IN LONDON
"AND what do you want to do to-day?"
"Please, we want to go to see Dawn," was the cry from both Puggy and Christina.
They had had three days of sight-seeing in town, and it had almost been too bewildering for Christina. They had been to a pantomime, "Olympia," Madame Tussaud's and the Crystal Palace, and now Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan were going down for the day to Richmond, and the children were to be left in the charge of Blanche, Mrs. Maclahan's maid, who was a very staid elderly woman.
They had just finished breakfast in their hotel, and Mr. Maclahan smiled when he received his answer.
"Ah! I might have guessed that! Now remember! You are to have Blanche with you when you go. She can call a cab, and take you to see Dawn, and you can bring him back to lunch."
"But boys don't go about with maids in London," said Puggy rebelliously.
"If you don't like to go out with her, you can stay at home."
Puggy knew the Squire too well by this time to dream of protesting further, but he prepared himself to be very disagreeable, and when Puggy was disagreeable, he made every one near him very uncomfortable. Christina was his butt; when Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan had gone, he made her shiver in her shoes by his dark descriptions of cab drives in London.
"The horses are always starved, and they tumble down. I saw a little girl come crashing through a cab window once, and bits of glass were sticking in her face just like pins in a pincushion, and it was because the cab horse tumbled. And all cabmen in London are drunk, and they drive anyhow, and crash into motor-cars and kill people by hundreds; and cabs in London are always nearly worn out: their wheels fly off, and then down they go! If the Squire had let us walk to Dawn's house, we should have got there safely; but he makes us come in a cab, and we're positively certain to have an accident, so if we're all killed it won't be my fault, and I shall tell them so!"
"But," said Christina, trying to disguise her terror at such a catalogue of evils, "if you're killed, you won't be able to say anything!"
"Oh, I shall manage to let them know," said Puggy with an emphatic nod of his round head.
When they started in a four-wheeler, Christina's nerves were on edge. She clutched hold of Blanche, who sat beside her, and asked her appealingly if there was any danger.
"Of course there isn't," said Blanche soothingly.
"You're sitting on danger," said Puggy darkly; "this cab smells of smallpox. A fellow at my school got into a cab just like this and died of the smallpox a month afterwards. They always take smallpox people in those cabs—that's why my sister goes in hansoms; she says you're bound to get awful diseases in these cabs."
"Hold your tongue!" snapped Blanche crossly.
She was peculiarly nervous about taking infection, and Puggy knew it.
Having thoroughly frightened both Blanche and Christina, Puggy began to enjoy himself. But the pleasures of that drive were over to poor Christina. Every jolt of the cab meant a wheel off to her, every block in the streets meant collision, every application of the cabman's whip, and a corresponding start of the horse, meant a tumble and certain death. Then she remembered her text and repeated it over to herself.
"God can take care of me," she thought, and her fears began to slip away.
Still, when they arrived in Kensington, and were put down at Dawn's home, Christina drew a long sigh of relief.
"I expect he'll be as cocky as a sparrow," said Puggy, as they mounted the steps and rang the bell; "but I shan't let him cheek me!"
The servant who answered the door showed them into a very small drawing-room.
"Yes, Master Dawn is at home; he is in the studio with his father. I will let him know."
"You mustn't stay here long," said Blanche; "for the cabman is waiting, and if Master Dawn can come back with us, he must do it at once."
The door flew open as she spoke, and Dawn appeared, looking more radiant than ever. He embraced Christina, thumped Puggy on the back and danced up and down with ecstasy.
"How scrumptious! I never knew you were in London. Oh what ripping fun we'll have! I have ten days' more holidays, and if those aren't enough to do everything in, I'll take French leave, and add on a few more days."
"You're to come back to lunch with us," said Puggy grandly.
"Hurrah! How did you come? On the top of a 'bus?"
"In a stuffy cab. It's waiting now."
"A 'bus is much jollier! Come and see dad. Tina, he's working at your picture: the one with the hounds. It's nearly finished, and we have such a lovely hound lent to us. He goes any way you want him to; I want to make him stand on his head, but dad won't let me."
"They must only stay five minutes," said Blanche, but they never heard her, they were all racing upstairs to Mr. O'Flagherty's studio.
It was a much larger room than that in his country cottage. Christina looked round it with interest. There were rich coloured stuffs draped over screens, beautiful pictures, bits of armour, china bowls, and all sorts of queer pieces of furniture. The artist was working away, palette in hand. Dawn's corner was soon discovered. A plate of oranges on a stool, some shavings of wood and a knife, and various boy's playthings scattered round showed where he had been working.
"Oh, dad, isn't this luck?" Dawn exclaimed. "Say good-bye for the day, for you won't see me before bedtime; and won't you be jolly glad to get rid of me!"
Mr. O'Flagherty turned round and nodded to Puggy and Christina.
"You've brought a whiff of the country with you," he said. "Well, Tina, have you been defying any more savage sportsmen?"
"She's been defying a drunk pedlar," said Puggy.
"What? Oh, this is delicious! Tell me all about it. Dawn, hand the oranges round. Don't you forget your hospitality."
So the story of Susy and her father was told. Mr. O'Flagherty chuckled with delight over it, and laughed at Christina's solemn face. The recital to her meant a recital of Susy's woes and courage. Her own part in it was a very small one in her own estimation.
"Bravo, little Scotland!" said the artist. "Go through the world with your back up and fists out for the oppressed. I wish it had been my Jack-in-the-box. Whose cause will you undertake next, I wonder? Plenty need a champion in this big city."
"I wish you'd chuck Blanche out of the cab, Tina," said Puggy; "then you would be good for something. If she wasn't a woman, but just a fellow like me, I'd do it myself with the greatest pleasure!"
"I'll show you round London in a jiffy!" cried Dawn. "I know the way, don't I, dad?"
"There isn't much you don't know!" retorted his father.
They stayed chatting a few minutes longer, and then Dawn struggled into his greatcoat, and accompanied them downstairs.
"Oh," he said, as they got into the cab together, "we'll do some lovely things together! Tell me what you've done."
Their tongues went fast. At the bottom of Hanover Square they got out and walked the rest of the way to their hotel. Dawn thoroughly enjoyed himself. He liked seeing the different people come in and out of the rooms, and invented a story at once about each of them. They in their turn looked at the pretty curly-headed boy with great interest.
The three children sat down to a luncheon table by themselves. Puggy was in his element now.
"I should like to clear the world of women," he asserted. "I shall have nothing but men servants in my house when I grow up. I hate Blanche and that girl Connie being with us. It's like being with nurses again."
"I'll take you to see some of dad's pictures this afternoon," said Dawn. "They're in a gallery with some others in Bond Street. That's close here, you know. I can go in free. The gatekeeper knows me."
