenly exclaimed Judith, who by no means wished the feast to be shared by anyone else, "go and take out those curlers. Oh, I[Pg 75] know they are Hinde's, but take 'em out—take 'em out—and come in looking like a decent, civilized 'uman being."

Mrs. Carter hastened to comply, and soon the four, on two chairs, were seated round the board. Rosy shared half of Christian's chair, and Judith and Mrs. Carter, pushing each other violently from time to time, subsided on the other. It cracked under their joint weight. Mrs. Carter said that if they were unlucky enough to break it, the landlord would charge Christian the full price of a new chair.

"He'd do nothing of the sort," said Judith. "Why should he, I should like to know? This one is as old as the hills, and didn't cost more than one and elevenpence when it was new."

She had scarcely uttered the words when crash, crack went the chair, and the two were prostrated on the ground.

They got up amidst peals of laughter. Mrs. Carter assured Christian that the chair cost seven and sixpence, but that she'd make it good with the landlord for half-a-crown if Christian would entrust her with that sum.

"We'll see about it to-morrow," said Rosy. "I think, ma'am, we have all had our meal, and there's a deal for me and this young—person," she glancing at Christian as she spoke—"to see to. We has to begin our trade to-morrow morning. We are poor—very poor."

"Oh, my!" said Mrs. Carter.

She glanced at Judith, who winked back at her.

"Yes, desperate," continued Rosy. "Aint we, Miss Christian?"

"Certainly we're very poor," replied Christian.

"But, all the same," continued Rosy, "we're very happy; aint we, missy?"

"Very," said Christian again. "And we are so thankful to our kind friends who helped us to run away. We are——"

[Pg 76]

"Nonsense!" interrupted Mrs. Carter. "To think as you like this better nor the palaces you have come from."

"We are very happy, and there is such a thing as drudgery even in a palace," continued Rosy. "And this young—person—she don't call herself a lady any more—was going to a sort of prison school. She prefers liberty, even though liberty aint, so to speak, self-indulgence. We're both happy; aint we, Miss Christian?"

"Very happy," replied Christian.

"And how do you mean to live?" said Mrs. Carter, impressed in spite of herself.

"We thought of going and dancing in the streets. This young person can dance most beautifully."

"Well, I never! You'll make up as Italians, no doubt."

"It's you that has an acute brain, ma'am," said Rosy in a voice full of admiration. "That's what we mean to do—aint it, miss?"

"It is," said Christian.

"And we mean to begin," continued Rose, "to-morrow morning."

"Oh, no, you don't!" said Mrs. Carter. "That would be dangerous."

"Dangerous or not, we are going to risk it," said Rosy.

"Yes, we're going to risk it," said Christian in a stout voice.

"And what I was thinking," continued Rosy—"that is, if it is agreeable to you, Christian—is that every day, while we are out earning our fortunes, we might give Mrs. Carter, say, fourpence a day to keep our fire in and our room tidy, and perhaps to have the kettle boiling for us when we come in at night. If you like, Mrs. Carter, I think Christian and me would make it worth your while for fourpence a day."

[Pg 77]

"I'm agreeable to that same, if you make it sixpence."

"No, ma'am, we can't possibly do that. Fourpence is too high. If you don't like it, ma'am, say so, and we'll get a woman downstairs to do it for threepence, or maybe twopence."

"Well, I'll do it for fourpence if you throw supper into the bargain."

"Can we throw in supper, Miss Christian?" asked Rosy.

"I think so," said Christian, trying to act the part more forcibly than ever.

"Fourpence and supper, then," said Rose. "But it can't be paid any day that you don't make yourself useful, Mrs. Carter."

"No fear of me," said Mrs. Carter, with a toss of her head.

"And what part shall I have?" said Judith, who was absolutely taken in by Rose's cheerfulness.

"You can come and see us when you like, and when we have made enough money we'll now and then give you a treat; and Mrs. Carter shall come with us. But," added the little girl, emboldened by the effect her words were producing, "we won't have any of the other people of this house. The more you keep us to ourselves, Mrs. Carter, the more you will get. Do you understand?"

"For certain I do, honey; and I must say it's a real sensible plan."

"So we will stay here quietly to-night," said Rosy, "and enjoy ourselves, and to-morrow morning we will go and buy what we want. We'll start our trade about midday. We'll dress as Italians, of course."

"I'd like fine to see you doing it," said Mrs. Carter.

"You mustn't follow us on any account—anyhow, not for a day or two. We'd feel more nervous, like, if we thought you was looking on at us."

[Pg 78]

"You be a 'cute un," said Mrs. Carter.

"Now then, make yourself scarce, ma'am," said Judith, "for we have a lot to attend to."

Mrs. Carter retired. She was apparently in the height of good-humor. Rose instructed Christian how to wash up the tea-things.

By and by Judith also took her leave.

"For if I'm not back home before four o'clock, folks may suspect and hunt me up, and maybe find you into the bargain," she said to the little girls, and so she left them to themselves.

Yes, at last they were alone. Mrs. Carter had gone out; they heard her heavy tramp as she went downstairs. She was the only other lodger on this floor, and the place was now comparatively quiet.

"If only we could lock the door," said Rosy. "But there, we can't."

"Shall you sleep at all to-night, Rosy? Aren't you terrified?" said Christian.

"It's just this," said Rosy: "I mustn't let out; I must pretend I'm not the least bit frightened."

"I don't suppose you are. You are wonderfully brave."

"Now then, let us settle down and let us plan," said Rose.

They sat close to each other and kept up the fire, and they had no idea of saving their small amount of coal. What did it matter when they meant to go away on the morrow?

Presently day faded. They had forgotten to supply themselves with candles. Rose did not dare to go out. Christian clung to her.

"We'll keep up the fire all night," said Rose. "You'd like another cup of tea, wouldn't you, darling Miss Christian?"

[Pg 79]

"No," said Christian; "I'm not hungry. Rosy, if I hadn't done it I'd have been nearly at school now."

"Yes, darling."

"And I wouldn't be feeling such an awfully wicked girl."

"You can't help it," said Rosy. "It's the way of life; we are punished when we do wrong."

"Do you think we did very wrong?"

"For certain we did. I knew it all along, but I couldn't hold back from the fun."

"Do you think we are in danger now, Rosy?"

Rose was silent.

"Rosy, do you think anything will happen to us to-night?"

"Miss Christian, you always were brave."

"Yes," replied Christian, "but I never did suppose that I could be in my present surroundings. I am frightened to-night, and I don't pretend I am anything else."

"We will do what we said," answered Rose. "We'll put the chest of drawers against the door, and move the bedstead against the chest of drawers, and that will fill up the space as far as the opposite wall. Then no one can get in. Isn't that a good plan?"

"Let's do it," said Christian; "and let's do it now while Mrs. Carter is out, for if they heard us moving about the room they might try to get in."

"Come along, then, Miss Christian. Let's be quick. We never did a bit of play-acting to equal this before."

"Never," replied Christian; "and," she added under her breath, "I don't think I will ever, as long as I live, want to play-act again."

[Pg 80]

CHAPTER IX

A NIGHT IN THE SLUMS

The two girls carried out their plan in all its details. They moved the chest of drawers against the door, and then they moved the bedstead. By this means they had practically locked the door. They were very thankful for this later on, for as night advanced and the people came home, and the house became full, their terrors increased. They were now so frightened that they did not dare to speak even to each other about their fears; and when, shortly after they had secured themselves against intrusion, someone first tapped at the door and then turned the handle and pushed, and then after a moment of silence steps were heard going away, they could only clasp each other's hands and sit close together, almost paralyzed with terror.

