Mrs. Parsons opened the door and let the little girl come in.
"Up! up!" she cried, stretching out her arms towards her young nurse; and her mother lifted her on to the bed and let her lie for a minute or two beside her, the little one stroking her cheek and murmuring, "Poor Lila! Poor Lila ill!" And in a very few minutes Eliza was asleep.
Mrs. Parsons arranged to take the children to the beach while Nurse watched beside Eliza and got what rest she could, for she had slept very little all night. Eliza slept, and Nurse too, until the doctor came in again, when he set their fears at rest by saying that a day or two in bed was all that was necessary for Eliza's recovery.
The girl slept nearly the whole of that day and the greater part of the next, only rousing up have a meal of light food that would help her to go to sleep again.
The third day, however, the girl was more wakeful, and wanted to get up, and the doctor allowed her to do so for a short time in the evening.
"You will come out with us, won't you, Man Friday?" said Eustace, when Eliza went into the sitting-room to tea.
But Eliza shook her head. "Not to-day, dear," she said, with a smile, for she had never felt so weak before, and knew she would not be able to walk to the beach, even if she wished to do so.
"Now, Eustace, you must be very kind and quiet for Eliza's sake, or else she will be ill again," said his mother; and the little fellow looked tenderly up at his young nurse as she sat in the easy-chair that Nurse usually occupied.
The Vicar went back to his father's house as soon as Eliza was declared to be out of all danger, for the old gentleman was still very ill. But Mrs. Parsons did not leave until Eliza was quite well.
Before she left she heard from the Vicar that their stay at the seaside would have to be extended, for he had heard that scarlet fever had broken out at the other end of the town, and what was worse for them individually, the Vicarage drains had been discovered to be out of order, and they would have to be thoroughly repaired before the children could return home.
Mrs. Parsons wrote to tell Mrs. Brown of this alteration in their plans, and also of Eliza's adventure and illness, and how highly she and the Vicar esteemed her for her brave endurance and unselfish care of their little boy. The letter concluded by asking Mrs. Brown if she would allow Eliza to stay on at the Vicarage when they returned, as they would like to have her as nursemaid to the children.
Eliza wrote as well, asking that she might be allowed to go to the Vicarage nursery, and telling her mother how kind the Vicar and everybody had been to her, and that she would be quite well and strong again by the time they came home.
When Mrs. Parsons left them to rejoin the Vicar, Nurse took care that Master Eustace did not go roaming again.
"I don't want to go and look for another cave, for fear it should make Man Friday ill," said the little boy. "We will play Robinson Crusoe without a cave this time," he added.
It was on a Saturday morning that the letter reached Mrs. Brown, telling her of Eliza's adventure, and how greatly pleased the Vicar and his wife were with her kind, unselfish ways with the children altogether.
To say that Mrs. Brown was pleased with this letter would not express a tithe of what she felt when she read it, and to have this offer for Eliza of a place in the Vicarage was more than she had anticipated to be possible, and she felt proud indeed, and looked forward to her husband's return in the afternoon, to tell him the wonderful news.
Of course, she told the two girls who were at home, and Selina danced with delight as she dusted the kitchen chairs, while the more thoughtful Minnie paused in her work of cleaning knives and forks, and said—
"Mother, God must have told her what to do to take care of Master Eustace, and that is what we shall feel proud of. Of course, if our Eliza had not tried to serve God in the little things here at home, she would not have known what to do when she was shut up in that nasty cave."
It was a view of the matter that had not occurred to Mrs. Brown herself, but Eliza had always been the little comforter at home, and was always ready to sympathize and help everybody, quite forgetful of herself and her own interests.
Selina had another way of showing her pride and pleasure in her sister's brave doings. She wanted to run out and tell all the neighbourhood what great things Eliza had done. Her mother knew this, and kept a watchful eye upon her; and when the kitchen chairs were dusted, the little girl was sent upstairs to dust the bedrooms, for Mrs. Brown did not wish the neighbours to hear the news before her husband came home.
She wanted to tell him about the letter herself; but in this she was disappointed, for Selina, having finished all the housework she was capable of doing, had earned the right to go and meet her father at the railway station, and Mrs. Brown would not deprive her of this justly earned pleasure.
As she was going out, however, Minnie said, "Now don't tell father everything there is in that letter, because I know mother wants to tell some of it herself."
"Do you, mother?" asked the little girl.
"Well, yes. I think I should like to tell father something of it," replied Mrs. Brown.
Selina paused and looked puzzled. "Why didn't you tell me that I couldn't go and meet dad to-day," she asked.
"Because that wouldn't be quite fair," said her mother, "I always let you go out for an hour when you have done your housework properly, and as I have had no fault to find with you to-day, you have the right to go and meet your father if you like."
"Yes. But she need not go and tell him everything, as she generally does," put in Minnie, who did not see why her mother should be deprived of all the pleasure of imparting the pleasant news, because she would be strictly fair to Selina.
To this appeal from her sister the little girl hesitated to reply. Half the pleasure of going to meet her father would be taken away if she could not tell him all the wonderful news in the letter. At last she said, looking up into her mother's face—
"May we do it between us, mother? You tell half and I tell half."
Mrs. Brown laughed.
But Minnie said, "It is as much as we can expect, I suppose, from a chatterbox like you. Now, mother, tell her what she may say, and what you want to tell father," added Minnie.
"Very well, you may tell father all about Master Eustace and the cave, and let me tell the kind offer that has been made to take Eliza into the Vicarage nursery."
"Yes, yes," answered Selina. "I will remember that I am not to say a word about that. But I am glad I may tell about the cave, because that is the best bit of all;" and the little girl ran off by the shortest road to the railway station, for fear she should be late, and so miss her father.
BROWN had been away from home since the previous Monday morning, for he was now duly installed in the post previously held by Collins, and was likely to continue there.
It had all come about in the most natural way possible. When Brown went with the other men that first Monday morning, the foreman went to show him where Collins had been working; but almost as soon as the man saw what had been done, he exclaimed, "Collins never did this, surely!" and he called some of the other men to ask what they knew about it.
They each in turn disclaimed having touched this part of the work, and Collins being a more highly skilled workman, was scarcely likely to allow them to do it; but, at the same time, it was equally difficult to understand how he could put such work into this as he had done by what they saw before them.
"What is to be done with it, Brown?" said the foreman, scratching his head in perplexity, for he felt he had neglected his duty in not looking more closely after Collins and his work.
"There is nothing for it but to undo it," replied Brown.
"Unwind all this coil, do you mean?" said the foreman, aghast at the proposal.
"There is nothing else for it that I can see," answered Brown. "To let it pass as it is will never do, for some bad accident may be caused through that bit of scamped work. It's a nasty job, I know, but I should not like to think that the whole station here might come to grief, and lives be lost, for the sake of a day or two's hard work. I will be as quick about it as I can, and say nothing to anybody, for the sake of Collins himself."