"Blanche will have to come with us," said Christina.
"Oh no, she won't. Dad lets me go about alone."
"Yes, Dawn is quite enough for us," said Puggy. "And we'll go out the very minute we've had enough to eat."
"But I couldn't," said Christina; "it wouldn't be right!"
"It will be right if I say it is," cried Dawn gaily.
Christina was silent. The idea of going out with the two boys without Blanche sounded very tempting.
"The Squire only said Blanche was to come with us when we went to Dawn," argued Puggy.
"I shan't feel comfortable," said Christina; "my conscience will bother me so."
"Oh, your conscience is all stuff; it is a rotten egg, your conscience is!"
Puggy's tone had supreme contempt in it.
"Dad says," Dawn asserted thoughtfully, conveying some apple tart to his mouth, "that the Scotch people's consciences make them dour; he says we have too little of it, and they have too much."
"Well, my conscience is just right," said Puggy. "I'm neither Scotch or Irish, so you listen to me, Tina. My conscience says go."
"Are you really listening to it?" questioned Christina anxiously.
"Of course I am, you stupid!"
"We'll just tell Blanche what we mean to do," suggested Dawn, pushing his chair away. "You leave her to me. I'll manage her. And if she says we can go, it will be all right."
Blanche had a great desire to go out shopping on her own account, so when Dawn with specious arguments convinced her that they would only walk up one street and down another, and come straight back to tea after seeing the pictures, she reluctantly gave her consent.
The three children started from the hotel in the highest spirits. Even Christina, now that her conscience was eased, felt the force of Dawn's gay humour.
He told them the drollest anecdotes, and was brimful of mischievous devices for spending the next few days.
"Not been to the Zoo? Of course we'll go there. We'll do it to-morrow. I've learnt the way to drive an elephant. A friend of dad's told me. He's been in India; and we'll get on the elephant's back and make him gallop! Wouldn't it be fun to tear out of the gardens and come galloping down Regent Street on him! What a sight we should be! Now come on, here we are, and its awful fun to hear what people say about dad's pictures! There's one of me, when I was quite a youngster, and I'm sitting in the sea; and then there are the three pictures, 'Dawn' and 'Day' and 'Dusk.' I can tell you those are fine!"
They were at the gallery by the turnstile; the ticket collector looked at Dawn rather sternly.
"What do you want here again?" he demanded.
"I'm showing some friends round," Dawn said airily. "Don't mind us. I have dad's card in my pocket, and we shan't stay long."
"Sixpence each, and that's only asking half-price. If you goes in free, a tail o' children after you don't!"
Puggy tossed the man a shilling with the grandest air.
"Take that and let us through without any more of your cheek!" he said.
Dawn's face was crimson with mortification. He felt in his pockets, and then laughed his sunny laugh.
"I'm a penniless Paddy," he said, "or I'd pay it for you; but I'll be even with that fellow yet, for insulting my friends! Come on. Now what would you say if your father had painted pictures like that?"
He led them triumphantly to a small room, and there in the centre were three large pictures. A group of people were before them discussing them, and Dawn on tiptoe, with his finger on his lips, crept up to listen.
Christina was feasting her eyes, not her ears. The first picture was a portrait of Dawn, and a very lovely picture he made. He was represented as just waking up in the centre of a great forest, the sun was rising, though not actually in sight. Its pale golden light surrounded by a slight morning mist, edged the horizon between some grand-looking pines. It was a picture that portrayed not only the dawn of youth, but the dawn of day and the dawn of summer. Everything was young and fresh; the baby bracken was softly uncurling, the buds of tree and bush all unfolding; a nest of young birds, a group of tiny rabbits, and a timid frightened fawn peering through the bushes at the waking child were all depicted with power that was akin to genius. The child was the centre of it all, and with his flushed and dimpled face, the disordered curls on his forehead, his sleepy eyes, and his little limbs in the act of stretching themselves, was a life-like sketch.
"What a lovely idea!" said a young girl enthusiastically. "And what a pretty boy! I long to take him up in my lap and kiss him!"
Dawn looked back at Puggy and Christina with mischief in his glance, then he sauntered boldly in front of the girl and looked at her.
When she caught his eye, he took off his hat with a low bow.
"Thank you!" he said, and then his flying feet carried him out of sight into an adjoining room before the young girl could get over her astonishment. Puggy followed him, but Christina stayed, and let her eyes take her to the next picture.
"Day" was simply the picture of a handsome, vigorous young blacksmith working at his forge; children were grouped round the door on their way to school; the sunshine outside and the glowing fire in the darkened forge were managed with consummate skill. "Dusk" was the third picture, and Christina could not tear herself away from this. An old man sitting in the twilight by the sick-bed of his old wife. That was the subject of it, but the gloom and pathos in his resigned expression and attitude, and the sad and wistful glance of his dying wife, as her face was turned towards him, brought the tears to the little girl's eyes.
"Oh, why do they look so unhappy!" she exclaimed aloud.
"Why? Because they are meeting their doom, the doom of us all—decay and death!"
Christina started nervously at the voice close to her. Turning, she saw an old man behind her leaning on his stick, and gazing intently upon the picture.
"But if you die, you go to Jesus," said Christina simply, "and that's a happy thing to do; Miss Bertha says it is."
The old man put his hand on her shoulder:
"Say it again, child, I like to hear it. I am in the dusk of my life. The dusk before darkness."
"And the darkness before light."
A gentle-looking woman murmured these words as she passed by, and the old man gazed after her with a sudden gleam of brightness in his eye. Then he turned to Christina:
"I am fond of little girls," he said. "I had a little girl of my own once, and when she was as small as you, she used to sit on my knee and ask me to tell her stories. Have you come here alone?"
"No," said Christina, a sudden panic seizing her, "I'm with Puggy and Dawn, and—and I believe they have left me!"
She looked wildly round. A sense of being lost in London rushed over her, but a minute afterwards, she caught sight of Puggy the other end of the room, and she dashed across to him.
"Oh, don't leave me," she gasped. "I thought you had gone away. Where is Dawn?"
"At some of his monkey tricks. I don't care for pictures; come on out, Tina."
"But we can't go without Dawn, where is he?"
"He's talking to two ladies; they seem to know him. We were just beginning to have a game of hide and seek, and he was under one of those seats when the ladies sat down, and then he mewed like a cat, and they sprang up in an awful fright, and then he crawled out and begged their pardon, and talked as if the whole place belonged to him, and they said they knew his father, and whilst they were jawing I came off."
"We can't go away without Dawn. Don't you like pictures, Puggy? I love them; do let us see some more. Look at that little girl on horseback over there, who is she I wonder?"
"I know I'd like to be on horseback," muttered Puggy; "this is too slow for me. I want to get out of it."