"They've shut themselves in," Christian heard Mrs. Carter say to someone on the landing. "They're the 'cutest young folks I ever see'd."

Then the someone who was spoken to growled, and Mrs. Carter and this person went into the adjoining room; and there they moved about at intervals, and at intervals remained quiet. Christian felt positive that they were waiting to do something, and Rose knew that they were waiting, but neither girl expressed her terror to the other.

"They can only get in by breaking through the door," said Christian, "and they will scarcely do that."

But Rose knew that such people as Mrs. Carter and her husband would think very little of breaking through an old door if they wished to get at their neighbors' attic.

[Pg 81]

How glad the children were that they had fuel! They piled up the little grate and made the fire burn hot and strong; and by and by Rosy tried to persuade Christian to have another cup of tea. But Christian was now so sick with terror that she could not touch the tea.

"We won't lie down at all," said Rosy. "We'll sit close to each other by the fire. We won't sit on the floor, for it aint too clean, but we'll sit on a chair each, and put our arms round each other. It's only for one night, my own darling Miss Christian—only for one night—and I think somehow God will keep us safe."

"I haven't prayed to Him," said Christian in a broken voice, "because I have done wrong. When you do very wrong you can't pray."

"Maybe you could repent, and then you could pray," said Rosy.

"I don't know," answered Christian.

The night went on. There were stars in the sky. The children could see the stars from the dormer-window of their attic; and presently the moon—a full one—rose and flooded the outside world. Christian, from where she sat, could see the cats stealing about, making great shadows on the neighboring roofs, and she could hear their cry as they met each other; she could also hear, far down below, the great roar of London itself. And in the house she could hear the cries of children and the angry, excited words of men and women, and she felt that in all her life she had never even imagined anything quite so awful. Her one drop of comfort lay in the fact that Rosy—pretty Rosy—was cuddled up close to her, and that Rosy certainly would not leave her.

The two young girls did not attempt to undress, and Christian's bag of money was still firmly secured under her skirt.

By and by silence began to reign. Even in a house[Pg 82] like this people must sleep sometimes, and the drunken men and women lay down on their respective beds, the children slept heavily, and in the adjoining attic all was still. Then Rosy began to nod and to fall half-forward in her chair. Christian had great work to keep her from sliding to the ground. Perhaps it was this fact that made Christian so wide awake herself; but certain it is she could not sleep.

She was glad that there was a moon in the sky; she was glad that the terrible house was quiet at last. Poor Christian! she little knew what lay before her.

The time passed on, and notwithstanding her determination not to close an eye, the silence and the soothing effect of Rosy's presence began to make her drowsy. She put her arm more firmly round her little companion and let her body lean against Rosy's, and was really beginning to nod her head, when suddenly there came a great shadow between her and the moonlight. She looked up, and there was Mrs. Carter on the roof, trying to get in at the window. How she had got out on the leads Christian never knew, but she had done so, and was now feeling all along the fastening of the dormer-window and was endeavoring to open it.

In one minute it seemed to the young girl that the blood of Joan of Arc and Charlotte Corday, and many more of the great heroines of the past, rushed through her veins. She gave Rosy a jerk—unintentionally, for she did not mean to wake her. She did not care about Rosy then, nor did she want her. She felt all-sufficient to herself. In an instant she had sprung forward, and going to the window, opened it a little way.

"Go back this minute," she said. "You are not on any account to come in; I will push you down if you try. I don't care whether I hurt you or not; I will push you off[Pg 83] the roof if you try to get in. You have no right here; go back."

Mrs. Carter was so amazed by the mere fact of Christian's being up and awake, when she expected her to be in bed and sound asleep, and so startled at the girl's unlooked-for courage, that she was absolutely mute.

"Go away," repeated Christian. "I know what you have come about: you want to steal my money. You think I have got some. Well, if I have, it isn't for you. You told me lies to-day about being punished for running away, but I don't tell you any lie when I say that you can be put in prison for this—yes, you and your husband. I will push you right down off the roof—I don't care whether it hurts or not—if you try to get in."

There was a very ugly look on Mrs. Carter's face. Even in the shadow, with her back to the moonlight, Christian noticed it; but not a single word escaped her lips. Her footing was insecure and dangerous; one strong push from a big girl like Christian standing firmly within the room would not only knock her down, but cause her to drop a matter of thirty feet on to another roof at a little distance. She therefore began cautiously and quietly, and still with that evil look on her face, to back away from Christian, and in a few minutes the young girl perceived by the absence of all shadow that Mrs. Carter must have returned to her own attic.

Then Christian shut the window, fastened it firmly, and stood close to it. Mr. Carter might come now that his wife had failed, but if he did both Christian and Rose would fight him. Christian was certain that between them they would be a match for anyone who tried to get in at the window.

"Rose," said Christian.

Rose began to mutter in her sleep. She had fallen forward now, and was half on the chair and half on the floor.

[Pg 84]

"I did not mean it, great-aunt," she began. "It was just that I were tempted, and I never, never thought that Miss Christian——"

"Wake up, Rose," said Christian; "wake up. You have got to stay awake."

Then Rose did open her dazed eyes.

"Whatever is the matter?" she cried.

"Build up the fire and I'll tell you," said Christian.

There was a new tone in Christian's voice; it was firm and strong and almost triumphant. It had the conquering note in it which Rosy had noticed when they played games sometimes in the attic.

"Oh, Miss Christian," she said, "what is it?"

Christian told her what had occurred.

"I am not proud," said Christian, "not a bit. It was just given to me to say the words, and I am sure God was helping me. I am sure God is sorry for us, and He is going to help us both. I don't feel a bit frightened, but we must keep them out, Rosy. If two of them come together it will be hard work, but we must be strong and firm and push them over if they try to come in. We will stay by the window all night, and you shall stay near to me, and we won't leave it except to stir up the fire."

The rest of the night was spent in that fashion, and as the hours went by and the moon set and darkness really came on, Rosy's fears began to return to her very badly; but Christian was not at all afraid.

"We will keep them out," she said. "If they had been coming back they would have come by now. And even if they do come back they will find us here."

Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Carter were not quite such valiant people as Mrs. Carter would have given the children to understand, for certain it is that, although Christian fancied she heard a step on the roof outside the window towards morning, it did not come any nearer. Perhaps[Pg 85] Carter was only prowling round to see if the children were still up and awake.

When the morning dawned there were two very tired little faces gazing sadly each at the other.

"This is the longest night I have ever lived through," said Christian, "and yesterday was the longest day. There is only one thing now to be done: I will go back to nursey and Miss Thompson and Miss Neil, and tell them everything. I will write to father and mother. I have done dreadfully wrong, and I ought to be punished, and I am quite, quite willing to go to the strict-discipline school."

"That's all very well," cried Rose, "but what about me?"

The terrors of the night were over, and once again she began to feel a certain charm in a life of independence; the little attic, with the winter sunshine streaming in at the dormer-window, was not altogether despicable; and surely there was a great fascination in the thought of dancing and playing and taking a monkey round the London streets.

"You did wrong too, Rose," said Christian. "Of course, you wouldn't have done it but for me. I will stand up for you all I can. I will tell your mother myself. She'll be angry, of course, but she wouldn't be a true mother if she didn't forgive."

"Oh, Miss Christian! you don't know what it means. If you only would——"

Then she looked at Christian's face and changed her mind. It was useless to talk any further; Christian was resolved. She had been resolved to run away, and she had done so; she was now equally resolved to return to the straight paths.

"I tell you what it is, Miss Christian," said Rose; "if you'd only speak to great-aunt, and ask her to let me live[Pg 86] with her until you come back again, I'd be as happy as the day is long. You'll ask her, miss, won't you?"