"All right. I see you understand how matters are. You had better have one of the boys to give you a hand; but you need not let him know why we are having it undone."
"You may trust me for keeping a still tongue over the whole matter. Collins had a pretty peck of trouble last week," added Brown, "and I expect it was thinking of his wife bad in bed that made him a bit slack with his job."
"It was the whisky, more likely," said the foreman, sharply,—"I hear he was bringing it in as well as being at 'The Blue Posts' every night—that upset him, and I was to blame that I did not look after him more sharply."
The foreman took care that there was no further remissness on his part, and kept a pretty close watch on Brown and the way he worked.
He soon found, however, that the careful, steady way this man did his work was not likely to lead to further trouble, and when the bit of scamped work was put right, Brown proved to be as quick and skilful as ever Collins had been, and at the end of the week Brown learned, to his great satisfaction, that he might consider himself permanently engaged for this class of work, which would mean higher wages and less laborious though more highly skilled tasks for the future. This, perhaps, would mean more to Brown than any other man in the factory, for the long illness of the previous year had left a lingering weakness that hard work had made very trying occasionally. Now quickness of eye, steadiness and deftness of hands, rather than actual strength, was what would be required of him, and he had carefully trained both eyes and hands whenever he had an opportunity, in the hope that some day they might prove useful both to himself and others. The careful mending of the children's shoes at home had been part of this training. The repairing of his wife's sewing-machine now and then had also helped, so that now his fingers could handle the more delicate parts of the work as neatly and deftly as any man in the factory, and he was reaping the fruit of his long and painstaking labours.
When Selina met her father that Saturday afternoon, she was so full of her story about Eliza that she never noticed that he was looking more grave than usual; but Mrs. Brown saw that there was something unusual the moment her eyes met those of her husband.
"What is the matter?" she asked anxiously, as he came in.
"Nothing but what will keep," he said pleasantly.
"Are you going away to work again next week?" asked the inquisitive Selina, who had heard the question.
"To be sure I am, pussy," answered her father.
Mrs. Brown breathed a sigh of relief, for this disposed of her first fear that something had gone wrong with the work, and he would have to go back to his old place once more.
She had prepared a nice little Saturday dinner for him, and this fear relieved, she said—
"There, come along, father, and have your dinner. What did you think of Selina's news?" asked Mrs. Brown, cheerfully, as she set the dinner on the table, and drew her husband's chair to its usual place.
"Oh, the chatterbox was in such a hurry to tell me everything at once that I shall have to hear it over again before I can quite understand all about it."
So Minnie volunteered to give this second and revised version of Eliza's story, and then Mrs. Brown added her share, and told him of the offer made for Eliza to go into the Vicarage nursery.
"Thank God for that!" said Brown, fervently; and his brow cleared, and he looked less anxious, his wife thought, during the remainder of the meal.
What could have happened to trouble him, she wondered. But there was no opportunity to ask him any questions just now, for Jack came in before dinner was over, and he wanted to tell his father all that had been going on at the factory during the week.
"Collins is a fool," was his final comment.
"Well, my boy, if you have to work under him, it is your duty to do the best you can, and hide his folly as far as possible. You could not have a more skilful workman to learn under," added Brown.
"I don't know so much about that," grumbled Jack. "And there is not much skill required in the work we have to do," he added.
"Oh, as to that, you must train your fingers to do better work in all sorts of ways. Take your mother's sewing-machine to pieces. I dare say it wants a good clean, and it will go all the better if you do it," he added, laughing, with a glance at his wife.
"It certainly does want a good clean," said Mrs. Brown. "I have used it a good deal lately, and now I have finished Eliza's new frock, I shall be able to spare it."
"Are you going to send the new frock to her?" asked her husband.
"She says she does not think she will want it now, as Nurse has found a place where they will wash her new cotton ones very nicely, and she can wear one of them to go to church."
"A clean cotton frock for Sunday!" repeated Jack. "That would not suit Fan, I know," he said.
No one made any comment, but Mrs. Brown noticed that the anxious look returned to her husband's brow, and she wished Jack would go out and give her an opportunity of having a few quiet words with her husband. But Jack had some other news to impart, it seemed, for he did not move from his seat, and presently he said—
"Collins has taken to the drink pretty badly, dad."
"Has he? I am sorry to hear that."
"Oh, well, it isn't to be wondered at, you see; for his wife has done it for years and years, and he has had a pretty bad time with her, the chaps say."
"But she has not had anything lately, I know," said his mother, quickly, "and Jessie is doing all she can to keep things straight and comfortable at home, though the poor girl can't put her foot to the ground yet."
"Oh, well, Jess has had a pretty good fling, being out at all hours of the night, so that it won't hurt her to be tamed down a bit," remarked Jack. "But all the fellows are sorry for Collins himself. Don't you think you could say a word to him, dad, to make him pull up a bit? They say at the factory that you know a thing or two that might make him pull up short, if you said he must."
Brown looked at his son in surprise. "What have you heard, lad?" he asked.
"Nothing very special, only that—There, I won't say what, for, after all, nobody seems to know anything for certain."
"Of course not, where there is nothing to know," said Brown, laughing. "However, if I come across Collins to-night, when I go out marketing with mother, I will see if I can have a word with him, though he may think I have no business to interfere with him and what he does."
Having received this promise from his father, Jack went out, and then Mrs. Brown said—"Now you must tell me what is troubling you."
"Well, wife, I think it is troubling me, and yet it is only a trifle, after all. I had a letter from our Fanny last night, and I don't know what to make of it."
"A letter from Fanny!" repeated his wife. "What did she want?"
"Well, that I can hardly tell you, for it was a rigmarole about not being loved now; but I could see that Eliza's new dress that her aunt sent was at the bottom of the whole trouble."
"But she had no right to it," said Mrs. Brown, in a sharp tone.
"Of course not. But, you see, she always has had the new frocks, and she thinks she always must. Now, it seems to me that through this and other little things we have spoiled her a good deal, and now, the thing is, how are we to undo the mischief?"
"Not by giving way to her in this, for that will make matters worse," said Mrs. Brown, promptly.
"Yes, I see that well enough; but how are we to make her see it, and yet convince her that we love her just as dearly now as when she had the new frocks, and Eliza those she had outgrown?"
His wife shook her head as she recalled the talk she had with Fanny the evening of her first holiday.
"It would not be so difficult if she were different," she said, more to herself than to her husband.
"Different?" he repeated.
He was very proud of Fanny. People had called her "a bonny girl," "a winsome lassie," and friends always noticed her, and he did not like even his wife finding fault with her.
"Different," he repeated again. "What would you have, mother?"
