"We must go," said Janet, at last, as she dried her eyes. "I am going back to London to love my old favourites--the fish and the birds."

Then, looking up in a quiet and compa.s.sionate way at Patty, as if she alone were in trouble--

"Come, darling," she said, "let's try and forget all this; but kiss me first, and say that you are not angry--not ashamed of me for what I have said. What makes you so silent? Why do you not answer?"

"I was thinking--thinking," said Patty, wearily, as she put her arms round Janet's neck and kissed her; "I was thinking that if I could have been like you I should have been happier, for I should have been wiser and known better."

"Hush!" said Janet, softly; "I am wise, am I not?"

Then taking Patty's hand as they rose, in an absent, tired fashion, they walked on toward the little inn, where Monsieur Canau was awaiting them.

The sun still shone brightly, and there was the rich mellowness of the early autumn in the atmosphere, tinting all around with its soft golden haze; but it seemed to the two girls that the smoke and ashes of London had fallen upon the scene, and they longed in secret for the time of departure to arrive.

Once, though, as they sat in the pleasant little inn-parlour, Janet saw her companion start from her abstracted mood, for voices were heard approaching, and it was evident that some of the party from the lawn were about to pa.s.s the window of the room where their evening meal was spread.

Janet pressed the agitated girl's hand beneath the table, as she saw the folds of the little white muslin dress rise and fall; but the act was unseen by the others; and soon afterwards D. Wragg went away to see about the horse, while Canau lit his cigarette, and strolled outside, leaving the girls alone.

They sat together on the back-seat going home, while the horse jogged slowly along, with Monsieur Canau buried in thought, and D. Wragg extremely quiet, save when he uttered some admonition to the animal he was driving.

Hardly a word was spoken, but heart seemed whispering to heart of the secrets that had been hidden until that day, when, as if with one impulse, they had both leaped forth into the light.

"What were you thinking about?" said Janet at last, softly, as she turned to gaze in Patty's face, so as to see that her companion was gazing up to where, clear and bright, the stars looked down upon the shadowy lanes.

"I was trying to read how it will all end--what is to be my fortune,"

said Patty; and she turned with a sad smile towards her questioner, and pa.s.sed one plump arm round Janet's frail waist. "And you? can you read your fortune there?"

"No need--no need," said Janet, sadly. "There are no good fairies now, Patty, to touch the deformed with their wand and make them straight and bright. I know my fortune--to be looked upon with aversion to the end.

But there must be no more trifling," she said, fiercely. "You must not come to us any more. He has been tempted into coming and spending his foolish money in the expectation of seeing you; but he must be kept away now."

They rode on in silence for some time, during which D. Wragg had his hands pretty full with the horse, which seemed to have taken a sudden desire to see whether the left-hand hedge was black-thorn or white; and baulked in his desire to investigate on that side, made a desperate effort to reach the right. This, however, was also checked, and he settled down once more into a slow jig-jog of the most somnolent nature for those who were behind.

"I am not so mad," said Janet, softly, after a while, "that I do not know what is just and right. He shall speak no more to my darling.

For, in my strange, uncouth, wild way, Patty, I love you, not as I might a sister, but with something of the desire a mother must feel for her little one."

And then there was silence and sadness as the two girls sat hand-in-hand till the first straggling gaslights were visible, sitting with out another word till Monsieur Canau helped them to alight, and then saw Patty safely to the door of the Duplex Street house, where the end of Patty's day out was a sigh and many tears.

Volume 2, Chapter XIII.

JANET A LISTENER.

Janet went to her lonely room, sad and sinking of heart, to kneel upon a box by the window, gazing out above the house-tops, as if her wishes were far away in the country from which she had so lately returned.

An hour pa.s.sed like this, and then from below there came the sound of voices in altercation, followed almost directly after by the noise of a struggle. Then, as she stood trembling, there were the panting, hard breathing, and half-stifled e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of those who seemed to be engaged, and then utter silence.

Janet crept back to her box, for the sound of quarrel and fight was no uncommon one in Brownjohn Street, and again she knelt there thinking-- thinking always, with her glittering eyes hot and aching. But now came the sounds again, and, startled and nervous, she ran to her door, which she opened, and then stood out upon the landing, for the voices seemed to come from down-stairs, at the street-door, and one of these she recognised as that of D. Wragg, the other belonging to the heavy young man who had of late taken so much interest in the contents of the dealer's shop.