"Perhaps," said Christian; "but it is time we were off, and we are not going to pretend any more."

Rosy had made tea, and Christian drank a cup and ate a morsel of bread; and then they pulled the bedstead away from its place beside the door, pushed the chest of drawers aside, and prepared to leave the attic. But first Christian took half-a-crown from her pocket.

"Whatever's that for?" asked Rosy.

"It's for the chair that Judith and Mrs. Carter broke," said Christian.

She had scarcely said the words before Mrs. Carter, with a pretended smile on her face and her hair quite tidily arranged, opened the door of her attic and came out.

"Well, now, dearies," she said, "and how are you both? And how did you sleep?"

Christian looked at her in some wonder. Mrs. Carter did not even blush.

"Why, now," she said, "the way poor women are misunderstood! You fastened your door, timorous young things, supposing as the neighbors might be breaking into your room and getting your bits of gold. You had no cause to fear that with me a-sleeping on the same floor; you had but to shout to me and I'd have come to you, and there aint a neighbor in the house as would do anything to little gels when Martha Carter's blood is up. Well, you shut your door, but I couldn't sleep. I said to Willyum, 'Willyum,' I sez, 'I can't get any rest for thinking of those two poor little haristocrats next door. They don't trust us, Willyum,' sez I, 'and I'll open the winder and steal out on the leads and look in at 'em, just to see that they're cozy and fast asleep.'

"'Do,' sez Willyum; and I gets out, and, my word! I was took back. You turned into a young savage, miss,[Pg 87] and you threatened to murder me, and I as good-natured a woman as ever walked.

"Back I goes to Willyum. 'They're young sparrer-haws,' sez I, 'and we'll leave 'em to 'emselves. I'll have no more dealing with 'em. I never was took up with haristocrats, and these are the worst of their species.'

"Willyum agrees with me, and we drop asleep. Well, miss, I meant no harm; you mistook me—that was all."

Christian's clear eyes fixed themselves steadily on Mrs. Carter's bad face; then she said in a gentle tone:

"We are going away. We don't like this house, and we are going. You can do what you like with the crockery and the frying-pan and the coals, and you can have that half-crown in order to get the broken chair mended. And I paid for this room for a week, and you can use it until the week is up. Good-by; we are going. Don't keep us. If you or your husband follow us I shall scream for the police, and I shall tell the whole truth about everything. You'd best not follow us. Come, Rose."

She took her little companion's hand, and they ran downstairs.

As they ran the neighbors on each floor peeped out to watch them, and one or two made as though to follow them; but somehow they stopped short, for there was an expression on Christian's face which seemed to daunt them. She was walking very upright, and there was not a scrap of fear about her. Rosy, who stepped by her side, looked altogether small and insignificant by comparison.

"My word!" said Mrs. Carter, who came downstairs behind the children, turning as she spoke to address a slatternly woman who had come out of her room to see the sport, as she expressed it—"my word! that eldest[Pg 88] girl, she'll do what she said. She's a character, she be. Why, if you'll believe it, last night, when I stood by the winder as kind as kind can be, just to see if the pore little dears were sleeping sound, she threatened to murder me, she did—no less. They're a good riddance, they be, and I'm going to see the landlord about that bit of a room. Pore man, I don't think he'll ever see his rent."

"See his rent!" screamed Mrs. Peters, the woman who had been spoken to. "You know as well as I do that it was paid in full by that queer girl what came here yesterday. If there are any spoils in that there room, we'll share with you, Mrs. Carter."

The excitement which this remark caused was really good for the children, for it so distracted Mrs. Carter's attention, and so fierce was the quarreling which ensued, that they were absolutely forgotten. They walked on silently for some little time. Rosy's heart beat hard, but Christian felt herself more like Joan of Arc than ever.

"We must try and get home," she said. "We have plenty of money, and I shall ask the police the best way to Russell Square."

Rose clutched her hand.

"Don't, Christian, don't!" she cried. "You mustn't. I don't care; I am frightened. That story may be true or it mayn't. S'pose it is true; s'pose they're angry; and—Oh, dear! oh, dear! Look, Christian—look!"

She pulled Christian forward. They were just passing a police-station, and there, pasted to the walls of the front of the house in very large letters, was an exact description of themselves:

"Missing.—A tall girl of about thirteen, with long, fair hair; and a shorter girl with dark, curly hair."

A long description followed, giving, item for item, all particulars with regard to the children. The tall girl wore a dark-blue serge dress and jacket, and the small girl was[Pg 89] in red. A "substantial reward" was offered for the recovery of these two girls.

When Christian read this very startling description she felt the courage oozing out of her finger-tips.

"I suppose that awful woman is right. She must be right when the police are looking for us. This notice is outside a police-station. What is to be done?"

As Christian spoke she held Rosy's arm more firmly than ever. The two girls stood opposite the police-station, and once again Christian read the words of the advertisement. As she did so a stoutly built man of the laboring type came up.

He read the advertisement, and then he glanced at the two girls. Once again he read, and once again he looked. Christian was so absorbed in the description of herself that she did not notice the man; but Rose saw him.

"Is there anything I can do for you, lydies? If so I'll be pleased," he remarked suddenly.

Christian replied eagerly, "Do you know your way to Russell Square? It's a big square in Bloomsbury. Can you tell me how to get there?"

"Bloomsbury," said the man, scratching his forehead. "Never heard tell of it. Is it far from Lunnon, lydy?"

"No," replied Christian; "it's a place in London, and we want to get there as soon as possible."

"I daren't go home," whispered Rosy. "You know, Christian—you must know what it means."

Christian took her hand. "Come on," she said firmly; "we're all right. If we can get home without the police finding us, do you think that my dear nursey or Miss Thompson will lock us up? The thing is to get back to Russell Square and tell everything, and then we shall be all right."

"I'm willin' to go with you, lydies," said the man. "I know my way all right about this part of Lunnon,[Pg 90] which aint, so to speak, a respectable part; and when we get to the neighborhood of the houses where the gentry lives, it's but to ask my way and I'll be told. I'm willin' and anxious to oblige you two lydies. Oh, I know I be a son o' toil, but I may say I'm honest. You may trust me—that you may."

Just then two policemen came out of the station; they stood on the steps and talked to each other. Presently one of them fixed his eyes on Christian. Her appearance evidently interested him, and he spoke to the other in a low voice. This decided the young girl.

"We'll go with you," she said to the man; "only you must be very quick. We want to get to Russell Square early this morning."

"Right you are, lydy," said the man, and he stepped on in front.

The two girls followed him. They walked in this fashion for the greater part of a mile, and all the wonderful dreams that Christian had ever dreamt about the happy life which she and Rosy would spend together disappeared as though they had never existed. She saw herself at last as she was—a very naughty, discontented little runaway girl. She had done nothing great or noble; on the contrary, she had been fearfully disobedient, and had doubtless given intense trouble to those who loved her. She to dare to compare herself to Joan of Arc or Charlotte Corday! She writhed now as she saw herself in her true colors. There was only one thing she was thankful for, and that was for the fact that her father and mother were out of England.

"They at least do not know what I have done," she thought; "and by the time they do know, they will have got my letter, and I'll have told them—oh, yes, I'll have told them—how sorry I am."

Suddenly the man turned and faced the children.

[Pg 91]

"If you two lydies," he said, "aint hungry, I am. Aint you got any money about yer?"

"Oh, indeed we have," said Christian. "We can give you quite a nice meal if you wish for it."

"But we aint got too much," said Rosy. She nudged her companion and gave her a warning look.