"Well, we have been partly to blame, no doubt, but our Fanny has grown very selfish and wilful. I did not notice it while she was at home, but things have happened since she has been away that has brought out very clearly the faults that were hidden before, and I was quite upset when I first found it out."
"What was there to find out? What has happened to alter our girl so much as all that?" asked Brown, curiously.
"Well now, I did not want to tell you myself, for I hoped Fanny would do it, as I asked her. Mind, I am not saying she is so altered since she has been away, for I suppose the selfishness was there before, only we did not see it, and there was nothing to bring it out. You see, to get Fanny nicely ready for service, with new underclothes, frocks, and aprons, cost me a pretty penny, one way and another, to say nothing of the hours I had to sit sewing to get everything ready. Well, when the Vicar's offer came for Eliza to go to the seaside to help Nurse with the children, I thought at once Fanny's first wages would come in nicely to buy what I wanted to send Eliza away neat and tidy; but when she came home for that first holiday, instead of bringing me the ten shillings, as I had hoped, she had bought a watch with it, which she wore round her neck."
"Bought a watch for ten shillings?" repeated Brown.
"Yes, she told me she had given all her first month's wages for the rubbishing thing." And Mrs. Brown could scarce restrain her tears even now, as she thought of the glittering thing as she saw it on Fanny's neck.
"I suppose you told her it was rubbish, and not worth the money she had paid for it?" said her husband.
"Wouldn't you have told her the same thing? I know you would. What should a girl like her know about buying a watch?"
Brown could scarcely help smiling at his wife's evident annoyance, and he concluded that she had said some rather hard words to Fanny, which she had taken to heart, and had grown discouraged since, as she recalled them, and then foolishly concluded that because her mother had spoken angrily, and afterwards refused to let her have the new frock, that she no longer loved her.
"I see it all now," he said, his brow clearing. "You said a few sharp words about this ten-shilling watch, and afterwards refused to let her have the new frock, and she concludes from this that, as she is away from home now, you care less for her than when she was one amongst us."
"She never could be so foolish," said Mrs. Brown.
"Well, we can set matters right with that letter of yours," replied her husband. "Instead of going to our own church to-morrow night, I will go and see Fan, and take the letter with me for her to read. The walk would be too much for you, I know—it upset you before; but it will be good for me, and I can tell her all the news, and let her feel that she is still one of us, though she may be away from home. Now, what time will you be ready to do your marketing to-night?" he asked, for he did not want to say any more about Fanny just now.
"I shall be ready soon after tea; but I must go and see Jessie Collins before I go, for she wants me to bring her some meat from the market."
"How is the poor girl?" asked Brown. "It must be hard for her to lie still after having the run of the street as she has had."
"The worst of it is she doesn't lie still," said Mrs. Brown; "it is almost impossible, I suppose, with only little Polly to do everything. Of course Jessie tries to sit up and help her with things, when she is in a muddle, and, as I tell her, every time she does this she is undoing all the good that has been done, and making her foot worse."
"Ah! she ought to have gone to the hospital when it was first hurt," remarked Brown.
"She should too, if she had been my child; but her father didn't want her to go, you could see, and Jessie wanted to be at home to look after her mother. I never saw a girl so fond of her mother as poor Jessie is, and to think I should have had such a bad opinion of her! I feel vexed with myself when I think of it sometimes," added Mrs. Brown.
"The girl's good qualities have been brought out by her mother's illness," remarked Brown. "How is the poor thing now?" he asked.
"Not much better. She is just a 'poor thing,' and lies there in bed, without any wish to stir herself, and help things downstairs."
"But is she well enough to do that? I thought you said she was very ill."
"So she was at first; but the doctor has told her to try and sit up a little while, and he told me it would do her good if she made some effort to get about. But when I have asked her to try and do as the doctor says, she promises to try to-morrow. But that to-morrow never comes, and she just lies there, day after day, and nothing seems to rouse her; nor will she take the least interest in home affairs. 'Jessie can manage things now,' she says, if I try to persuade her to get up."
"'But Jessie has hurt her foot, and ought to go to the hospital,' I said to her yesterday; but she only sighed, and said things would come right somehow, and 'Jessie liked to stop at home.'"
"Well, it isn't like you, mother," said Brown; "and there's no telling what I might be if I had a wife like Mrs. Collins. It has always been the same ever since they were married, I have heard. Some of the chaps say she was a pretty dressy piece, but had no idea of making home comfortable for her man. She just let things drift as they could, and when she took to the drink it was more because the gossips persuaded her to take it, than that she cared so much for it herself. It was too much trouble to say 'No' and stick to it," commented Brown. "Her husband always said she was a very easy-going woman, and never troubled him much about anything, so long as she got her money every week."
"Easy-going? Yes, I suppose she was; but somebody else was bound to have the trouble. And now, where are the wages? She don't get the wages every week now! Nor Jessie either; for so much of it goes in drink that the poor girl don't know how to make ends meet very often," exclaimed Mrs. Brown, angrily.
"Are things really as bad as that?" exclaimed Brown. "Well, well, I will try and get a word with him to-night, for the poor girl's sake. Don't stay long when you go over there, and if she hasn't got the money for the meat, just find out what she wants, and I dare say we can make it up between us, and be little the worse off. We can afford to help a neighbour, in thankfulness for God's help to our girl," added Brown, reverently.
"All right. I'll find out what Jessie wants, and very soon be back. If I go now, while Minnie gets the tea ready, we can start as soon as it is over, and get back before the market is so crowded."
But to Mrs. Brown's inquiry as to what Jessie wanted from the shop that night, Jessie shook her head, and burst into tears.
"Thank you, all the same, Mrs. Brown," she said, after a minute, "but I shall have to send Polly for a bit of steak over the way. Father hasn't come home yet, so it isn't much of his wages we shall see at home."
"Never mind the money to-night, Jessie; just tell me what you want, for Brown is in a fidget for me to get back. Shall I do the best I can for you, as I should for myself?" she asked.
The next minute Mrs. Brown had gone, for she thought she heard Collins's unsteady footsteps coming down the street, and she beat a hasty retreat by the back door, for she did not want to meet him if he was the worse for drink.
"NOW we've got a ticklish job, missus, and I wish Collins had gone straight home this afternoon with his money, instead of going off up the town as he seems to have done, for he is an ugly customer, I have heard, when he has had a drop too much."
"Well, I should try and find out before I spoke whether he had been drinking, and if he had—well, it would be better to walk on and take no notice of him," prudently advised Mrs. Brown.
Her husband shook his head. "The thing is, what ought I to do? Jack says it is getting a common thing with him now, and we all know the manager won't stand a man drinking at our works; and so, as I know this, if I can say a word to make him pull up short, it is my duty to do it at all costs."