"Now, look here, Jack Screwby," Janet heard D. Wragg exclaim; "don't you make no mistake; trade's trade, but I ain't cut my wisdom-teeth for nothing. So look here; if you come to my shop again, and speak to them gals as you did, and hang about here as you've hung, and talk about it like you've talked, I'll--well, there; just you look out and you'll see."

"Wot's he allus a hangin' about for, then," growled the other voice; "you wouldn't talk like this sort to him--no I ain't! I ain't drunk--so now then! P'raps I'm as good a man as he's, and got a bit o' money to go into the fancy with any time I like; and arter the good turns I've done you, if you were anything of a man, you'd say, Come and be pardners. I've done you no end of good, D. Wragg; and now, as I wants to be good friends, you're all wrong with a chap as is p'raps ekalls with them as does in dawgs."

"You _air_ drunk, that's what you _air_!" exclaimed D. Wragg, indignantly, "or else you'd never come talking like that there!

Pardner, indeed!" he continued, contemptuously; "there, get out!"

Then once more there came the sound of scuffling, evidently caused by D.

Wragg supplementing his order with the efforts of his hands, Mr Screwby opposing with all the resistance he could bring to bear.

Before many moments had pa.s.sed, it was evident that the owner of the mansion had gained the victory over his semi-intoxicated foe; for the scuffle was followed by two or three oaths, a clattering of heavy boots, and then the banging of the side-door; after which Janet stood ready to retreat, as she heard the "stump--stump" of D. Wragg's lame foot coming along the pa.s.sage.

"Pardner, indeed!" muttered D. Wragg, "pardner, indeed! He--he--he-- he--he!" he sn.i.g.g.e.red; and then he seemed to stand holding by the bottom of the bal.u.s.trade to indulge in a few minutes' sardonic mirth. "He's as drunk as an owl--a vagabond! Dursn't tell tales, though, if I did kick him. Let him tell, though, if he likes; who's afraid?"

Judging from the tones of his voice, though, an unbia.s.sed listener would have been disposed to say that Mr D. Wragg was also rather far gone towards being inebriated; while, as to the fact of being afraid, if he were not in a state of fear--why did he speak so loudly?

The fact was, that after setting down his friends, D. Wragg had driven off with the rickety four-wheeler, whose problem still remained unsolved, to wit, how it had possibly contrived to hold together for another day. But held together it had, even till its return to the owner's; and D. Wragg had made his way back to Brownjohn Street to finish the day with what he called a "top-off," at one of the flaming gin-palace bars, where he had encountered Mr John Screwby, who then roused the dealer's ire by certain references, one and all of which Mr D. Wragg had cla.s.sed under the comprehensive term of "cheek!"

"Shall I stop him and speak to him?" thought Janet, as she listened to the heavy step; then, after a few moments' hesitation, "No," she said, "but I will keep watch."

That Janet intended to keep her word was evident from the fact that she hurried back to her room, where the window was still half open, and looking out cautiously to make sure who was the man with whom D. Wragg had been in dispute, there, as she had expected, was Mr John Screwby in one of his favourite att.i.tudes--that of leaning with his back up against a lamp-post, staring heavily at the house, and, drunk or sober, full of exuberant action, which manifested itself in nods and shakes of the head and fist. His anger could be heard, too, in low and ominous growls, similar to those emitted by caged wild beasts when their keeper forces them to display their n.o.ble proportions by stirring them up with a long pole.

At last, though, Janet had the satisfaction of seeing the brute slouch away, but not without turning once more to shake his fist at the door, as he said a few words which did not reach the listener's ear, and then he was gone.

The words were loudly enough spoken, but they were drowned by the rattling wheels of a pa.s.sing cart; the utterance, though, seemed to give Mr John Screwby the greatest satisfaction, promising to his animal heart the gratification of a grudge; for the words were--

"I'll have it out o' some on yer for this!"

Volume 2, Chapter XIV.

BROUGHT HOME.

Whish-ish! whoosh-oosh! over and over again, Ichabod had pumped the wind-chest full, till the handle came down heavily, and the boy had balanced himself upon it with the hard wood deeply impressing his stomach, and enjoyed the luxury of a ride down. Then he had seen the little leaden weight run up again, as the wind slowly filtered out. But though he repeated the process some half-dozen times, no stops were drawn out, no loud chords came pealing from the organ, and at last, tired out with pumping wind for nothing, Ichabod Gunniss spun the little weight about, and pulled at it until he broke the string, and saw the end disappear inside the organ-case, when he pulled out his pocket-knife, whetted it a while upon the sole of his ill-shaped shoe, and, for about the twentieth time, he began to carve that eternal "I.G."

upon the back of the organ-case. But, in spite of the whetting, the knife was blunt; and though, by going with the grain of the wood, Ichabod had no difficulty in making a capital I; yet, as soon as he came to the grand curves of the capital G, he found out the difficulty of his task, and after a few slips and slides, he gave the thing up in despair.