Dawn came skipping up to them, quite unconscious that Puggy was becoming bored.
"Isn't it nice here?" he said. "The rooms are so big. Have you seen dad's pictures, Tina?"
"Puggy is tired of it, he wants to go."
"All right, we will; and we'll go and have some tea in a shop. I know where to take you. Dad and I always go there."
Christina very reluctantly left the pictures and followed the boys out into the street. It was Dawn's way she knew, to be always changing his programme. But when they left the gallery, which had been lighted throughout with electricity, they found that outside, thick darkness prevailed.
"Is it night?" asked Christina with fright in her tone.
"No, it's a regular pea soup fog; isn't it fun? Come on, you follow me! I know the way."
"Don't go so fast," pleaded Christina; "and, please, don't cross the street. I can't see the horses and carts properly, and I shall be run over."
"This is the kind of day you get robbed," announced Dawn. "Burglars and pickpockets always come along in a fog. Mind if any one takes hold of you, you hit him straight in the face with your fist. Do you hear, Christina? You aren't afraid any more, are you?"
"Oh," cried Christina clutching hold of his arm, "I'm very, very much afraid just now!"
Everything seemed far away. The lights in the shops, the lamps on the carriages, seemed literally vanishing; and at last she gasped out: "Do you think it's the Judgment Day? Perhaps God has taken the sun right away?"
Both boys laughed; and then suddenly—Christina never knew how it was—there was a crowd of people, she became detached from the boys; and before she had time to call after them, she was alone by herself in the foggy London street.
LOST IN A FOG
FOR a few minutes she did not realize it, but she pressed after the boys in the direction in which she thought they had gone. She was too shy to call after them; too frightened and bewildered to speak to any passer-by. Stories of children being kidnapped came into her mind. Dawn had said burglars and pickpockets were about; if she spoke, they might offer to take her home, and then lead her away to rob her or kill her. An overwhelming sense of terror seized her, she fancied some one caught hold of her; and turning round, she ran as if for her life away from the possible pickpocket. The fog seemed to get thicker, she could not see a few feet in front of her, and at last she stood still trying to collect her thoughts.
"I don't know where I am, or what I'm to do," she said to herself. "I couldn't find a cab if I wanted one, and I couldn't drive in a cab alone, I should die of fright. The cabman would be drunk; Puggy said they always were. But I'm sure God will take care of me; I mustn't be frightened. I'll say my text:
"'What time I am afraid I will trust in Thee.'
"I will trust God to take care of me. I wish I was near a shop; they seem to have all gone away. Perhaps if I went up to a house and knocked at the door, they would tell me what to do."
She was trying hard to be cool and brave; and, gathering all her courage together, she felt her way to the nearest doorstep; three steps she mounted, and then dimly through the fog she saw a bell. This she pulled, and waited in trepidation till some one came. The some one proved to be a manservant, and in opening the door he seemed to let out a flood of light and warmth.
But as Christina looked up at him her heart failed her. He could see her less plainly than she could see him, and his voice was irate as he exclaimed:
"One of you begging brats again! How dare you touch the bell! Is my time to be taken up by answering the door to such as you!"
Christina was dumb; the door was slammed violently in her face, and sitting down on the step she gave way to a few tears.
"What am I to do? The houses are no good, and the people aren't, for I can't see them, and I don't know where the cabs are, or where I am!"
Then she thought she might speak to a lady if one passed by, but none seemed to come in her direction. Two loud-voiced girls passed her certainly, but their tones were not those of ladies, and this Christina knew instinctively.
"I s'pose," she said sorrowfully to herself, "that God is punishing me for having come out without Blanche. My conscience was right after all! And now the very worst has happened to me, and I shall never be found, and I shall be lost for ever!"
She felt cold and miserable; the fog got down her throat and made her cough. She wondered vaguely why she did not feel more frightened, and walked along the pavement with tired lagging steps.
"I wonder if it will ever get light again!" she said to herself, and then the inspiration seized her to take her stand under one of the electric lamps that edged the street at intervals.
"Perhaps I shall be able to see the people's faces better, and if they aren't all burglars, I might ask some one to help me!"
She had hardly taken her stand under the lamp before some one did come by whom she recognized at once. It was the old gentleman who had spoken to her in the picture gallery. In an instant she darted forward and touched his arm timidly.
"Please, I'm lost; do help me."
"Eh? What! Lost? No begging tricks! Why, bless my soul, it's my little friend who ran away from the pictures and me!"
"Yes; I've lost the boys, and I can't find my way home; will you help me?"
"Can't find your way home? Delightful! I'm as dull as ditch water to-day, you shall come home with me and cheer me up. Have you had your tea? I have not. Come along, come along, my house is not far from here. We'll send you home when we've done with you."
He took her hand in his. Christina followed him happily, till a sudden fear seized her.
"Please, don't mind my asking you, but you are not a burglar or a pickpocket, are you? You wouldn't rob me, would you? I—I don't know anybody in London, and Puggy and Dawn tell me such dreadful stories!"
The old gentleman laughed huskily. She went on with increasing nervousness:
"If you would take me back to our hotel, I should like it best; for, you see, the boys will be looking for me."
image005
"Eh! What, lost?"
"All in good time. Here we are! You must come in and see my old lady and then you will know why I was moon-struck over that dismal picture."
He had stopped at one of the houses in the street, inserted a latchkey into the door, and then took Christina up a steep flight of stairs.
"Now," he said, ushering her into a small drawing-room that was only lighted by a flickering fire, "here is my good wife. She can't see you in this fog, and she couldn't if it was bright sunshine, for she is quite blind, so she will take my word for it when I tell her that you are a very pretty little lady with eyes like our Minnie's. Come and shake hands with her."
Christina crossed the room timidly. Seated in an armchair by the fire was a very sweet-looking old lady. She was knitting a scarf, and had just laid down her work to listen to her husband's voice. "Very glad to see you, dear, or—I should say—to have you here, as I can't see any one. It is not often we have little visitors. How did you meet her, Ted?"
"Looking at a picture. Ah, dear! Don't remind me of it. Just a picture of ourselves a few years later! And then she ran away from me, and then we met again in the streets, and she told me she was lost. Lost in London! I wonder how many loot souls London is responsible for!"
The old gentleman took off his hat and sat down heavily on a chair. Christina looked at him in wonder, then she laid her little hand softly on the old lady's withered one.
"I'm not quite lost, because I know the name of our hotel, and any one will take me there, won't they? It's this dreadful fog. I couldn't see the boys any more."
"Ted dear, ring the bell. Chivers will bring up tea. You must stay and have some tea, little girl, and then my husband will take you home. He wants cheering up; but he is not always so gloomy as this!"