"Here's a shop where they have prime vittles," said the man; and as he spoke he stopped before a common-looking eating-house and beckoned the children to follow him inside.

It didn't look nice, Christian thought; but then they were very hungry—in fact, they were half-starved. Never before in her whole life had Christian known what real, desperate hunger meant—for they had scarcely touched any food for the last twenty-four hours.

Within the shop was an appetizing smell of fried fish and baked potatoes, and there were long tables with marble tops, and plates and cups and saucers. Coffee, too, was smoking in a great urn. A woman with two tired little children came in and ordered cocoa, and the cocoa looked good and rich and steaming hot. Oh, yes, they did not mind how ugly the place was outside; within there was food, and they were so terribly hungry.

[Pg 92]

CHAPTER X

JUDITH FORD

Now, it so happened that while Christian and Rose were struggling to get back to their homes, Miss Neil, Miss Thompson, and poor nurse were nearly at their wits' ends.

When Miss Neil had missed Christian on the day before, she had rushed at once to the bookstall, for she knew that the young girl adored books, and she felt certain that she would find her there. But of course no Christian was to be found. The porters were asked, and even the stationmaster came out and a thorough and complete search was made; but by this time Christian herself was far away; as poor Miss Neil said, she had vanished like smoke off the face of the earth.

A truly terrible day followed. It was impossible to communicate with Mr. and Mrs. Mitford, and yet the child must be found without delay. By twelve o'clock the whole affair was put into the hands of the police. Rewards were offered, and advertisements were issued far and wide all over London. It was in consequence of this fact that poor Christian was so terrified by the advertisement at the police-station.

These advertisements were got ready very quickly, and it so happened that late on the evening of the very day when Christian had disappeared Judith Ford saw one of them. Judith read it with great interest, and as she did so a pleased sensation crept round her heart. She was the sort of girl to do nothing except with an eye to the main chance. It was entirely because she hoped to make[Pg 93] money that she had helped Christian and Rose. Now it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps, after all, it might be her best plan to try to obtain "the substantial reward" which was offered to anyone who would find the missing children. Although she had fully intended to possess herself of the greater part of Christian's little purse, yet this might mean a still more profitable transaction. She therefore made up her mind to go that very night to Russell Square and tell Miss Thompson and the nurse where the children were to be found.

But when Judith reached her mother's house she came into the midst of a family catastrophe. One of her brothers had been badly hurt in a fall from a ladder. He happened to be Judith's favorite brother, and even she forgot her avarice in the agony she experienced when she saw him lying insensible and evidently in danger.

But when by and by the boy was removed to the hospital, and quiet reigned once again in the family, Judith remembered the advertisement and what it might mean for her. It was too late that night to go to see Miss Thompson, but early the next morning—soon after eight o'clock—a stoutly built girl might have been seen mounting the steps of the great house in Russell Square.

"I am Judith Ford," she said to the butler, "and I want a lydy of the name of Thompson. You stir yourself now and bring her down to me. You think nought of me, no doubt, but I've got that which you'd give your eyes for. Hurry up and get the lydy down, for I'm the person she's a-wanting to see."

The butler looked indignant, but as Judith did not mind this in the least, and as her face expressed a good deal of resolution, and wore also a most knowing air, he decided to admit her.

Whatever he said to Miss Thompson brought that lady, and also nurse, down very quickly.

[Pg 94]

"I know where the two children are," said Judith. "I know it for the best of good reasons, because I was with 'em, poor dears! I warned 'em all I could not to do it, but they wouldn't listen to me. They're in quite a respectable place, and I meant to come straight and tell you last night, but my brother Joe nearly died from a fall from a ladder. I can take you to the children, and I will. What is the money you are going to give me? I want a good lot. No one else can find them, but I can."

"We'll give you five pounds," said Miss Thompson. "Be quick; there isn't an instant to lose. Judson, please call a four-wheeler."

But Judith planted her feet firmly on the rug.

"'Taint to be done," she said. "I won't go for no five pounds. I want ten—not a penny less. Why, I could get more than that from Miss Christian; aint she got it in a little bag under her skirt?"

"Oh, the darling!" cried nurse, nearly bursting into tears. "And didn't I make the bag, and tell her how to wear it, and——"

"Most like there aint much of the money left by now," said Judith. "It wasn't my fault as your Miss Christian ran away. I got 'em both into a respectable room, and I meant to help 'em. But you have offered a 'substantial reward,' and a substantial reward means ten pounds or it means nothing at all. Is it yes or no?"

"It's yes, of course," said Miss Thompson. "Nurse, not a word; the child must be found. Judson, call a cab; and you must come with us. You will sit on the box, Judson."

Judith smiled grimly. She was having things pretty much her own way. Really this adventure was turning out well.

Soon nurse and Miss Thompson were seated in a four-wheeler. Judith faced them, and Judson took his place on[Pg 95] the box with all the dignity he could muster. Judith now enjoyed herself vastly.

"Look slippy," she said to the cabby; "I'll tell yer where to go. Drive first to Paddington Station, and then take the first turning to the left, then the second to right then first to left again. You'll find yourself in a low part, but never you mind that. When you get to the fifth turn to the left you stop, and I'll get on the box and order you where to go. Oh, yes, there'll be room for me, as well as his lordship the butler. Now then, hurry up."

The cabman whipped up his horse, and the cab was jolted forward. Miss Thompson, in her agony of mind, clutched nurse's hand.

By and by they reached Paddington Station, and the cabman took the turns that Judith indicated. Judith herself now sat with her head and half of her body out of the window, shouting directions. At last the cab drew up.

"I can't go any farther," said the cabby, looking round at Judith.

"Frightened, be yer?" said that young woman. "Now, then, lydies, you keep quiet. We be going into rough places, but never mind; I'll be on the box."

She scrambled up and squeezed herself between Judson and the cabby. Judson had never felt so insulted in his life, but Judith did not mind that.

"Turn to your right," she cried to the cabman. "Now to the left; now down that street. A bit bobby, are yer? No call to be. You look slippy! You're a bit of a soft, aint yer, cabby?"

The cabman chaffed Judith, and Judith chaffed him back. Judson, with his arms folded, sat as though he were a statue.

[Pg 96]

By and by they stopped at a street which led into a court called Paradise Court. It was in this awful court that the poor children had spent the night. Judith now sprang from the box and opened the door.

"Out you get, lydies," she said. "The butler can walk behind."

She swept her hand towards Judson as she spoke.

"You and me," she continued, turning to Miss Thompson, "and t'old nurse can keep together in front. We'll keep nurse atween us, being the most ancient of the party. There aint nought to fear. This night will have done 'em both a sight of good. They want to be shown how wicked they was when they left their comferable homes."

By and by the little party reached the house where the children had lodged, and very slowly they went upstairs. They reached the top landing, and here Judith with a vigorous kick pushed Christian's room door open. The sight within was not calculated to reassure either nurse or Miss Thompson. For Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Peters from below-stairs had evidently come to an amicable arrangement, and were now finishing the provisions left in the attic by the two children. Furthermore, the half-crown which Christian had laid on the table had been expended on beer and sausages. The sausages were frying on the fire, and the kettle was boiling.

Nothing could exceed the horror of this scene to poor Miss Thompson. As to nurse, she was now so fearfully anxious about Christian that she had no time to be alarmed or shocked on any other count.

"Where is my child—my darling?" she cried. "Where have you hidden her? Oh, you bad women, what have you done with my pet? Tell me at once."

"Highty-tighty!" cried Mrs. Carter, jumping to her[Pg 97] feet and putting her arms akimbo; "and who may you be?"