Jared was in the curtain-hung pew, but he had not been heard to move for quite half an hour. Perhaps he was composing a new voluntary, perhaps asleep; but all was perfectly still, so Ichabod looked about for something with which to amuse himself.

Now, it will be allowed that the interior of a church is not the place where you would expect to find many objects specially adapted for pa.s.sing time in any other than a religious way, particularly if that church be empty as regarded its congregation. So, for a while, the boy looked round in vain: there were no flies to catch, for the weather was growing cold; there was not room to spin his top; it required smooth stones and moisture to work his sucker; pitching his worsted cap up in the air and catching it upon his head was all very well, but it was tiring; and though, on the whole, tolerably satisfactory, yet without appreciative spectators it was not lasting as a pastime. He could not indulge in the luxury of tying himself in knots bypa.s.sing his legs over his head; not that he was afraid of Jared coming, but on account of his being a fast growing boy, and given to filling his garments very tightly soon after they had been served out to him. In fact, at the present time, there was a good deal of wrist beyond the cuffs of his coat, and an interval between his vest and leather lower garments, which had of late fitted him so tightly, that, unknown to the world at large, Ichabod had treated them as an extra cuticle, and slept in them rather than toil for a quarter of an hour to get them off; while, now, to have attempted anything after the fashion of an elastic brother would have had the effect of making him shed his coat like a caterpillar, always supposing that Ichabod's muscles were stronger than the charitable integument.

Besides, if he got himself into such difficulties, he might be cuffed-- not that Jared ever had cuffed him, but from Ichabod's experience of human nature, he knew it to be given to cuffing, and it seemed quite possible that such a proceeding might intrude itself upon his gymnastic exercise, even from so quiet and long-suffering a person as Jared Pellet.

There seemed to be nothing of any kind to amuse the boy, though he looked with great interest at the largest pedal-pipe, and wished that he could get inside, and treat it as if it were a chimney. But it was out of his reach, so he scratched his head in despair.

"What's the good o' bringin' a cove here if he ain't a-going to play?"

he muttered, rubbing his nose viciously, and then once more seizing the bellows-handle, and pumping at it until the wind-chest must have suffered from plethora, and been well-nigh to bursting, while the compressed air forced its way out again with an angry hiss. "He's asleep, that's wot he is," muttered Ichabod.

The boy then had another look round for something fresh, but there was nothing more amusing to be seen than an old dog's-eared S.P.C.K.

prayer-book in half a liver-coloured cover, bearing the following legend:--

judgment dai wil say were is the book you stole awa from Jane Muggins hir book, January 9, 1838.

- the rest being torn away, while the above was soon peeled off by the busy Ichabod, and scattered about the floor. He then, before returning the book to its place, ornamented the t.i.tle-page with a fancy portrait of Mr Purkis, the beadle, that gentleman being indicated by a powerful c.o.c.ked hat, which gave the sketch the appearance of a shoemaker's half-moon knife, or straight-handled cheese-cutter. Then Ichabod yawned loudly and wonderfully, displaying an elasticity of facial muscle that was surprising, while it was evident that his mental faculties were busy at work devising some new _dela.s.s.e.m.e.nt_,--the piece of string with a b.u.t.ton at one end, which he had in his pocket, and which was generally needed for spinning and setting up one of the immortal Decadia tops.

These were in Ichabod's day known to be bigger and better than any other tops in London, could only now be plaited, crochet-chain fashion, after flicking it like a whip to make it snap, and however much of a pastime to a young lady, it proved but tame to Ichabod, who only plaited it once, and pulled it out again with a s.n.a.t.c.h, chewed the end, and wound up his top. Then he struck a Greek statue sort of att.i.tude as he made believe to spin it, but not without bringing his knuckles sharply into contact with the organ-case, and finding their skin more easily removable than the leathern garments, into whose pockets he now replaced the top and string, as, with both hands plunged deeply, he routed in their recesses for something fresh.