Christina stayed to tea. She did not see what else she could do, and she confided to the old couple a good deal concerning herself and the boys.
She heard from the old lady that her name was Bolland, and that she and her husband had lived in London for fifty years, only going away from it sometimes for change of air. Mr. Bolland had been once an artist himself, but rheumatism had crippled his hands and limbs so badly that for some years he had not been able to touch a paint brush.
"And where is your little girl?" Christina asked. "The little girl something like me?"
"Ah!" said Mrs. Bolland with a sigh. "She's in Heaven; she died when she was twelve years old. I've often thought that if she had lived, she would have brightened our life now, wouldn't she, Ted? Show the little girl your picture of her. She'd like to see our Minnie."
Mr. Bolland left the room and returned with a large picture under his arm. It was a pretty portrait: a little girl in white muslin frock with a string of coral beads round her neck. Christina gazed at it admiringly.
"Yes," said Mr. Bolland, looking at her earnestly, "you've the same eyes, my dear, and you say the things Minnie used to say. Why when she lay dying she looked up at me, 'Father, I'm sorry to leave you, but so glad to go to Jesus,' she said."
He turned away and cleared his throat. Mrs. Bolland took hold of Christina's hand.
"Will you come and see us another day?" she asked gently. "Do you think you would be allowed to? We are very lonely old people, and it is such a treat to hear a little child's voice."
"I'll ask father, and perhaps I could bring Puggy and Dawn with me."
"Are they your dogs?"
Christina laughed merrily.
"No, they're boys. We're called the United Kingdom. Puggy is England, and Dawn is Ireland, and I'm Scotland. Dawn is named after the picture we saw to-day."
"I'll take you to your hotel," said Mr. Bolland. "We won't have a cab. The fog is clearing, and it is not far from here."
So Christina wished Mrs. Bolland good-bye, and promised her she would come again if she could, and then taking hold of Mr. Bolland's hand, she was piloted across several streets, and finally reached the hotel just at the time when her father, with a very worried face, was making inquiries about her in the entrance hall.
It appeared that neither Puggy nor Dawn had returned. Mr. Maclahan thanked the old gentleman warmly for bringing his little daughter back. He took her up at once to their private sitting-room, where her stepmother was having a cup of tea.
"It is really most culpable of Blanche to let these three children go out alone," said Mr. Maclahan sharply.
"Yes," his wife responded, "I suppose it is; but Puggy can generally be trusted to look after himself."
"I don't doubt that, but he cannot be trusted to look after Christina."
"Don't be hard on him. Tina seems the most capable of the three, for she has come back first."
"I expect," said Christina with anxious eyes, "that they're looking for me all this time. We lost each other in the fog. They got in front of me, and I lost them."
Mr. Maclahan left the room.
"Come here and tell me what you have been doing," said Mrs. Maclahan to her little stepdaughter.
Christina gave a very careful and truthful account of herself.
"Of course they ought to have looked after you better. But boys will be boys. I'm afraid your father will be very angry with Puggy!"
"May I go and see that old lady and gentleman again?" asked Christina timidly.
"You had better ask your father. I should think it would be a very odd proceeding. We do not know them, though I believe Mr. Bolland was an R.A. once. Ask Dawn's father if he knows him. And now go to Connie, and stay with her."
Christina left the room with relief. Though her stepmother was kind to her, she was not sympathetic; the little girl was never quite at ease when with her. She felt she was in the way, and that Mrs. Maclahan only tolerated her presence. And Mrs. Maclahan made no secret of her preference for the boys. She did not understand Christina, and she felt indifferent towards her. Beyond seeing that she was educated, fed and clothed, her stepmother had little to do with her, and it was to her father that Christina turned with the assurance of being welcome. Mr. Maclahan was taking an increasing interest in his little daughter, and her love of books was a great bond of union between them.
Half an hour afterwards the boys returned. They were indignant instead of relieved to find Christina safely at home.
"What did you run away from us for, you little stupid!" exclaimed Puggy. "A nice hunt we have had for you!"
"And all the policemen in London are looking for you," asserted Dawn. "We did the thing properly I can tell you! We offered £500 reward for whoever would find you."
"Oh!" gasped Christina. "Where could you get five hundred pounds?"
"Oh, your father would give that and a good deal more to get you back," said Dawn coolly. "Why, dad thinks me worth more than a thousand pounds, I know he does! And if I was put up for sale, I dare say I'd fetch more!"
Puggy eyed him with scorn.
"You'd only be bought by silly old ladies who go in for lapdogs. Your curls would keep off any sensible man from owning you!"
Dawn douched his fists.
"Now come, we'll have it out! I've been longing to give you a good crack across your head ever since you told me I was a penniless Irishman!"
"I never called you a man at all!" cried Puggy, squaring his shoulders. "You're a long-haired mongrel, that's what you are!"
Dawn flew like a little tiger upon Puggy, but Christina flung herself between them.
"You shan't fight, you mustn't!" she cried. "Why, this is the first day we've met. Oh, do be good boys, and tell me what you've been doing!"
Dawn began to laugh.
"We'll put it off," he said with a knowing nod at Puggy. "I want to tell where we've been. Such a lark, Tina; I took Puggy to Scotland Yard. You've never been there I know."
"Does it belong to Scotland?" asked Christina. "I ought to know about it I expect!"
"I don't know what it has to do with Scotland, but the cleverest policemen live in it; and if anything is lost, they take it there. Dad lost his best umbrella in a train, and he took me there, and we got it again."
"Would they have taken me there?" questioned Christina anxiously.
"No," interrupted Puggy, "I told him they wouldn't. I know London as well as Dawn does, and if any one is found wandering about the streets with no home, they're taken straight off to prison by the police, and made to sleep there all night!"
"Oh!" gasped Christina. "Just suppose a policeman had caught hold of me! How thankful I am he didn't!"
"Such fun!" went on Dawn with a chuckle. "Puggy got a shove from some one in the fog and he hit him in the face, and it was a bobby! We flew for our lives, and then we went to Scotland Yard."
"They'd just brought a huge bunch of keys in," put in Puggy, "and they were quite interested about you. We made up a long story about you. We told them you were the daughter of a millionaire, that we fancied you had been kidnapped in the fog for the sake of your dress and jewellery; we told them bills were going to be printed about you, and if they wished to get the reward, they'd better be quick and find you."
"I told them," said Dawn importantly, "that my father was painting a picture of you which was going to be put in the Academy, so that made them think you were very grand indeed. But then they began to want to know too much, and asked us so many questions that we got tired and came away."
The children were talking together in the lounge of the hotel. They were interrupted now by the appearance of Mr. Maclahan, who gave both boys a sharp scolding, and told Dawn he had better go home.