Mrs. Brown almost wished her husband had stayed at home, for she knew the quiet determination of his character where he thought anything was a matter of duty. When they reached the outskirts of the market, she gave him her basket to hold while she went into a shop, and almost at the same moment Collins came reeling along the road, and seeing Brown with the large market-basket in his hand, made some jeering remark about him being a "tame cat." Mrs. Brown was in the crowded shop, and neither saw nor heard Collins, and Brown only heard part of what was said, but he laid his hand on the shoulder of the half-drunken man, and whispered—
"Look here, Collins, old man. I want—"
But Collins did not give him time to say more. With an oath he struck out at him, exclaiming, "You'll get more than you want this time;" and with a second blow in the face knocked him down in the roadway, and would have kicked him in his fury if one of the men near had not dragged him back.
A crowd quickly gathered round, and when Mrs. Brown came out of the shop, she found her husband lying insensible in the centre of this crowd, and she guessed at once that Collins had been the aggressor. She pushed her way through to his side, and one of the men ran for a doctor; but by the time he arrived Brown had so far recovered that he could sit up on a chair that had been fetched for him from a neighbouring shop, and look round in a dazed fashion.
"Take him home as quickly as you can," said the doctor.
Brown had not spoken, and Collins was not to be seen, and Mrs. Brown would not ask a question as to how it happened while the crowd were within hearing; but as they walked slowly back, Mrs. Brown said—
"How did it begin?"
"Oh, just after you left me he came up and said something about a tame cat, and I put my hand on his shoulder and began to speak, when he struck out all round, and at the second blow I went down, and don't remember any more. My head is badly bruised, though, I can feel," he added.
Before he reached home, the poor fellow seemed so ill that his wife became alarmed; and as soon as he was safe indoors, she went for the doctor, telling him what had happened, but not mentioning his assailant's name, merely mentioning him as one of his mates.
The doctor ordered his patient to bed at once, and said he would probably be obliged to stay there for a day or two at least.
"Oh, I hope not," said Brown anxiously. "I hope you will pull me round so that I can go to work on Monday morning as usual," he continued feebly, for he felt very ill.
"Now, you must just keep him as quiet as possible, and don't let him worry himself about Monday morning," said the doctor, when he was leaving. "If you keep his head wet with the lotion I will send, and he takes the medicine, he may get all right quickly; but mind! he must keep in bed to-morrow, and must not talk to anybody. Quiet and rest is the only thing that will save him from a long turn in bed," added the doctor.
Jack came home while the doctor was there, and went back with him to get the lotion and medicine.
"You must do your share, my lad, towards keeping the house quiet all day to-morrow," said the doctor, as he handed Jack the bottles.
"I wonder who could have done it? Did my father tell you, sir?"
"No, he didn't; and you must not ask him just now. Don't ask any questions; wait till he is well enough to tell you all about it."
The doctor's manner impressed Jack, and he feared that his father must be very ill. What a misfortune that would be for them just now, for the outside work on which he was engaged could not wait, and so another man would have to be found who could do it.
The lad went home in a very subdued frame of mind, willing to do anything that would help his mother that she might devote all her time and care to nursing his father.
He said something of this when his mother came down for the medicine, and to ask whether the doctor had sent any further message.
"Only this, that you must look after him well and keep him quiet," said Jack; and then he added, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
His mother looked at him for a minute, and then said—
"I had hardly began my marketing when this happened, and I want two lots of meat to-night, for I promised I would bring Jessie's from the market."
Now, if there was anything Jack disliked it was being sent on what he called "tame cat business" in other words, the Saturday marketing for the home. But one look at his mother's anxious face decided him, and he said quickly—
"All right, I'll go. Tell me what to get and where to go, and I'll be back in a jiffy."
The marketing question thus being settled, Mrs. Brown could devote all her thought and attention to her husband, and was careful to follow the doctor's direction to the very letter, and kept his head constantly bathed as he lay in bed.
Jack was as good as his word, and brought back the various articles he was sent for with an account of the money he had spent, and delivered all to his sister Minnie as if she had been his mother. Then when his mother came downstairs to have her supper, he took the meat he had bought for Jessie, with a message that his mother would not be able to go there again that night.
This message, however, was not delivered, for just as Jack reached the door it was flung open, and Collins staggered out, and the next minute Jessie appeared at the other end of the passage.
"Oh, Jack, why didn't you stop my father?" she said, in a reproachful tone. "He only came in about ten minutes ago, and you can see he has been drinking. Polly is out, too, and I am afraid mother is worse to-night."
A sudden twinge of pain in her injured foot was more than Jessie could bear, and with a groan she burst into tears.
"There, don't cry," said Jack, wishing his mother or Minnie had come. "Don't cry, Jess," he repeated. "See, I have brought you some meat, and I'll go and look for Polly if you like. I dare say your father will soon be back. The chaps at the factory know your mother is ill, and they will look after him and see that he comes home all right presently," added Jack, by way of comforting Jessie. He could not deliver his mother's message just now, he thought.
"Polly won't be home yet awhile. We've always been used to a Saturday night run, and she thought father would be at home, and she won't come back for another hour, I know," said Jessie, speaking through her tears. Just then a deep moan was heard from the bedroom above, and Jessie started forward and tried to crawl to the stairs.
"Oh dear, it's mother, and I know she is worse. Help me upstairs, Jack. I must go to her."
Jessie's foot and ankle were so tightly bandaged that it was very difficult for her to get upstairs, but with Jack's help she managed to reach her mother's room. "I couldn't come before, mother," she panted.
"Your father, Jess; I want him," said the invalid, in an eager whisper.
"He'll be in soon," said Jessie, feeling vaguely alarmed at the change in her mother.
"You must take care of your father when I am gone," went on Mrs. Collins. "I have never been the wife to him I ought, but he was always good to me, and you, too, and never till lately did he touch the drink. He got tired of waiting for things to be better, I suppose. Just as they were coming too," she added, with a sigh, "for I know you have been trying to straighten things out and keep the house clean, which I never could do. Don't, don't give up trying, Jess. I never could begin, but you have, and so you can keep on after I am gone."
"Oh, mother, mother, don't talk like that! Try and get better, and help us all to make home comfortable."
But the invalid closed her eyes, and murmured faintly—
"Too late, too late. My life is gone—wasted, wasted," she murmured, more and more feebly.
Jack was awestruck, and crept away as gently as he could to fetch some help for Jessie. As he went out he met Polly coming in with her arms full of parcels of various sorts and sizes.
"Jessie is upstairs," he whispered. "I think your mother is worse, and I am going to fetch somebody."
"Oh, fetch your mother, Jack! She knows just what we want, and we don't mind her seeing things, because she won't go and talk about it to other people. Oh, do fetch her!" added Polly, imploringly.
"I'll go and see if she can come," answered Jack. "But you had better go and tell the doctor that your mother is worse, and ask him to come at once;" And then he ran off towards home, and reached the gate in time to see his mother open the door.