"You know who I am, at any rate," said Judith. "And, let me tell you, this is my room, for I paid for it with money of the realm. So out of it you go. Where have you put those young lydies? These two lydies have come along for 'em, and they're going to pay me well—and better than well—so you must bring 'em out from where you have hidden 'em. Where are they?"

"Sakes!" cried Mrs. Carter, who had not recognized Judith at first, and now thought it best to humor her, "there's no need to get into a fluster. The young uns have gone. Notwithstanding the rare kindness with which they was treated, they walked out nearly an hour and a half ago; and where they are now dear only knows, for I don't."

Judith asked a few more pertinent questions; then she turned to Miss Thompson. Her face looked decidedly frightened.

"We've got to follow 'em," she said. "Of course, we'll soon overtake 'em. Let's go back to the cab, and be quick."

They went downstairs. Miss Thompson described her feelings afterwards as those of a person who was stunned.

"I could not have felt worse if I had heard that Christian was dead," she said; "and the awful thing was that her father and mother were away. If they had been at home I might have borne it."

Now, while these good people were searching high and low for the missing children, the children themselves were having a very bad time. How it happened they did not know, but when they had finished their meal—their warm and delicious meal of fried fish and fried potatoes and hot, strong, sweet cocoa—they [Pg 98]became wonderfully sleepy—so sleepy that they could not keep their eyes open. And the man who had looked after them and ordered them food, and had really seemed quite attentive and kind, and, as Rosy expressed it, most respectable, suggested that they should stay just where they were and have "their little snooze out."

"You are fair done," he said. "I don't know what kind of a night you had, but hungrier children I never saw; and now, I may add, I never saw sleepier. You have your sleep out, and I'll come back in an hour or so. I'll go and have a smoke. It's early yet in the day, and we'll get to Bloomsbury and that big square you spoke of in less than no time; so have your sleep out now."

Christian said afterwards that of course she ought not to have yielded, but she really scarcely knew what she was doing; her head would fall forward and her eyes would close. Presently she found herself leaning against Rosy, and Rosy found herself leaning against Christian, and unconsciousness stole over them.

They never knew how long they slept, but when they did come to themselves, and Christian, rubbing her eyes, looked around her, and Rosy, sitting up, exclaimed "Oh, dear!" several times, they neither of them recognized their surroundings. For they were far away from the eating-house; they were in the open air, sitting side by side, two most desolate little objects, in the midst of a great builder's yard. They were leaning up against a huge building, and there were stacks and stacks of wood close to them, and the pleasant smell of newly sawn wood not far off. And there was the whir of a saw also in their ears. But how had they got there? And where was there? In what part of the whole wide world were they now?

[Pg 99]

"Oh, Rosy, what is it?" said Christian.

"I don't know," said Rosy.

"I wonder if we are dead and this is——"

"Oh, this aint heaven!" said Rosy. "I never felt more frightened in all my life. Where can we be?"

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! Can't you remember anything at all?" said Christian. "I had a dream," she continued, rubbing her eyes as she spoke. "I thought I was eating—oh, such good things!—and that, however much I ate, I was still hungry. And then I dreamt that I was sleepy, and I slept, and I wanted—oh, so badly!—to be back in my own little bed at home; but all the things I wanted I couldn't get. Oh, dear!" she added, with a bitter sigh, "I do remember now. We have run away from home. We were at an eating-house. There was a man, and he seemed quite respectable, and we fell asleep when we had eaten some good things—fried fish and potatoes. But how have we got here?"

Rosy's dark eyes opened wide. She suddenly fell on her knees by Christian's side and began to feel her.

"What are you doing now?" said Christian.

"Your pocket, Christian—the little pocket under your dress with the gold."

"Oh, that's all right," said Christian. "No one knows of that."

She started up, although she felt very faint and giddy. She began to feel under her dress. The next minute she uttered a cry.

"Oh, Rosy, it's gone! It's gone altogether. See! the string is cut," she added, lifting her skirt. "And I had two shillings in my upper pocket, and that is gone too. All our money, Rosy—it's all gone."

"Then I understand," said Rosy briskly. "It's bad, but it might be worse. We'll go straight home. We have been robbed. I don't know how they did it, but[Pg 100] they have done it. We'll go straight home, and at once."

She had scarcely uttered the words before a good-natured-looking man of the working-class, but with a very different expression from that of the so-called respectable man, came towards them. He was holding a bulldog in leash; and the bulldog, suddenly catching sight of the children, strained to get near them and began to bark loudly.

"Hold that noise, Tiger," said the man; and then he came to the children and looked at them.

Notwithstanding their torn and draggled and tired appearance, neither Christian nor Rose looked like ordinary tramps. The man continued to gaze at them attentively.

"However did you get here?" he said.

"Please, sir," said Rose, "will you be kind to us? We are two most unhappy girls. We ran away from home yesterday, both of us—me from a very humble home, and Miss Christian Mitford from her grand one. We don't pretend that we are not the very worst young girls in the world, but we're that sorry, and we want to get back home again. We're so sorry that we can't even speak of it."

"And we've been robbed," said Christian. "I had over seven pounds when I left home, and it is gone. A man took it, I think, in an eating-house."

"Why, bless me!" said the man, "you must be the very children who are being advertised for all over London. Come, I'll see about this; I'll soon put the matter straight for you."

The man tried to take Christian's hand, but she moved away from him.

"I—I am frightened," she said. "Is it true—is it—that the police can lock us up?"

[Pg 101]

"Dear me!" said the man, with a laugh. "Whoever heard of such a thing? No; of course it isn't true. You trust me and I'll see you safe back to wherever you came from. Come along into the house. There's my mother; she and I always live in the yard, for it's wonderful how folks do manage to creep into a builder's yard and steal things. Come along, little ladies. She'll give you both a cup of tea. Oh, dear, this is a find!"

As the man spoke Christian lost all fear of him, and even Rose looked happy and comforted. So they followed him into a very little house, where an old woman was bustling about.

"Well, Albert," she said, at the sight of the tall man, "and what is the news now?"

"Rare good news for us, mother," was his answer. "Didn't I tell you that we'd just get that money in the nick of time? And here it is, mother. Here are the little hostages who will get us over our difficulty."

As he spoke he drew Christian and Rose forward.

"The missing children," he said. "And when you have given them a cup of hot tea each, and a bit of your celebrated hot toast, I'll take them home. Make the tea strong, mother, for it's my belief the poor creatures have been drugged."

[Pg 102]

CHAPTER XI

LITTLE PROVIDENCES

Never—never to their dying day—did Christian and Rose enjoy anything so much as their comfortable seat by the carpenter's fire, and the hot, strong tea which the carpenter's mother gave them. She informed them that her name was Morris, that her son was called John Morris, and that they were both thoroughly respectable.

"You have had such a queer adventure that maybe you won't know just for a bit who is respectable and who is not; but me and John is. Aren't we, John?"

"Strikes me you are about right, mother," said John Morris; and then he sat down and stared at the two children.

"It is too wonderful," he kept saying; and when he said this he began to ruffle up his thick hair and to rub his forehead.

"What is wonderful?" said Christian at last. "Do you greatly mind, Mrs. Morris? but if your son wouldn't stare so very hard, Rosy and I would like it better."

"Oh, 'taint at you he's looking," said Mrs. Morris. "Don't you fash yourself, my dear."

"But he is looking first at Rose and then at me," said Christian. "Aren't you, Morris?" she added, turning to the tall young man.

"Well, I be and I been't," was his reply. "I'm looking through you, miss, and that's the fact."

"Oh, dear!" said Christian; "I think that makes matters a little worse."

