'What, is it _you_, Miss Baxendale?' he exclaimed, his tone expressive of some surprise.

'It is, indeed, Mr. c.o.x,' replied Mary. 'We all have to bend to these hard times. It's share and share alike in them. Will you please to look at these jewels?'

She tenderly drew aside the cotton which was over the trinkets--tenderly and reverently, almost as if a miniature live baby were lying there.

Very precious were they to Mary. They were dear to her from a.s.sociation; and she also believed them to be of great value.

The p.a.w.nbroker glanced at them slightly, carelessly lifting one of the earrings in his hand, to feel its weight. The brooch he honoured with a closer inspection.

'What do you want upon them?' he asked.

'Nay,' said Mary, 'it is not for me to name a sum. What will you lend?'

'You are not accustomed to our business, or you would know that we like borrowers to mention their own ideas as to sum; and we give it if we can,' he rejoined with ready words. 'What do you ask?'

'If you would let me have four pounds upon them, began Mary, hesitatingly. But he snapped up the words.

'Four pounds! Why, Miss Baxendale, you can't know what you are saying.

The fashion of these coral things is over and done with. They are worth next to nothing.'

Mary's heart beat quicker in its sickness of disappointment.

'They are genuine, sir, if you'll please to look. The gold is real gold, and the coral is the best coral; my poor mother has told me so many a time. Her G.o.dmother was a lady, well-to-do in the world, and the things were a present from her.'

'If they were not genuine, I'd not lend as many pence upon them,' said the man. 'With a little alteration the brooch might be made tolerably modern; otherwise their value would be no more than old gold. In selling them, I----'

'It will not come to that, Mr. c.o.x,' interrupted Mary. 'Please G.o.d spares me a little while--and, since the hot weather went out, I feel a bit stronger--I shall soon redeem them.'

Mr. c.o.x looked at her thin face; he listened to her short breath; and he drew his own conclusions. There was a line of pity in his hard face, for he had long respected Mary Baxendale.

'By the way the strike seems to be lasting on, there doesn't seem much promise of a speedy end to it,' quoth he, in answer. 'I never was so over-done with pledges.'

'My work does not depend upon that,' said Mary. 'Let me get up a little strength, and I shall have as much work as I can do. And I am well paid, Mr. c.o.x: I have a private connection. I am not like the poor seamstresses who make skirts for fourpence a-piece.'

Mr. c.o.x made no immediate reply to this, and there was a pause. The open box lay before him. He took up the necklace and examined its clasp.

'I will lend you a sovereign upon them.'

She lifted her face pitiably, and the tears glistened in her eyes.

'It would be of no use to me,' she whispered. 'I want the money for a particular purpose, otherwise I should never have brought here these gifts of my mother's. She gave them to me the day I was eighteen, and I have tenderly kept them from desecration.'

Poor Mary! From desecration!

'I have heard her say what they cost; but I forget now. I know it was over ten pounds.'

'But the day for this fashion has gone by. To ask four pounds upon them was preposterous; and you would know it to be so, were you acquainted with the trade.'

'Will you lend me two pounds, then?'

The tone was tremblingly eager, the face beseeching--a wan face, telling of the coming grave. Possibly the thought struck the p.a.w.nbroker, and awoke some humanity within him.

'I shall lose by it, I know, if it comes to a sale. I'd not do it for anybody else, Miss Baxendale.'

He proceeded to write out the ticket, his thoughts running upon whether--if it did come to a sale--he could not make three pounds by the brooch alone. As he was handing her the money, somebody rushed in, close to the spot occupied by Mary, and dashed down a large-sized paper parcel on the counter. She wore a black lace bonnet, which had once been white, frayed, and altogether the worse for wear, independent of its dirt. It was tilted on the back of her head, displaying a ma.s.s of hair in front, half grey, half black, and exceedingly in disorder; together with a red face. It was Mrs. Dunn.

'Well, to be sure! if it's not Mary Baxendale! I thought you was too much of the lady to put your nose inside a pop-shop. Don't it go again the grain?' she ironically added, for she did not appear to be in the sweetest of tempers.

'It does indeed, Mrs. Dunn,' was the girl's meek answer, as she took her money and departed.

'Now then, old c.o.x, just attend to me,' began Mrs. Dunn. 'I have brought something as you don't get offered every day.'

Mr. c.o.x, accustomed to the scant ceremony bestowed upon him by some of the ladies of Daffodil's Delight, took the speech with indifference, and gave his attention to the parcel, from which Mrs. Dunn was rapidly taking off the twine.

'What's this--silk?' cried he, as a roll of dress-silk, brown, cross-barred with gold, came forth to view.

'Yes, it is silk; and there's fourteen yards of it; and I want thirty shillings upon it,' volubly replied Mrs. Dunn.

He took the silk between his fingers, feeling its substance, in his professionally indifferent and disparaging manner.

'Where did you get it from?' he asked.

'Where did I get it from?' retorted Mrs. Dunn. 'What's that to you!'

D'ye think I stole it?'

'How do I know?' returned he.

'You insolent fellow! Is it only to-day as you have knowed me, Tom c.o.x?

My name's Hannah Dunn; and I don't want you to testify to my honesty; I can hold up my head in Daffodil's Delight just as well as you can--perhaps a little better. Concern yourself with your own business. I want thirty shillings upon that.'

'It isn't worth thirty shillings in the shop, new,' was the rejoinder.

'What?' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 'It cost three-and-fourpence halfpenny a yard, every yard of it, and there's fourteen of 'em, I tell you.'

'I don't care if it cost six-and-fourpence halfpenny, it's not worth more than I say. I'll lend you ten shillings upon it, and I should lose then.'

'Where do you expect to go to when you die?' demanded Mrs. Dunn, in a tone that might be heard half over the length and breadth of Daffodil's Delight. 'I wouldn't tell such lies for the paltry sake of grinding folks down; no, not if you made me a d.u.c.h.ess to-morrow for it.'

'Here, take the silk off. I have not got time to bother: it's Sat.u.r.day night.'

He swept the parcel, silk, paper, and string, towards her, and was turning away. She leaned over the counter and seized upon him.

'You want a opposition in the place, that's what you want, Master c.o.x!

You have been c.o.c.k o' the walk over Daffodil's Delight so long, that you think you can treat folks as if they was dirt. You be over-done with business, that's what you be; you're a making gold as fast as they makes it in Aurstraliar; we shall have you a setting up your tandem next.

What'll you give me upon that silk?'

'I'll give you ten shillings; I have said so. You may take it or not; it's at your own option.'

More contending; but the p.a.w.nbroker was firm; and Mrs. Dunn was forced to accept the offer, or else take away her silk.