"Where have you been, my boy?" she asked as he came up the steps.
"Over at Jessie's. Can you go now, mother? I think Mrs. Collins is dying. She spoke so solemn a little while ago."
"Dying!" repeated his mother, in a startled tone, "I never thought it would be so soon as this."
"I wish you could have heard what she said about wasting her life," said Jack. "Couldn't you go to Jessie, and let me sit beside father's bed and bathe his head? That's all there is to do, isn't it?"
"Yes, that is all; and he seems so much better now I think I might leave you to keep the rags on his head moistened. He is in a good sleep, and I don't want him disturbed, so you must be very quiet when you change the rags on his head, for the sleep will do him quite as much good as the lotion. You'll try to keep awake?" she added.
"Yes, mother, I'll do anything, so that you can go to poor Jessie," said Jack.
The two went up to the dimly lighted bedroom, and Jack watched his mother change the wet rags on his father's head, and felt sure he could do the same if he could only keep awake. This would be the most difficult part of his task, but he was determined that his father should not suffer through his neglect; and so he sat down with a resolute determination that however sleepy he might feel, he would resist the inclination to go to sleep.
He heard his mother close the street door as she went out, and listened to her quick footsteps as she went up the street, and then the silence seemed to descend and wrap the whole house in its folds, so that Jack could hear every breath his father drew, and noticed the regularity with which every breath came and went. Then he began thinking of all that had happened that night, and what he had heard from the dying woman about her life being wasted.
He knew it was true, for had not she and Jessie been the byword of the neighbourhood? Every decent mother had warned her girls to keep away from Jessie Collins; and now it seemed that it was the fault of the way in which Jessie had been brought up rather than her own, for his mother said Jessie had very good points in her character, and had made the most of what she had learned at school.
Thinking of this kept him from going to sleep, and his thoughts travelled from Jessie to his sister Fanny, and he could not help wondering what sort of girl she would have been if she had had the same chances as Jessie, and no more.
"The way people are taught and brought up has a great deal to do with what they are afterwards, but it isn't everything," was the conclusion Jack arrived at after a good deal of pondering; and then he noticed that his father was not sleeping so peacefully, and he remembered that he had not yet put fresh cool rags on his head, and at once squeezed those that were in the basin of lotion, and took off the hot almost dry ones, to be replaced by those that were cool and moist.
In a few minutes he noticed that this change had restored his father's peaceful breathing, and he felt repaid for all the trouble it had cost him to keep awake. He did not wait so long before changing the damp rags the next time; and soon after daylight he heard his mother put the key in the street door, and then he crept down to meet her.
"How is father now?" she asked anxiously, as he went down the stairs.
"All right. Just as you left him. He has not woke once."
"Then you have not been to sleep, my boy, but have kept his head bathed as I should have done."
"How is Mrs. Collins now?" asked Jack.
Mrs. Brown shook her head. "It is all over, Jack. A wasted life has come to an end; and bitterly as she repented of it at the last, there was no time left to undo even a little bit of the mischief it has caused to others as well as herself. Now you go to bed, Jack, and I will go to father. Mrs. Tate is with Polly and Jess now, and no one can do any more for them just at present."
"IF you please, ma'am, may I see Fanny?"
The lady who had opened the door looked at Jack in surprised silence for a minute, and then he said—
"Fanny is my sister, ma'am!"
"Oh dear, what a pity, to be sure, that you have missed each other! How could you have managed it? I hope your father is no worse?" added the lady.
"No, ma'am, he is a good deal better to-day, thank you."
"Fanny will be glad to hear that. She has gone home this afternoon, because of the news she got yesterday morning."
"Yes, ma'am," answered Jack, not knowing what else to say, and wondering how Fanny could have heard the news. "Good afternoon, ma'am," he said, as he turned away to walk home, hoping he might overtake Fanny and ask her how she had heard that his father was hurt.
He walked on quickly, keeping a sharp look-out for his sister as he went, but could see nothing of her. Just before he reached home, a thought occurred to him that made him almost stand still in the middle of the street, and he exclaimed, half aloud—
"Why, how could Fanny have heard that dad was ill yesterday morning? He wasn't hurt till last night. That's a rum go! I'm sure Mrs. Lloyd said she had the news yesterday morning;" and he walked on at a brisker pace, for he was anxious to reach home now and solve this mystery.
As he turned into the street, he saw his mother coming towards him. She had evidently been to see Jessie Collins, and he hurried forward to meet her before she reached their own door.
"Why, how is it you are back so soon, Jack? I thought you said you should go to church with Fanny?"
"Yes, so I should; but she has come home to tea, and I missed her somewhere."
"Home to tea?" repeated Mrs. Brown, in surprise. "She must have come in, then, while I have been away, and I didn't stay long with Jessie either."
"I say, somebody sent and told her father was ill yesterday morning," said Jack, as they were turning in at their own gate.
"Nonsense. No one could have done it, for there was nothing the matter with him until last night."
"Well, Mrs. Lloyd says Fanny knew it yesterday morning. I never thought about it till I was half way home, and then it seemed a rum go to me that Fan should know before anything had happened."
Mrs. Brown looked at Jack in silence for a moment, while she took the key of the door from her pocket; then she said, in a changed tone—
"Jack, we must keep this to ourselves, if Fanny isn't indoors. I am still to keep your father very quiet, the doctor says, and it will never do to upset him about Fanny just now. And he will be cross if he hears that she has had leave to come home, and not come."
"But where could she go?" asked Jack. "She doesn't know anybody out there, does she?"
"She may have made friends!" said his mother. "But mind, your father must not know this just now."
Almost at the same moment Selina opened the door.
"We heard you talking," she announced, "and father said I might come and see who it was. Haven't you been, Jack?" she asked.
"Been? Been where, Miss Inquisitive?" asked her brother.
"Why, to see Fanny, of course. You said you should meet her as she was going to church."
"Well, I missed her," said Jack.
His father was downstairs in the sitting-room now, and heard what he said to Selina.
"You have not seen Fanny?" he said questioningly, as they went into the room.
"No; he missed her somehow," said Mrs. Brown, answering for him.
"Why didn't you go on and see if she had started?" said his father.
"So I did, and saw Mrs. Lloyd, who told me I must have missed her coming along," answered Jack.
"But you could have gone to the church," said Brown, in a tone of annoyance.
"Yes, if I had known which church she was going to to-night; but there are two within easy reach of her place, and she told me the last time I saw her that sometimes she went to one, and sometimes to another; or she may have gone for a walk," suggested Jack, who expected Fanny to come in at any moment, as she evidently had not arrived yet. And then, to avoid being asked any more awkward questions about his sister, he asked his mother how she had found Jessie Collins.
"Oh, she is very poorly, of course, and her foot is very painful to-day, but she is less anxious now they have got her father to go home again. Radford took him this afternoon, and though he looks very bad, he understands all that has happened."