[Pg 103]

"Would you like to hear a bit of a story, my deary?" said Mrs. Morris, drawing her straw arm-chair close to the fire as she spoke. "You don't mind the children hearing it, do you, John, my son?"

"No, mother," was his answer. "You tell 'em just as much as you think fit."

"Well, loveys," said Mrs. Morris, "it was just like this. John and me, we owed a bit of money—exactly seven pounds ten—and we didn't know how on the wide earth to get it, and the man to whom we owed it was about to sell us up. He was going to put the brokers into this little bit of a house, my darlings."

"Who are they?" asked Christian.

"Men, lovey—cruel men. They come and take possession of your house, and you can't call even the bed you sleep on your own, to say nothing of your little frying-pan and china-lined saucepan. And when a day or two has gone by they sell everything and take away the money, and you are left without stick or stone belonging to you."

"That must be very awful. I never heard of anything quite so awful," said Christian; "and only for seven pounds ten."

"I've heard of it," said Rosy. "There's one thing about poor folks: they do hear of that sort of thing. It's very bad, Mrs. Morris," she continued.

"I think it is about the most cruel thing I ever heard of," said Christian. "Oh! if only my seven pounds weren't stolen you should have them all."

"Aint they dear children, both of 'em?" said Mrs. Morris, looking at her son, and the tears filled her eyes. "But, my darlings, maybe you'll be the means of giving us the money after all; for a reward is offered by your friends, loves, and if anybody earns that reward now it is my son John."

[Pg 104]

"If the little ladies are ready, perhaps we'd best be going," said John Morris.

"Oh, yes, we're quite ready," said Christian. "Hadn't we better have a cab? I feel rather tired," she added.

"We can't have it," said the man; "there aint any money to pay for it."

"But it can be paid for when we get home," said Christian.

"We won't risk it," said the man. "They may have left the house; there's no saying what might have happened. We've got to walk, misses."

"I'm so tired," said Christian again; but Rosy nudged her and said:

"Keep up your heart. You can rest as long as ever you like when you get home."

So they bade good-by to Mrs. Morris, and thanked her for her tea; and she kissed them and called them "little providences" and "little hostages to fortune," and smiled at them as they went out of the door, and looked so happy that it almost broke Christian's heart to see her.

"To be happy—oh, so happy!—in such a tiny, tiny house, and then to want just seven pounds ten, and because of the lack of so little, to have the terrible fear of her furniture being sold! Indeed it shall not be!" thought Christian; "I'll see to that."

But as she walked through the dirty, sloppy streets by John Morris's side she could not help wondering if she had any right to ask anything at all. For the thought of what she had done and the misery she had caused kept cropping up ever and ever before her mind, and with each thought her sin seemed to grow blacker, and her ingratitude to her parents greater.

"And they're not even at home," thought the young[Pg 105] girl. "Oh, who will give the poor carpenter seven pounds ten?"

From the part of London where the children had been found to Russell Square was a long way, and soon Christian was so weary that she could scarcely drag herself along.

"There's no help for it," said the carpenter; "I'm a strong man and can carry you for a bit, missy. Come," he added; "put your arms round my neck. Now then."

Christian felt heartily ashamed of herself. A great girl to be carried through the streets of London! But oh, how weary she was! Her feet felt quite blistered, and the carpenter's arms were very strong, and he had such a kind face.

"Are you sure—quite sure—carpenter," she said after a pause, "that you will get that money? Are you certain that you will be rewarded—that the people who advertised will give you as much for finding us?"

"I guess that's about the sum," said Morris, and then he laughed.

What with one adventure and another, it was dark—quite dark—past six o'clock—before the runaways reached the old family house in Russell Square. Nurse and Miss Thompson had both returned. Judith, discomfited and miserable, had gone back to her mother's house. A tall policeman was standing in the hall, and Miss Neil, who had also come to the fore, was talking to him very earnestly. He was suggesting this thing and another, and as he suggested, and Miss Thompson's pale face looked up at him, and Miss Neil's rather indignant one was fixed on his face, and nurse wept in the background, there came a loud pealing ring at the front-door.

"To save my life I couldn't go to answer it," thought nurse to herself. "Something tells me as there is news,[Pg 106] good or bad, and for the life of me I can't stir a step to meet it."

But Judson, his pride a good deal ruffled, was not far away, and he stalked to the front-door and flung it open.

Then there was a scream—which, on the part of Miss Neil, almost reached a shriek—for in the arms of a tall man was a big, fair-haired girl, and by his side stood a little, dark-haired girl, and the next instant all three were in the hall. Christian, when she saw the policeman, very nearly cried again; but the welcome the wanderers received must soon have reassured them. Miss Neil was the only one who even tried to look severe.

"Well, you have very nearly killed me," she said. "But there, there! thank God in heaven you are back. Miss Thompson, see the poor children. How frightfully tired they look! I have no doubt they have been in horrid, dirty, smelly places, and have brought back the most horrible complaints."

But Christian and Rose hardly heard the words, for the home feeling was so comfortable, and nurse's kisses, given indiscriminately first to her nursling and then to her great-niece, were too delicious for words.

It was Christian who first recovered herself. She heard someone talking in the hall, and looking up, she saw Morris, looking very upright and very respectable, on the mat. Now, no one had noticed Morris; and perhaps, being not at all an aggressive sort of man, he might have gone away from the house without any reward but for Christian. The look on his face brought her quickly to herself.

"Miss Thompson," she said, "Miss Neil," she stood between the two in the hall, "I don't pretend that I haven't been a very naughty girl. I am sorry, although[Pg 107] that doesn't mend matters; but neither Rosy nor I would perhaps have ever got back home at all if it had not been for this man. His name is Morris—John Morris—and he lives in a timber-yard, a very nice place indeed. And he and his mother have a little house there, and they're in great trouble because of seven pounds ten. Please, I want him to have seven pounds ten at once for finding us."

"You did mention, ma'am," said Morris, touching his forehead with great punctiliousness, "or at least the parties who put up the advertisement mentioned, that the reward for them as found the little ladies would be substantial."

"It was I who put those words," said Miss Neil. "I regretted having to do so, but there was no way out."

"My mother and me, we do want money," said Morris, "or I wouldn't make so bold as to ask for it, for it's real happiness to have brought the little ladies home."

"Very naughty children they are," said Miss Neil; "but of course we must keep our word. How much, Miss Thompson, ought we to give this man?"

"Seven pounds ten at the very least," cried Christian.

"Hush, Christian! you certainly have no voice in the matter."

"We promised that bold girl, Judith Ford, ten pounds," said Miss Thompson.

"That is quite true; and this man——"

"Oh, he was so kind!" said Christian. "He carried me when I nearly fainted from tiredness; and he and his mother gave us such delicious tea. Didn't they, Rosy?"

"That they did," said Rosy. "I haven't never took such a fancy to anything as I did to that hot buttered toast," she added.

Morris smiled and his dark eyes twinkled.

[Pg 108]

"You must come another day, missy, and see my mother," was his answer.

"But now let us consider the reward," said Miss Thompson.

"It certainly can't be less than ten pounds; and I should say," remarked Miss Neil suddenly, "that seeing everything, and also having an eye to the fact that we were about to offer a very much larger sum, we ought to give this good man fifteen pounds."

"Miss Neil!" almost screamed Christian. "Oh, I'll never think you hard or old-maidish again!"

She ran forward and caught Miss Neil by the arm.

"At present, my dear," said that good lady, eyeing her with marked disapproval, "we will have done with heroics. We will attend to business. Perhaps, sir, you will step into the study. Judson, show this man into the study; we will go there and give him the money."

So Morris, hardly knowing whether he was standing on his head or his heels, went home that night with fifteen pounds in his pocket.