"Yes," he said, shaking back his curls with a saucy gesture, "and I shall invite Tina to spend the day with me, and then get dad to scold her well, and send her home without any tea."
"Do let Dawn stay to tea, father," Christina begged. "I've had mine out, but he has had none."
But Dawn was already flying down the broad staircase. Looking up when he reached the bottom, he waved his cap.
"Good-bye, you proper people. I like tea with dad better than with the King himself! And I'll come round and see you to-morrow Tina!"
MISS BERTHA'S BONNET
"OF course you must take home presents for everybody. People always buy things when they come to London, and we'll begin with a present for Miss Bertha!"
It was Dawn who spoke. The three children were in Kensington Gardens. Blanche was with them, but she was now on a seat reading a book. They had been having a series of games, and, tired out, were consulting as to the next move.
"What can we buy her?" asked Christina. "It must be something very, very nice."
"The great thing," said Dawn wisely, "is to give people what they like, not what you like yourself. When I was a small kid I gave dad a penny trumpet on his birthday. He didn't pitch it out of the window, but he pretended he liked it. Of course I know better now, and I generally give him some tobacco."
"We've got to think what old ladies like," asserted Puggy. "My sister Ena gave the old women in the almshouses a pound of tea and a shawl."
"But Miss Bertha has lots of shawls, and very nice tea," said Christina. "I wish we knew an old lady who would tell us what she likes. I wonder if Mrs. Bolland could tell us. Father said I might go and see her again."
"You ask Blanche," suggested Dawn; so Christina went across to her.
"Blanche, if you were an old lady, what would you like as a present?"
Blanche looked up a little impatiently from her book.
"Oh, a bonnet or a gown," she said, and Christina went back to the boys and repeated her words.
"The very thing," said Dawn. "We'll get her the most lovely bonnet. How much money have we got?"
They consulted, and found that between them they could manage thirty shillings.
Miss Bertha was dear to their hearts. As Puggy said, the Christmas holidays were rich times, and they determined that Miss Bertha should have the very best bonnet that London could produce. The next question was, where should they buy it and when?
"We mustn't have any grown-up person bothering us. Dad lets me go alone to any shop, but Tina's father is so waxy about her that she'll have to be left behind. You and me must choose it, Puggy."
Christina nearly dissolved into tears. "You won't choose it without me," she pleaded. "I really must choose it with you."
There was a long talk about it. Finally, Blanche was taken into their confidence, and persuaded to come with them to the nearest milliner's on their way home. But she was made to wait outside, whilst they went in and made their purchase.
It was a very grand shop indeed. Christina wondered at the audacity of the boys. She grew nervous and shy at the low giggling of the young lady assistants, as they produced various bonnets for the boys' inspection. Puggy and Dawn were perfectly equal to the occasion. They made the young women put the bonnets on, they tried them on themselves, and insisted upon Christina doing so.
"It's for an old lady, and she's not at all gloomy," said Dawn, "so we won't have a black bonnet. It must be a blue or pink one."
"Or one with cherries in," suggested Puggy, pointing to a small toque trimmed entirely of that fruit. "Now that's a lovely one, it makes me want to eat it! Do just put that on your head, Dawn, and let me get behind you, because I do sit behind Miss Bertha in church, and if they smell like cherries, I shall snap at them, I know I shall."
Christina did not like the cherry toque, it was too small she thought. After a great deal of talk they settled on one at last. It was a wonderful erection of red roses and black plumes. An obliging assistant said she would take out the black feather and ribbon and put in red instead, and Christina gave the address of the hotel. When the bill was handed to them, they saw it came to four guineas. None of them had asked the price, and none of them liked to say that they thought it dear.
"Perhaps you would rather pay on delivery?" the children were asked.
"Oh, yes," said Puggy grandly. "Send it up to-night without fail."
They walked out of the shop, then gazed at each other with blank feelings of despair.
"I've just half a crown more," said Dawn, "that will clear me out for good and all. I did think my new half-sovereign would have been enough!"
"Blanche, how much does a bonnet generally cost?" asked Christina tearfully.
Blanche had been sauntering outside looking into other shop windows. She was in a very good humour to-day.
"It depends on the style, Miss Tina; a cheap one could be had for eighteen or nineteen shillings. I've seen some at twenty guineas. And I've seen them at five shillings and sixpence for the working classes."
Christina said no more; the children were very quiet till they reached their hotel, then Puggy said in the entrance hall as Dawn was wishing them good-bye:
"Look here! You shan't go home and leave us in this fix. It's share alike. We said so."
"Come into our sitting-room. Father and mother are out," suggested Christina, "and we can talk quietly without any one hearing us."
So to the sitting-room they went, and it was with very sober faces they anxiously consulted together. "Would they take it back and let us have a cheaper one?" Christina asked.
"Of course they wouldn't!" exclaimed Dawn. "There wasn't another nice one in the shop. Besides, we ought to be willing to sacerryfice anything for Miss Bertha. We must sell our clothes or something. There's lots of ways of getting money, you know; lots, and awfully nice ways too. I'll give my last half-crown. I was a cad to mind giving it for Miss Bertha, and mind you two clear your money bags clean out. Not one penny do you keep back!"
Christina hastily left the room, and soon returned with her money-box. Puggy went away and brought his last pennies. They put their money in a pile and counted it up. With Dawn's twelve shillings and sixpence they made out exactly two pounds one shilling and sevenpence halfpenny, and then, with pencil and paper, they came to the alarming conclusion that they must get together two pounds two shillings and fourpence halfpenny more.
"We shall never do it. How can we pay it to-night?" Christina's face was very woe-begone.
"Oh, we must ask them to wait for their money for a few days," said Dawn airily. "We'll do it!"
"I know," said Puggy, with the air of a martyr, as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and took his silver watch and chain out and laid it on the table. "A chap in our school got into debt, and took his watch to the pawnshop. I'll do the same. It's true the chap was found out and nearly expelled, but that was because his debts were backing horses, it wasn't for pawning his watch. I'll go now. What have you got, Tina?"
Christina wildly suggested a great many of her treasures; but as they were chiefly books and toys the boys scoffed at her.
"It must be something silver or gold," they said. "I have my gold bangle that father gave me," said Christina humbly. "I hope he won't be angry if I sell it; but we couldn't be in debt, could we? That's much worse. Don't they put you into prison for debt?"
"No," said Puggy, "they send a seedy-looking chap to follow you wherever you go, and he gets inside your house and lives on the fat of the land, and you daren't turn him out, and then he takes any furniture or pictures or silver he likes, to pay for what you owe."
"Oh," said Christina with a little shiver, "will they send him here to-night?"
"You fetch me your bangle and I'll take my watch, and Dawn and I will go off to the pawnshop at once. And don't you say anything to any one till we come back."