"Poor chap, he has had a hard time of it," said Brown, "and the hardest part is that, having kept himself a sober man all these years, he should break down just now. Did he see you?" he suddenly asked of his wife.
"Oh yes; he was sitting near Jessie when I went in, and he looked up, and asked how you were, and if it was true you had had a bad fall. 'Quite true,' I said, 'but we don't want any fuss made about it,' and then I talked to Jessie while he went and sat by the window."
"I should like to go and see him," remarked Brown.
"That will never do," said his wife, promptly; "it will make matters worse all round. And besides, I heard while I was out that the foreman was coming to see if you would be well enough to go to work as usual to-morrow morning."
"To be sure I shall. Thanks to the doctor's care and your good nursing, I shall be right as a trivet by the morning, and a deal better at my work than stopping here to wonder over this and that, and wish I could alter things."
"Well, if the foreman thinks you had better go, I will not hinder it," said Mrs. Brown, thinking of Fanny, and how her father would worry if he only heard the news Jack had brought.
Just before bedtime the foreman came in, for he had heard all sorts of reports about Brown's illness, and wanted to satisfy himself as to what had happened.
"I wasn't there to see!" answered Mrs. Brown, when the man asked if she had not gone out with her husband. "I had gone into a shop, and when I came out there was a crowd, and Brown lying in the middle of it."
"Well, you know what Collins said—that he had killed you."
"Oh, Collins was mad with drink on Saturday!" said Brown, quickly. "No one believes a man when he is like that."
"And you don't want it to be believed, you mean," said the foreman.
Brown laughed. "Who is likely to believe that I am killed when they hear I have gone to work as usual on Monday morning. Besides, what good would it do to have the police meddling between friends?"
"That is sensible enough, if it satisfies you, that you will not again be hurt by the same fool."
"That's it? Whoever it was knows he is a fool now," said Brown, "and he won't be likely to repeat it. I shall be all right when I once get back to my work, and so I hope you'll let me go as usual to-morrow."
"Let you? I shall only be too glad to have you, if you can come. But it must be on the understanding that you give up if you are not well, and take things easily if you are. Everything is straightforward now, and you like your work, I know."
"Like it? I should think I do, and I should like my Jack to have the chance of learning this branch of it."
"Well now, that will be the very thing for us. I suspect the boy you have had has let his tongue run away with him as to what happened down there, and so I will arrange that he stays here for a time, and your boy can go in his place if he is a steady reliable lad, and he can keep an eye upon you and make things comfortable if you are not quite the thing."
Brown himself hardly liked to accept this kind offer; but Mrs. Brown said eagerly—
"If you could manage this without being unfair to the other boy I should be very thankful, for Jack could let me know at once if his father was not well, and my mind would be at rest about him."
"Well, then, let Jack come with his father to-morrow morning. It will be a lesson, perhaps, to the other chap not to let his tongue run so fast about what does not concern him, so that it will be quite fair to make the change, Mrs. Brown."
Then the foreman went away, and husband and wife could talk over this piece of good fortune—for it was an opportunity of learning the more highly skilled portion of the work, if a lad was careful, steady, and observant.
Jack had to prove whether he would use the opportunity thus given to him; but he was delighted and astonished when he came in to learn that he was to go with his father the next morning. "My boy, it will be the making of you, if you only take care and learn all you can," said his father.
"I shall have to stick to my books, though, if I want to get on," said Jack, to whom book-learning was not pleasant.
"Yes, you will; for, as you know, I have had to do it, old as I am, that if ever the chance came in my way I might be able to take it. There will be arithmetic, and lots of other things to learn of an evening," added his father.
"But you will go this week, at any rate," said his mother; "for I shall fidget about your father unless I know he has somebody to look after him."
"Why, mother, what do you take me for?" said Jack, in a half-offended tone. "Of course I am very glad to go with father, because you will know things are all right; unless I write and tell you he is not so well, and ought to come home."
Brown laughed. "I see you are to go as a sort of keeper, as though I was not to be trusted by myself."
"Well, something like it," admitted his wife. "I know how anxious you are to keep this work, now you have got it. How hard you have tried to fit yourself for this kind of work if ever it came in your way, that you may be inclined not to give it up even when you ought, for fear you should lose it altogether."
"Well, you may be right," said Brown, "for I don't mind telling you that I should be awfully disappointed to lose my present job now. It is responsible work, and requires all a man's thought and attention while he is at it. And because of that, I hope I should not be tempted to stop on when I wasn't fit, even to save my place. So, if Jack sees I am not up to the mark, he must tell me, and I will come home at once, and go under the doctor again. There is no telling what might happen if there was any mistake or neglect where I am now."
"All right, father; don't worry yourself about it," interrupted Jack. "I will keep a strict watch, never fear; and if you only blink as though you had got the headache, off you go, and I shall send for the foreman."
"Right you are, lad," said Brown. "That is what I want you to do for me; and you can think about the book-learning, and whether you will take it up when you are off duty."
"So I can. And I dare say by the end of the week I shall be able to make up my mind whether the job will be worth all the trouble and bother and fuss of having to learn this and that."
"Perhaps it will be better than deciding at once that you will take this chance of getting on," said Mrs. Brown.
But it was easy to see that she would be greatly disappointed if Jack decided against it.
When the lad had gone up to bed, Brown spoke of this.
"Better let him think it out for himself, and count the cost," he said. "Book-learning he don't like, as you know; and he must decide for himself whether he will take the trouble to overcome this dislike, or whether he will jog along as most of the men do. He has got to live his own life, and must decide this question for himself. Many a man quite as good as I am would not take my job, even if they could, because of the responsibility of the thing. I will talk to Jack about it while we are away; but I shall not say a word to persuade him either way, for I don't think that would be fair. As Jack did not leave your letter for Fanny, don't you think you might go over and see her yourself, mother?" he suddenly broke off. "You know, I meant to go to-day, and clear some of the cobweb out of the silly girl's head; but as I couldn't go, and Jack managed to miss her, well, I think it will be better for you to go when you can manage the walk."
"Yes, it will be best, certainly," assented Mrs. Brown, who was wondering where Fanny could have gone when she went out to tea, and how she could have heard that her father was ill before it happened.
The next morning Brown seemed quite recovered, and he and Jack went off by the early train with the others. As soon as breakfast was over, and the girls gone to school, Mrs. Brown went to see Jessie, and hear what they were going to do about her mother's funeral.
She was afraid no provision had been made in any way, and was not surprised to find Jessie in tears, and to hear her say—
"Father is in an awful way about the funeral, Mrs. Brown. He doesn't know what to do, or which way to turn."
"Your mother did not belong to a club or anything of that sort?"