"Mother," he said as, an hour later, he entered the very humble little home, "it wasn't only that they were providences, those two dear little ladies, but they have set us up for life. I can now get that machine I have always been hankering after, and so add a lot to my weekly earnings."

"And what a good thing you did find the poor little dears!" said Mrs. Morris. "I am just going out now to get some sausages, for you haven't had what may be called a meal for some little time, John."

So John and Mrs. Morris were helped, and as far as they were concerned, Christian's mad adventure seemed to have borne good fruit.

To Christian herself, after Morris went, no one said a harsh word; but Miss Neil sat down and began to[Pg 109] write a long letter, which was to reach the girl's parents in Bombay. Occasionally as she wrote she put up her handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away some fast-falling tears; for she was not all hard, as Christian had supposed, and she had really suffered horribly for the last two days.

Rose, having been regaled with an excellent meal, was taken home by nurse herself. Mrs. Latimer received her little girl with scant favor.

"A fine mess you have got into!" she said.

"Don't scold her, poor child!" said nurse. "I am going, if I possibly can, to have her to live with me in the coming winter. She did what she did because she's so took up with Miss Christian; and, bad as the whole affair was, it was a blessed thing for Miss Christian that she had Rosy with her."

"Then if you are going to look after Rose, aunt," said Mrs. Latimer, "she needn't go on learning the dressmaking."

"No, that she needn't, for I'm going to train her to be a proper lady's-maid. Miss Christian will want someone whom she can really trust when she is grown up. You must remember, Mary, that our Miss Christian is the daughter of very rich people, and very important people too, and will be quite a great lady in her own way by and by."

So Rose's home-coming was not nearly so bad as she had feared, for her mother was not going to be too cross with a little girl whom her aunt was, to all practical purposes, going to adopt.

"Sit down, child," she said; "or, if you have had enough to eat, do for goodness' sake take yourself off to bed. You look half-dazed."

"That's about true, mother," said Rosy.

In Christian's room a bright fire was blazing, and[Pg 110] nurse herself, the moment she came back, began to attend to her nursling.

"To think of where we slept last night," mused Christian.

But if her thoughts were back in that short and dreadful experience, she could not bring herself to speak of it for to-night at least, and nurse did not speak of it either. She went on just as though nothing had happened. But when the young girl was warm and snug in bed, and the dreadful past seemed wonderfully like a dream, nurse sank down by the bedside, stretched out her arms over the coverlet, laid her head down on them, and burst into tears.

"Miss Christian," she whispered, "for all the rest of my life I will believe in God Almighty and in the power of prayer. For I did pray so terribly hard; and now, see, God has answered me."

"Yes," said Christian; but she did not say any more.

That night she slept soundly. She did not guess that nurse had dragged a little sofa-bed into the room and was lying down near her; she was too weary to know anything.

In the morning she awoke, and the dream-feeling of the past grew greater and greater. She got up slowly and went into the schoolroom. How strange the house seemed! Just the old house, with all the old furniture, and the same servants, and nurse there and all; and yet her father and mother away, and she herself having no right to be there.

At about eleven o'clock Miss Neil bustled into the room.

"Christian," she said, "you have been, from what I hear, in a very unhealthy and dangerous place, and you may have contracted some illness while there. That being the case, Miss Peacock does not wish you to go[Pg 111] to school for at least ten days. During that time you will stay with nurse and Miss Thompson, and the doctor, whom I have sent for, will call to see you once or twice. When you are pronounced absolutely free of all danger of infection I will take you to Penwerne. But for the next ten days you will consider yourself free. You will have holidays, and Miss Thompson will take you where she likes. Now, my dear, I am off, and I can only say I am glad your mad escapade has not ended in anything worse."

Christian tried to speak, but Miss Neil did not give her any time; she whisked out of the room and went downstairs.

"I have told her, Miss Thompson," she said to the governess, who was waiting for her in the hall. "I don't suppose she has caught anything, but it will serve her right if she has. Anyhow, it is only fair to the school that it should not be endangered by such a naughty girl."

"And we may do what we like for the next ten days?" said Miss Thompson.

"Anything; only don't bother me."

"We won't indeed."

"I will send in a doctor to see her. She looks perfectly well, only a little pale. Yes, amuse her; do what you please. It is not my place to punish her. Thank Heaven she is not my child!"

[Pg 112]

CHAPTER XII

GOING TO SCHOOL

Notwithstanding all that went before, Christian enjoyed her ten days. She knew she ought not to feel happy, but nevertheless happiness would nestle up close to her. She was not troubled; she was calm. She felt that, naughty as she had been, God had forgiven her. During those ten days Christian was very gentle in her manners. She had a sensation in her heart that she could never be naughty again. She was so impressed by this feeling that, the night before she left for Cornwall, she said to nurse:

"Nursey, darling, I suppose all things are for the best. I feel that I am a much wiser girl than I should have been if I had gone to Cornwall that time when father and mother left."

"What do you mean, lovey?" replied the old nurse.

"Well, you see, I have been quite bad, and I have had great terrors, and I have lived through the sort of things that open your eyes, and I see now that I was a selfish girl, and naughty and deceitful, and not a bit of a heroine; but since I came back I have vowed that I will never be naughty again, and I don't mean to be."

"To be sure, dear," said nurse gently. "It's all very fine to promise that to yourself, isn't it, but how do you think you will keep it up?"

"Simply by not yielding to temptation. You know I have a passionate nature, and I have lived a great deal alone, and I dare say I might have found it hard to[Pg 113] be thrown with other girls and to give up my own ways. But I am not at all afraid now, for after what I have suffered I have vowed to be good—very good—all the rest of my life."

"Well then, you have just to bear this in mind," said nurse: "God Almighty must help you, and desperate hard too, or you will fail. I prayed for you, my darling, when I didn't know that I'd ever see your sweet face again, and I'll go on praying for you; and I hope you will be happy at school, and that you will learn a lot, so that when your father and mother come back they will be proud of you—as I always am, my dear, sweet lamb."

Miss Neil came early on the following morning and took Christian to Paddington; and this time there was no attempt at running away, and no adventure of any sort, for Miss Neil and Christian had a first-class carriage to themselves for the greater part of the journey.

They reached Tregellick at six o'clock, when it was quite dark, and there a brougham was waiting for them; and after driving for about a mile they found themselves outside the town, in the heart of the country. They drove on a little farther, and Christian, gazing out through the darkness, fancied she saw the gleam of white foam caused by the waves of the Atlantic, and the noise of the sea came loudly, with an insistent splash, against her ears. This noise moved and delighted her. She grasped Miss Neil's hand.

"I shall like living here," she said.

Miss Neil replied calmly, "I hope you will, Christian. You quite understand, my dear, that the school is a strict one, and the first thing you have to learn is absolute obedience. From what I hear, there is very little liberty granted to the girls of Penwerne; but for those who are right-minded there is to be found in your new school a growth and strength both moral and physical."

[Pg 114]

"Oh, dear, I do wish she wouldn't speak in that lecturing sort of way!" thought Christian to herself; but then she remembered her vow that she would never be cross, even with Miss Neil, again, and she shut her lips and said nothing more.

By and by the carriage drew up outside some tall iron gates, which were opened by a neat-looking woman in a white cap. Christian caught sight of the lodge, with a bright lamp placed in one of the windows, as they drove swiftly up the long avenue. They stopped before a very long, low house, with many lights twinkling in many windows, and a deep porch to the front door. As soon as ever the sound of wheels was heard, a neat-looking servant flung the door wide open; then she came out and helped Miss Neil and Christian to get out of the cab.