"But if the bonnet comes while you are away?"
"Tell them to wait till we come."
The boys slipped out of the hotel, and Christina sat down to wait for their return in great unhappiness of mind. She was unhappy about her bangle; she felt she ought to have asked some one's leave before she parted with it; she was dreading the arrival of the bonnet, and felt she would not be equal to the occasion; and she did not know whether Puggy was right in going out with Dawn so late in the afternoon. This was quite enough to bring careworn wrinkles on her small brow.
She started violently when the door opened suddenly and the waiter said:
"A parcel for Miss Maclahan. Is it to come in here? Waiting for an answer."
"Oh!" cried Christina excitedly, getting down from her chair. "It must wait, please. At least, it must come in—it belongs to us—but they must wait."
"I'll tell the young person to bring it in," said the waiter; and the next moment poor Christina was face to face with a tall young woman, who held a bandbox in her hand. She was not one of the attendants whom Christina had already seen in the shop, and for a moment the child looked at her with an agonized face. How could she keep her till the boys came back she wondered!
The young woman looked at Christina, and spoke sharply.
"Waiting for payment!" she said. "Is there any one I can speak to?"
Then Christina rose to the occasion, as she generally did in an emergency.
"Please sit down; we are expecting you. They will be here presently. It's a very fine day."
The girl took a seat. If Christina's voice trembled with nervousness, she did not seem to notice it. She looked at her with a little smile.
"If it is a fine day it doesn't make any odds to me. I'm always tramping about all weathers."
There was a pause, then Christina said shyly:
"I should like to see the bonnet. Will you take it out for me?"
"What will your mamma say?"
"Oh, it isn't for her. It is a present the boys and I are going to give Miss Bertha. The bonnet belongs to us, you know."
"I didn't understand that. Then have you got the money for me?"
"The boys will be here very soon with it." Christina's cheeks flushed crimson as she spoke.
"Well, my time is precious," said the young woman, and her tone was sharp again.
She took out the bonnet, and Christina gazed at it admiringly. It certainly was a very striking structure; the red ribbons and plumes and flowers made you hot to look at it!
"The old lady will be seen a mile off when she wears it," said the young woman. "It'll act as a danger signal anywhere!"
Christina did not understand this. She looked at the clock. It was six o'clock. Would the boys ever be back? Then she tried to make more conversation.
"Do you like London?" she asked.
A short laugh was the only answer she got, and then to her infinite relief she heard a scuffle outside, and the door burst open.
"We've got it, we've got it!"
The boys paused abruptly when they saw that Christina was not alone. Dawn, seeing the bonnet on the table, made a dash at it, put it on his head, and danced round the table. Puggy, with a very business-like air, turned to the young woman.
"Hold out your hand, and I'll count the money into it, and mind you give me a proper receipt for it. I know all about bills. You can't take me in!"
Dawn paused in his antics to see the transaction, and Christina watched breathlessly whilst Puggy began to count out his gold and silver. He was inflated with pride and importance as he did so, but the young woman did not seem impressed; on the contrary, she laughed in his face as she wrote out the receipt and gave it to him.
"I hope the lady will like the bonnet," she said, as she took her leave; "it isn't often we send out such a specimen!"
"Now what did she mean by that?" demanded Dawn. "Something rude, I bet!"
Forgetting he still wore the bonnet, he dashed out of the room after her, and putting his head over the banister, he shouted out:
"It isn't often your shop mistress sends out such a specimen like you!"
A shout of laughter greeted him, and he saw three or four ladies and gentlemen in the entrance hall below looking up.
"Is it a monkey?" he heard some one say, and then remembering his headgear, he scampered back to the sitting-room.
Christina and Puggy were in anxious consultation.
"Shan't I ever get my gold bangle back again?"
"Well, you see, we couldn't find a proper pawnshop, so we went into the first jeweller's we came to. The man was a decent chap. He asked how much we wanted, and we told him the exact sum. He gave it to us. He said my watch was very old, and your bangle out of fashion, or he could have given us more."
"I thought you were never coming," said Christina. "Where shall we put the bonnet? She has taken the box away."
"Oh, you must keep it somewhere," said Puggy impatiently, "girls take care of bonnets, boys don't!"
"I wish I was coming back with you two," said Dawn gravely. "I should awfully like to see Miss Bertha's face when she sees her present. Now, mind you don't say a word to anybody, Tina. Let it be a proper surprise."
"But I think I ought to tell father about my bangle."
"Rubbish! Why should you? You'll spoil it all!"
Christina said no more, but she carried a heavy burden with her to bed that night, and the next morning took counsel with Puggy.
"I shall never be happy till father knows. I can't laugh or smile or talk or play while I remember it. Do let me tell him."
"Now, look here, don't make an ass of yourself! You had to do it! I'm sure the Squire would be awfully waxy if he knew you had debts you couldn't pay. You'll see what he says. I'll ask about it at breakfast."
Accordingly Puggy began, when he and Christina were seated at the breakfast table with Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan:
"Squire, isn't it a bad thing to run into debt?"
"Very bad. I hope you have not been doing it."
Puggy shook his head virtuously.
"No. I never mean to. But it's better to sell all the clothes off your back, isn't it, than to run up a bill you can't pay?"
His sister looked sharply at him.
"Not in your case," she said, "because your clothes aren't your own to sell."
Puggy shook his shoulders impatiently.
"I was only speaking in—a—a allegory fashion," he said. "I'm not going to sell my clothes; I was thinking of the world and all the people in it who have bills they can't pay. Why, if Christina and I—" here he kicked Christina under the table, for he was treading on delicate ground—"had a bill to pay and we hadn't the money, it would be quite right if we sold some of our own toys and things!"
"It would be quite wrong for you to have any bill that you could not pay," said his sister, looking at him suspiciously.
Puggy crammed his mouth with bread and jam; for an instant he looked up stolidly into his sister's face, then went on eating steadily.
Mrs. Maclahan glanced from him to Christina, who turned colour and looked scared at once.
"I am not naturally suspicious," said Mrs. Maclahan, "but I am sure you two children have been up to something. What is it?"
"We've been up to lots of things," said Puggy readily. "And we're up to be taken to the Zoo to-day. We haven't been there yet."
"You must wait till to-morrow. I'll take you there myself, and Dawn can come too. It is the only day you have, for we shall be returning home on Saturday!"
"Hurray! We'll send Dawn a telegram, shall we, so that he may know at once?"
Puggy had turned the conversation, as he had meant to do, but Christina did not feel any happier. When her father asked her if she would like to come out for a walk in the gardens with him she did not respond as cheerfully as usual. Puggy had a word with her before she went.
"Mind you don't split on us!" he said severely.
Then Christina turned at bay.
"I shall split on myself if I like," she said.