"Mother didn't. She never could save; and father knew it, so he joined a club where they make some sort of allowance when a wife dies. But he hasn't kept this paid up, and unless he can clear the books this morning before twelve o'clock, we shan't get a penny, and mother will have to be buried by the parish." And Jessie burst into tears again at the thought of such an indignity as a parish funeral for her mother.
Mrs. Brown was silent. Perhaps she thought a parish funeral was all that Mrs. Collins deserved; but she did not say so, and she could sympathize with Jessie in her love and regard for her mother. So, at last, she said—
"Do you know how much there is to pay up this club of your father's?"
Jessie shook her head. "Father said it was nearly a pound, and he would never be able to get it in time," sobbed the girl.
"Has he tried?" asked Mrs. Brown.
"He asked two or three of his mates last night," said Jessie.
Again Mrs. Brown was silent, while she thought over what she could do to help.
"Do you know how much money he would get if the club money was all paid up?"
"About six pounds," replied Jessie.
"Enough to buy you and Polly new black frocks, repay the money you must borrow to get this, and still leave plenty to bury your mother decently, and provide something for your father. Now, if I lend you the pound that is wanted, will you promise that I shall be repaid out of this six pounds as soon as you get it?"
"Oh, Mrs. Brown, if you would do this for us, I am sure father will be glad to pay you the moment we get the club money."
"Very well, I will trust you. But, you see, it is what I have got to spend in the house this week, and so I shall have to ask people to give me credit until you can pay it back," explained Mrs. Brown.
"Yes; I see. I understand," said Jessie. "And, of course, you never have credit, Mrs. Brown?"
"Not now. Not as a regular thing. But, you remember, Brown was ill a long time last year, and there was no help for it but to get into debt. Thank God, these debts are nearly all paid off now; but we have had a hard time of it, Jessie, to keep our heads above water sometimes."
Jessie opened her eyes in amazement. "Why, everybody thought you had got a little fortune somewhere!" she exclaimed. "We knew Mr. Brown was ill, and couldn't work; but it didn't seem to make any difference, and you all held your heads as high as ever. Mother said this again and again."
"I did not know that we ever held our heads above our neighbours," said Mrs. Brown, quickly. "Of course, we did not want it talked about that we were sometimes glad to have a dinner of dry bread, and to sell all our best furniture. I tell you this, Jessie, that you may understand that I cannot afford to lose this money I am going to lend you. Now, how will you manage to send it?" asked Mrs. Brown, in conclusion.
"Polly hasn't gone to school yet. She knows where to take it, and I know where father keeps the book. Oh, won't he be glad when he comes home, and I tell him he can go and see about the funeral as soon as he has done work! Why, we never did anything for you when you wanted it, but you are ready to help us all you can," added Jessie.
"Well, for one thing, you did not know how we were pushed. You thought we had a fortune, so that it was not your fault that we were sometimes hungry," said Mrs. Brown. "But when you can do a neighbour a kind turn, do it, whatever it may be. Now, let me sweep up the room and make you comfortable, while Polly goes to pay the club." And as she spoke Mrs. Brown fetched brush and broom, and soon made the kitchen neat and tidy.
"I didn't feel as though I could do anything this morning," said Jessie.
"I dare say not, my dear. Things are hard with you just now, I know; but I have always found it a good rule not to let anything interfere with the sweeping and cleaning. When Brown was ill, I seemed to lose heart sometimes; but I kept a clean floor and a tidy dresser, for it would have made me worse to see things all in a muddle."
When Jessie herself was made comfortable, and her lame foot placed on a pillow, Mrs. Brown went home, wondering whether she had done a wise thing or a foolish in parting with her money so readily. It would put her to some inconvenience through the week to be without ready money in her pocket, until it occurred to her that perhaps Fanny might lend her a few shillings. She resolved to tell her all about Jessie Collins, and ask her if she could let her have a little money until Collins could return what she had lent.
"AH mother, is it you?" The exclamation came from Fanny Brown, who had been sent to post a letter, and saw her mother close by as she turned away from the letter-box.
For answer, her mother kissed her and said, "You do look well, Fanny. You have got a colour like a rose. I am glad you have got such a nice comfortable place."
"I don't see how you can tell what sort of place I have got," said Fanny, a peevish look coming into her face as she spoke.
"Oh, you may trust a mother's eyes for seeing proof of that," said Mrs. Brown. And then she added quickly, "How was it you did not come home to tea yesterday, as your mistress gave you leave to come?"
"Oh, Jack has been telling tales again, has he? What business has he to come spying upon me as he did?"
Her mother looked at her in surprise. "Spying upon you!" she repeated. "He came because father sent him to tell you all the news of what has happened the last week. Who told you that your father was ill on Saturday morning?"
Fanny tried to laugh. "Oh, it was just a guess of mine," said Fanny, lightly. "I wanted to go out with a friend, and I knew I could get out that way. Now, don't scold, mother. Things have altered since you were at service, years ago."
"They have indeed," answered Mrs. Brown, in a grave tone; but she would not say any more just then, for she wanted to gain her daughter's confidence, and this was a bad beginning.
"Are you going back with me, mother?" asked Fanny, after a pause, as her mother walked beside her.
"I should like to come and sit down in the kitchen for a rest, after my long walk. You might ask your mistress if she has any objection."
They had reached the side entrance, and Fanny took a key from her pocket to let herself in.
"Come in, mother. Mrs. Lloyd won't mind, I am sure," she said.
"I would rather you went and told her I had come, Fanny," said Mrs. Brown, hesitating at the open door.
"Oh, well, come inside while I go and tell her," said the girl, sharply.
She was back again in a minute or two. "I am to make you a cup of tea after your long walk," she said, "and you can tell me all the news while I am getting it." And Fanny stirred the fire under the kettle and reached down a cup and saucer in a great bustle. "How is father?" she asked carelessly.
"Better now. But he had a bad fall on Saturday night, and was ill all day yesterday."
"Oh La! How did he fall?" exclaimed Fanny, pausing in her bustle of preparation. "I didn't think my words were coming true like that," she added, with a little more concern.
Her mother told her that the fall took place in the town when they were out marketing; but she did not enter into particulars, assuring her that the danger was all over now.
"I have some good news for you too," she added quickly.
"Oh, that's about Eliza, of course; she is the favourite now."
"Don't be foolish, Fanny. I never made a favourite of one more than another; and I am sure you will be pleased to hear the letter Mrs. Parsons has sent me about Eliza."
And she drew the precious letter from her pocket and began to read it. To her at least it was intensely interesting. But Fanny did not see anything to make a fuss about, and she said so, while her mother sat sipping her tea and wondering what could have happened to Fanny that she cared so little for her sister or any of them at home now, and she wondered what she had better do about telling her of the death of Mrs. Collins and the trouble they were all in through it.
But necessity compelled her to do this, for now that she had lent all her housekeeping money to pay Collins's club, it had left her almost without a penny, and so the sad tale had to be told.