"Will you have the goodness to tell Miss Peacock that Miss Neil and the little girl, Christian Mitford, have arrived?" said Miss Neil to the servant. "And see, please, that Miss Mitford's luggage and my handbag are brought indoors."

"Yes, madam," said the servant. "Will you walk this way, please?"

She took them into a very wide hall, brightly lighted with electric light, and with an ingle-nook at the farther end where a great fire of logs burned on the hearth.

Christian was cold, and a sense of depression, notwithstanding all her brave efforts, was creeping over her. She looked at Miss Neil, and thought she had seldom seen a more disagreeable or sterner face.

"I am so thankful," thought the child, "that she is not going to teach me—that she is not going to stay here. I couldn't be good with her; that's quite certain. But, all the same, I will keep my vow."

They were shown into a small, cheerful room, which[Pg 115] also had a fire burning. The servant withdrew, saying in a respectful voice as she did so, "I will tell my mistress, and she will send someone to you."

"Dear me, Christian!" said Miss Neil when the door had closed and they found themselves alone; "what a particularly pleasant, cheerful sort of place this seems to be! Not at all my idea of a strict school. My dear, do hold yourself up; you don't know how that stoop ruins your appearance. Your parents are very particular about you, and they expect so much of you that the very least you can do now is to make extra efforts to be good in the highest sense of the word. Goodness includes deportment, Christian; perhaps you don't understand that."

"Oh, yes, I do, Miss Neil," said Christian, who was almost biting her lips to keep her tongue from saying something pert.

"You of course also understand," continued Miss Neil, "that you are not now arriving at school with any éclat. You have been exceedingly naughty, and I rather fancy your punishment awaits you here. I am not certain, of course, but I rather fancy that such is the case."

"What do you mean?" said Christian, in alarm.

"My dear, I say nothing further. Time will prove; time will prove. But it really is most kind of Miss Peacock to have you at all. There were moments when I feared you would not be received at Penwerne. That fact would have been a slur upon you all your life. Ah! and here comes——"

The door was thrown open, and a tall, very graceful woman of about forty years of age entered. Her face was very sweet, but there was no lack of power in it; on the contrary, it looked strong, steadfast, self-assured. The eyes were the brightest Christian had ever looked at. She felt certain, on the spur of the moment,[Pg 116] that this woman had known sorrow—that she had conquered sorrow. Her heart went out to her on the spot.

Miss Peacock bowed to Miss Neil, and then, taking both Christian's hands, she drew the young girl towards her and kissed her gravely on the forehead.

"Welcome," she said.

The one word seemed full both of strength and love. The depression which had fallen upon Christian vanished on the spot.

"I will be good," she said, and she raised her eyes full of tears and fixed them on her mistress's face.

"I hope you will. But this is not the time to talk of goodness or of naughtiness; you are so tired that what you want is rest. Never mind to-night about being good or bad, clever or ignorant. You must have your supper and then go to bed. Miss Neil, I am glad to tell you that I am able to give Christian, for a time at least, a little bedroom to herself. Susan Sykes as a rule shares the room, but she is ill and not able to return. Until she does Christian will have the room to herself."

"Oh, I am glad!" said Christian.

"And you ought to be, Christian," said Miss Neil in her tartest voice, "for you don't deserve indulgences."

"Oh, come!" said Miss Peacock. "We never talk of faults—at least in this house—except when we are punishing them; and I think Christian was punished. She begins here with a clean sheet. Now, my dear, I am going to put you in the charge of Jessie, who is my right-hand and looks after all the comforts the girls require."

As Miss Peacock spoke she touched the electric bell by the side of the fireplace, and the same pleasant-looking servant-girl who had shown them into the house appeared.

[Pg 117]

"Ask Miss Jessie to step into the hall waiting room," said Miss Peacock.

The servant withdrew, and in a very short time a girlish-looking person, who might have been one of the schoolgirls herself, entered. That was Christian's first impression with regard to Miss Jessie Jones, but when she looked again she began to perceive that Miss Jessie was not quite so young as she appeared. She was dressed in a peculiar and old-fashioned way. Her rather skimpily cut skirt reached barely to her neat ankles, and over it she wore a muslin apron with a bib. The apron was frilled all round, and daintily finished with bows of pale-blue ribbon. Miss Jessie's hair was in short ringlets—it was of a soft, blonde color—her face was pink-and-white, and her eyes blue. Her little figure was also exceedingly neat. She ran into the room, and said in a gay voice:

"Well, dear Miss Peacock, here I am."

"I want you, Jessie, to take this young girl—my new pupil, Christian Mitford—and look after her. You must do everything for her that she requires; and I should like her to go early to bed. Did you ask Robinson to light a fire in her room?"

"Certainly, dear Miss Peacock; the room is in perfect order, and there is a bright fire."

"Well then, good-night, Christian," said Miss Peacock. "I leave you in safe hands. You will see your friend Miss Neil to-morrow."

"Good-night, Christian," said Miss Neil; "and be thankful for your mercies."

Christian left the room, accompanied by Miss Jessie. "I am glad you have come at last," said the latter. "We have been all looking forward to seeing you. You can scarcely imagine how disappointed we were when you could not arrive a fortnight ago."

[Pg 118]

"Oh, please don't speak of it!" said Christian.

"But why not? We were so sorry. Dear Miss Peacock said you were unavoidably detained. She did not tell us what had happened. She only said you could not come to school for at least ten days."

"It was sweet of her," said Christian. Then she added impulsively, "Isn't she the very nicest and best woman in the world?"

"Ah!" said Miss Jessie, with a laugh, "you have fallen in love with her, as we all do. There never was anybody quite like Lavinia Peacock. Don't you think her name sweet? Lavinia, like an old-fashioned flower; and then Peacock—like that gorgeous bird. But nothing could be too good for her; she is perfect. The girls adore her—they love her almost too well. Yes, she makes sunshine wherever she goes. Not that it's all sunshine at Penwerne by any means. But I will tell you about that presently—not to-night; you look tired. Are you tired? Have you quite got over whatever detained you?"

"Quite; and please don't speak of it."

"I won't if you don't wish. The mistresses here never do anything to worry the girls; we never nag, if you understand what that means."

"And are you a mistress?"

A sad look came into the sweet face of little Miss Jessie.

"No; I am not exactly one of the mistresses," she said. "I don't exactly know what I am, except that my province in the school is to spread happiness. That is what dear Lavinia wishes. 'Make them happy, Jessie, and you'll do all that I require,' she says. I generally get a new girl for the first night—perhaps longer. She trusts me. You see, I am not at all a frightening sort of person."

[Pg 119]

"I shouldn't think you were," said Christian.

"You look a very nice girl, dear—nice-looking, I mean—rather distinguished. Lavinia wouldn't like me to say anything of that kind, so I oughtn't to; but you really do. Now then, will you come in to the refectory, or will you have something brought up to your own room?"

"Oh, something in my room, please, if it isn't too much trouble," said Christian.

"Trouble, dear? Whenever did Jessie find anything a trouble? It is her business to do this sort of thing if it adds to the happiness of anyone. We will go straight upstairs, then; you won't want to see any of your companions to-night?"

"I think not."

Miss Jessie paused. It seemed to Christian as they were walking up the low, softly carpeted stairs, and down first one long corridor and then another, that there was a murmuring sound as though of bees. She could not make out if it was caused by the Atlantic or by voices.

"They are anxious to see you. They begged and implored of me; but you shall have your way."

"I would much rather not see anybody but you until to-morrow."

"You dear child, you shan't be crossed. But just one moment."

Miss Jessie paused outside a door. The sound of bees was now unmistakably changed for the sound of voices.