"You'll be a sneak if you do, and you can't separate yourself from me. England and Scotland are joined together, and they must stand or fall together. Remember that!"
Christina put her fingers in her ears and turned away from him. But she did not enjoy her time with her father, and he thought she must be out of spirits. She came home as miserable as when she went out, and was slowly toiling up the hotel stairs to her bedroom when she was met by Mrs. Maclahan.
"Ah, Tina, here you are! Now you can explain. Connie tells me she has found a huge red bonnet under your bed. It looks perfectly new. Is it a secret?"
"Yes," said Christina, with frightened eyes.
"So Puggy says. He told me you would explain. I hope to goodness it is not going to be a present to me?"
"Oh, no," said Christina eagerly. "It's—it's for Miss Bertha. We have bought it for her."
Mrs. Maclahan began to laugh, and she laughed so heartily that Christina looked at her in wonder.
"You ridiculous children! Oh, if Miss Bertha appears in it, I shall die! Where on earth did you get it?"
"At a shop."
Christina's tones were faltering.
"Did Puggy say I was to tell you?" she asked.
"He had better answer for himself. Come into the sitting-room; I left him there."
Christina followed her stepmother, and in a few minutes the whole story was told.
"The game is up!" Puggy exclaimed tragically; but he was relieved that the confession had to be made to his sister, and not to the Squire.
But even she looked very vexed when she heard about the watch and the bangle, and insisted upon telling her husband. And Mr. Maclahan spoke very sharply to the children about it.
"When you knew you had not the money to buy it, you ought to have had the pluck to say so. Now, Puggy, come with me to the jeweller's at once, and we will see if we cannot get these things back. If you had asked me for money, Christina, I would have given it to you gladly. I cannot bear this underhand behaviour."
Christina was by this time in tears, and her stepmother interceded for her.
"There, Herbert, not much harm is done! Miss Bertha must get that bonnet at all costs. I will go shares; or, if it is to be the children's present, I will give them each a tip which will bring them out of debt. You must get the bangle and watch back, of course."
This was done; but to teach them a lesson, the Squire locked up both bangle and watch in his dressing-case, and neither Puggy nor Christina had them again till three months had gone by.
"MY DAD IS GOING TO DIE"
"WHICH must I do?"
It was a big question to Christina.
Old Mr. Bolland had left a note asking her to go to lunch the next afternoon with him and his wife. Her father was willing that she should do so, for he had discovered that the old Bollands were friends of a friend of his; but Mrs. Maclahan could only spare the afternoon to take them to the Zoo. She was going to take them to lunch there, and stay a couple of hours with them afterwards.
And the Zoo had great attractions to Christina: greater than an afternoon in the stuffy, dark little house with two old people. Dawn's audacious statements of all he meant to do with the animals stimulated her curiosity. She knew it would be a terrible disappointment if the two boys went without her. Yet in Mr. Bolland's note he had said: "My poor old wife wants cheering up, and is longing to have a little visit from you. Will you do her this kindness, and give us both the pleasure of your company?"
Miss Bertha's teaching came to her mind. She had often said to her:
"Other people's pleasure first, Childie; your own last!"
"I know which I want to do, and which I ought to do," Christina said to herself; "it's such a pity they don't match!"
But she made up her mind at last, and trotted off to the Bollands under the guardianship of Blanche.
"I wouldn't be in the mistress' place for a good deal!" Blanche informed her as they walked along the street. "I wouldn't take those two imps of mischief to the Zoo for any money that might be given me!"
"Oh," said Christina, "I would like to be with them."
"Then it's a lucky thing for you that you're out of it. Master Dawn had a pocket pistol in his hand; if he frights the lions or elephants, there 'll be a regular row. I remember a boy who teased an elephant, and he was tossed up to the roof by the furious animal, and stamped to death and out of recognition, before his own mother's eyes!"
Christina shuddered.
"Don't frighten me about Dawn," she said. "I don't think he would tease the lions, because he's very fond of animals."
She was received very warmly by Mrs. Bolland, and quite enjoyed her lunch. Mr. Bolland told her funny stories, and after it was over showed her a sketchbook of his, with an amusing account of a tour he had once taken abroad: Then Christina sat down on a stool at Mrs. Bolland's feet, and in her soft childish way talked to her about the boys and Miss Bertha and her home. And she soon touched upon the subject that was never out of her thoughts—the fear that she might disgrace her family by proving herself a coward.
"I've only just missed it so often," she said sadly. "And I would like so much to be able to lay my hand on my heart as Dawn does, and say, 'Fear dwells not here!'"
"What are you afraid of most?" asked the old lady sympathetically.
Christina considered.
"I have a pony at home and I'm a little afraid when I'm on him, and I'm afraid of strange places and people, and of doing difficult things like crossing water on a plank, and of—of the dark, only I know being afraid of the dark is wicked."
"Why?"
"Because God is taking care of me just the same."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Bolland. "We don't all believe that as we ought to do. When dark clouds come, and trouble and disappointment, we don't trust in God then."
"Miss Bertha gave me a text to say to myself," said Christina.
"'What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.'
"I say it every time I'm frightened."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Bolland with a long sigh. Then in a different tone she said almost in a whisper: "Is Mr. Bolland there, dearie?"
"No, he has just gone out of the room."
"Ah!" sighed the old lady again. "I must remember your text.
"'What time I am afraid—What time I am afraid—'"
"But grown-up people are never frightened," said Christina. "That is one thing that makes me want to grow up quickly; I shall never be frightened then."
"Grown-up people have different fears, little one; but they have them, and I have mine. I have the dark river to pass, and it seems to be coming very near. I shall have to go first and leave my husband, and I'm afraid for him, when he is left lonely and sorrowful. It is good to have a text like that to dwell on. I used to read my Bible when I could see, and oh, how I wish I had learnt more of it by heart! No one reads to me out of it. I seem to have lost touch with it; and my heart is sore afraid at times. Say it once again, dear, in your soft confident voice, and I will repeat it to myself again and again till it sinks into my heart and stays there. You have been God's little messenger to a poor blind woman this afternoon!"
Christina's cheeks glowed and her eyes shone. Was it possible, she thought, that she could be called one of God's messengers? She said her verse again, and Mrs. Bolland repeated it after her.
And then the door opened and Mr. Bolland appeared with the doctor, who was an old friend of theirs, and who was attending the old lady.
He sat down and chatted with them. Christina kept as still as a mouse. She did not heed the conversation until she suddenly caught the words:
"These people don't deserve to have children. One of those hawking pedlars—a regular drunkard—was brought into my surgery this morning. His small girl is a mass of bruises: she confessed that her father had had one of his drinking bouts, and was knocked down by a wagon as he crossed the road; but from my inquiries I should think she had been going about with him in terror of her life. The man is not likely to live, and I said as much to her, but instead of being comforted by that fact, she dissolved into floods of tears, and assured me he was going to be a very good man, that already he was trying hard, and that she had promised her mother to look after him and love him. Some of these wives and daughters are incomprehensible!"