"La, mother, do you mean to say you have been running after that Jessie Collins like that? Why, you didn't like me to speak to her when I was at home," retorted Fanny.
"No, I didn't; but I did not know her as well as I do now, and when you were at home, she did little else than run the street, which is no good to any girl. But I have had to do more than go in and out to help them, Fanny, I have had to lend them all my week's housekeeping money to pay up the club that Collins might get the allowance to pay for his wife's funeral. If it had not been paid this morning, the whole six pounds would have been lost."
"And serve him right," said Fanny, coldly. "He kept away from the drink for years and years. What made him take to it just lately? I have seen him hardly able to walk," concluded the girl.
"So have other people; but the poor man is in a great deal of trouble now, and who knows but he may give up the drink after this. At any rate, I could not see them in such trouble and not lift a finger to help them, so I have lent them all the money I had got, and have come to ask you to lend me a few shillings till the end of the week, just to piece out with what I can get on credit," added her mother
"I want a few shillings for myself," said Fanny, in an angry tone. "You seem to think, mother, that I ought to give you every farthing of my wages. I want a new pair of boots and a new frock, and I can't have them because I have not got money enough, and now you come and ask me—"
"I only want you to lend me what you have saved towards buying the new frock," interrupted her mother. "I do not ask you to give me a farthing of your wages. Thank God, your father is in good work, and whatever you can lend me, Jack shall bring back next Saturday as soon as your father gets home from work."
"Well, I can't do it, mother, for I haven't got it," answered Fanny, in a dogged tone. "Mrs. Lloyd pays such poor wages that I don't think I shall stop much longer."
"Fanny, you would never be so foolish as to leave a comfortable place like this," exclaimed Mrs. Brown, looking round the cosy kitchen, which she had already calculated in her own mind required so little hard work to keep neat and nice. "Why, this is as nice as any parlour," she said, uttering her thoughts aloud.
"Oh, it's all very well," said Fanny, with a toss of the head; "but a comfortable kitchen isn't everything, and I have heard that I can get higher wages than Mrs. Lloyd pays."
"Money is not everything, my girl. A considerate mistress, who tries to make things comfortable for her servant, and where a growing girl like you has as much to eat as she wants, may not be so easily found as you seem to suppose. Higher wages will mean harder, rougher work, very likely. Here you have just enough to keep you comfortably employed, and you have a mistress who does not mind teaching you how to do your work thoroughly."
"Oh, I have learned nearly all she can teach me now," said Fanny, with a smile, and a complacent look round her neat little kitchen.
Her mother sighed. "Well, as she has been at the trouble to teach you a good many things you could never learn at home, don't you think it would be very ungrateful to leave her so soon after you have been able to master the work and do it properly?"
"Ungrateful!" repeated Fanny. "Don't I work for every penny I get?"
"Yes, I dare say you do. Nobody keeps servants to look at, of course; but when an untrained girl, like you were, comes into a house like this, a mistress has to be at a good deal of trouble before she is of very much use. I know what it is when I have to begin teaching what I do at home. Why, it is easier to wash up tea-things than to teach a girl to do it properly, and it is the same with other things."
"Oh, well, I believe Mrs. Lloyd likes to teach girls, and to worry them too," retorted Fanny. "Of course, Eliza never gave anybody any trouble," she added, with something like a sneer.
"We were not talking about Eliza," said her mother, calmly. "When she goes into the Vicarage nursery, I dare say she will have to learn a good many things, and I only hope, if Nurse has this trouble with her, she will stay and repay her with the work she has to do."
"What wages is she to have when she is a proper nursemaid?" asked Fanny, eagerly.
"That is not mentioned in the letter," answered her mother. "I dare say Mrs. Parsons thought that it would be sufficient to let me know that she was willing to take her. They will pay enough to keep her neat and tidy, and that is all a girl should expect while she is learning the duties of her place."
"Oh, they are old-fashioned ideas! People don't think like that now; and I tell you, Mrs. Lloyd does not pay enough, and I dare say I shall tell her so very soon."
"I hope you will not do anything so foolish, Fanny. Your wages ought to be sufficient for all you want at present. It puzzles me what you can do with so much money," added Mrs. Brown, rising from her seat as she spoke. "Would your mistress like to speak to me," she added suddenly, as though the thought had just occurred to her.
"I know she is very busy and cannot spare the time," said Fanny, quickly. She did not ask her mother to sit and rest a little longer, and Mrs. Brown felt that, for some reason she could not understand, Fanny was glad to get rid of her. She noticed, too, that the girl opened the street door which was close to the kitchen, most carefully and cautiously; for the truth was Fanny did not want her mistress to see her mother, and had not let her know that she was in the house for fear she should say she would come down and speak to her.
Mrs. Brown went away feeling depressed and disappointed. She had been careful not to say a word that was harsh or fault-finding, and yet Fanny had shown so little pleasure at her visit that her mother felt sure she was glad to have her go, instead of pressing her to stay as long as she could; and the poor woman sighed as she thought of the change that had taken place in Fanny since she had left home.
She knew that she was always a little selfish, a little wilful; but with Jack and the others to be considered as well as herself, these faults were kept in check a good deal. But, in spite of this, it must have been that Fanny herself never really tried to overcome these faults, or there would not have been such a change in her as her mother now deplored. The thought of this made her grave and anxious as she walked homeward, for she felt helpless now to combat this, and yet she felt sure it would bring trouble to her child if she did not overcome it.
Then she was disappointed, too, that Fanny could not lend her a shilling or two for the week's provisions; there were some things she could not get on credit, and she hardly knew how she was to manage now that she had parted with all her ready money.
In her thoughts of this and Fanny's unkindness, she quite forgot that she had told Minnie and Selina that they might come and meet her when they came out of school, until she saw them running towards her, each trying to reach her first.
"Oh, mother, you have come a long way without us!" said Selina, reproachfully. "You said we might walk as far as the corner of Green Lane, and we have not got nearly so far. It isn't fair," said the little girl, in a complaining tone.
"Didn't you stay long with Fanny?" asked the more thoughtful Minnie.
"Not very long, dear. You see, Fanny's time is not her own now; she is in service," said Mrs. Brown, by way of warding off any further questions on this subject.
Then Selina suddenly remembered that she had been told to ask her mother to go and see her governess that evening.
"There, I had nearly forgotten all about it!" exclaimed the little girl. "May we go with you to teacher's house?" she asked.
"No, dear. If Miss Martin had wanted to say anything to you she would have told you in school," replied Mrs. Brown. "Minnie shall take the key, and go and get the tea ready by the time I come back. I had a cup of tea at Fanny's; but I dare say I shall be ready for some more when I get home. Now, my nearest way to Miss Martin's will be to turn up the next road, but you two had better go straight home now."