Christina started to her feet.
"That is Susy," she said with conviction. "Is she here in London? Oh, do tell me; and is her father very ill?"
The doctor looked at her kindly. "I can't tell you if her name is Susy, but her father's name is Jack Winter."
"Yes, yes," cried Christina excitedly, "that is his name, and Susy is one of my greatest friends. She told me they were on their way to London when they stopped in our village; and I knew I should meet her again one day. Please tell me where they live."
"I'm sure I don't know. The father is in hospital at present, and is so injured that he will never come out, I am afraid. If you want to see your little friend, you must got some one to take you to the hospital to-morrow. It is visiting day, and the child seems to live outside the hospital gates. They have turned her away twice already to-day."
"Oh, I must see her! Poor Susy! She has no home, she only lives in a cart."
"I fancy that is an impossibility in London," said the doctor with a smile; "and their cart came to grief when they ran into the wagon. Has the child any friends? She will want them before a week is out, or she will have to go to the workhouse."
Christina was in a great state of excitement. She told all she knew about Susy, and begged the doctor to see her that very night, and tell her that her "greatest friend" was in London.
"And I'll ask father if I can go to the hospital very early to-morrow morning and see Susy. We're going home in the afternoon. Oh, I wish I had known about Susy before!"
"Where are you staying?" the doctor asked, looking at her with kindly interest.
Christina told him, adding anxiously:
"I don't know what Susy will do if her father is very ill. Who will look after her?"
The doctor shook his head, and Christina's eyes began to fill with tears.
"Is there no one in London to look after her?" she asked piteously.
"Come, we must have no tears," said old Mr. Bolland, taking Christina on his knee. "I am an idle old man with nothing to do, so I will look her up, and see if I can find some friends for her; and I'll do it for the sake of a little maid who came here to cheer up a lonely old couple."
Smiles took the place of tears.
"I know you'll like Susy, everybody does, and Miss Bertha said she'd always be her friend; so if Susy wants a home, she must come back to our village, but I know she won't leave her father."
Conversation was interrupted here, by the arrival of Blanche to take Christina home.
She bade her friends good-bye with rather a troubled face, but the doctor assured her that he would see Susy if he could that evening, and take her her message, and Christina walked home as if in a dream.
The boys were waiting in the hall to tell her their experiences at the Zoo.
"Master Dawn got caught out," said Puggy triumphantly. "He had taken a pistol which he was going to fire off in the elephant's ear when we rode upon him, but Ena took it away from him before we got to the Zoo. Ena is awfully sharp sometimes."
"But that would have frightened the poor elephant dreadfully," said Christina, looking at Dawn with reproach in her eyes.
"It would have made him trot out," said Dawn, unabashed. "I wanted to have a good gallop on him. But we did have fun with the monkeys, didn't we?"
"Yes," said Puggy. "Ena stayed outside, she couldn't stand the smell of them. Dawn took a toy rattlesnake and gave it to a big monkey. He was awfully frightened of it at first, and then chattered with rage, and then began to examine it—and—"
"Susy's in London!"
Christina could keep her news no longer. Elephants and monkeys were nothing to her compared with Susy.
"I'm so glad I went to see Mrs. Bolland instead of coming with you," she added breathlessly; "for I should never have heard about Susy, and the doctor said unless she had friends, she'd have to go to the workhouse!"
"Well, she ought to go there," said Puggy indifferently; "she is just the kind for the workhouse."
Christina's eyes blazed. She flew at him in fury.
"She's my friend, and you're a hateful boy to say such things! I wish you were in the workhouse yourself!"
"Quite right," cried Dawn delightedly; "give it to him, Tina; let's have a free fight. I'll side with you against him."
"You're a couple of long-haired babies!" retorted Puggy, with heat. "Do you think I care for both of you rolled into one! Come on, and I'll knock your noses flat for you."
"Children, what is this? The United Kingdom quarrelling! That's all quite wrong! And Tina angry too! I'm sure it must be something very serious."
It was Mrs. Maclahan, who had come upon them unexpectedly. She knew it was not very often that Christina was roused, and she turned to her for an explanation.
"England has been insulting Scotland, and I'll avenge her!" cried Dawn, fun, not anger, sparkling in his eyes. He sprang on Puggy, and in a moment both boys were rolling on the ground together.
Mrs. Maclahan left them, but took Christina upstairs, and soon heard from her all about Susy.
"This child seems to haunt your steps," she said. "I hoped we had seen the last of her. But we are going back to-morrow, so you must forget her!"
"I never can!" sobbed Christina. "I love her; and Miss Bertha told me the rich were made to help the poor. She'll starve in London if no one looks after her."
"My dear Tina, those kind of children always find friends. Don't waste your tears on her. I hope to goodness she won't turn up here!"
But that was exactly what she did. At half-past eight the next morning, Christina was told by a chambermaid that a little girl named Susy wanted to see her, and Mrs. Maclahan, with a shrug of her shoulders, told her she could speak to her in the hall for ten minutes only.
"Tell her we are leaving London to-day. And you must make her understand that we cannot help her in any way."
Christina ran downstairs with all the speed she could muster, and embraced Susy fervently; who was looking as clean and neat as she usually did, but very woe-begone.
"Oh, Miss Tina, my dad's going to die; what shall I do?"
She began to cry.
"The nice doctor who saw dad first, and had him taken to hospital, told me that you was here, and I come along the first thing. Dad was gettin' so quiet and sober; and then he met an old pal and they went off drinkin', and he wouldn't let me drive, and we smashed into a wagon, and poor old Tom has had to be killed, and dad was run right over by them great wagon wheels, and our cart be smashed and lots o' crockery. Oh, it's bin a terrible thing for us!"
"Oh dear, oh dear! What will you do? Where are you living, Susy?"
"These 'ere London perleece are such busybodies," sighed Susy. "If I hadn't kep' my head on my shoulders, they'd 'ave lodged me at the station all night; but I knowed we 'ad savin's in the bottom o' my box, and I runs into a small fruiterer's shop close by, and I asks the woman if she'd give me a bed for the night, and I'd pay her for it; and she were a good soul and took me in right away and all the tins and crockery that I had left, and I'm agoin' to sell them to-day to a lady further down the street, who has a shop for such things. I shan't want for money for a bit, Miss Tina, but 'tis dad, poor dad; he were callin' for me all night. I heard he were from a kind nurse who saw me for a minit this mornin'. She's goin' to let me see 'im this arternoon."