WHAT PASSION DID.
BROWN came to the Chaplin's room the next day in obedience to his daughter's commands, but looking as sheepish as a schoolboy as he came in.
Winny, however, only thought of amusing and interesting her strange guest, and the book she had to read was just the one she thought would be likely to please him. And so with a pleasant nod, she said: "I am glad you have come, Mr. Brown, for I have got a book of travels this week, and you will be sure to like that."
Mrs. Chaplin asked after his foot, and heard that Annie had faithfully carried out her directions and that it was much easier to-day.
The big burly fellow looked in a half shy fashion at the frail little invalid as he took his seat in the arm-chair. But there was no more talking for the next hour, for Winny began reading, and Brown sat and listened in open-eyed wonder at the marvels told of in the book. Never had an afternoon passed so quickly, and when Letty pushed the door open and put her head inside, no one could believe that school was really over, but thought she must have come home before the proper time.
Brown went to his own room then, thanking Winny so gratefully for her reading, that she invited him to come again the next day if he liked.
Annie came in soon after tea to thank her as well; she had her hat on and was just going out. "What a worry rent is!" she whispered as she passed Mrs. Chaplin.
They did not ask where she was going, and thought no more of the matter at that time, and a fortnight passed without anything occurring out of the usual way.
Mrs. Chaplin got more sack-making, and Brown came occasionally to listen to Winny reading. For although his foot was better, he was not able to go to work, and the neighbours knew that Annie had been compelled to carry a good many things to the pawnshop to get bread, and that the rent had not been paid, for they heard Rutter's agent threaten at last to turn them out, if the rent was not taken to him in the course of the evening.
Brown told Annie of this when she came home from work, suggesting that they had better look out for another place at once.
"What! When we are so comfortable here, and you can go and hear Winny read! No, I'll go and tell Rutter that you'll be at work again next week, and if he'll wait for the rent, we'll pay him all up in a month."
She swallowed her tea as fast as she could, and as they could not afford to burn a lamp now, she told her father to go and see the Chaplins if it got dark before she came back.
"For I may have to wait for him, you know, but I will see him this time."
She had found out where the Rutters had gone to live, and was not long walking the two miles that lay between, so that she got to her destination early in the evening, and was shown into the little back parlour where Rutter sat smoking.
"What do you want?" he said taking the pipe from his mouth as Annie went in.
He did not recognize her, and thought she might have come about a house of his that was empty.
"I've come about the rent, Mr. Rutter," said Annie speaking very mildly. "If you will wait—"
"Wait!" roared Rutter. "Who told you to come to me and ask such a thing as that? What do you suppose I can do? If you can't pay, you must go."
"But we can pay, and we will pay," said Annie, not the least daunted by his loud talking. "I've only come to ask you to give us a little time. Father has hurt his foot, and I can't earn—"
"That's none of my business what you can earn or what you can't. Pay your rent and pay it at once, or out you go to-morrow morning."
Most girls in Annie's place would have burst into tears and again pleaded with the hard landlord for longer time, but something in Rutter's manner roused the girl's anger to such a pitch, that taking up the glass of beer that stood close by she dashed it in his face and then threw the glass at the chimney ornaments, sweeping them from the mantel-piece with a crash, and bringing Mrs. Rutter into the room to see what had happened.
By that time, her husband had seized Annie, and as his wife came in, he ordered her to go and fetch a policeman at once. This roused the girl to greater fury, and she screamed and fought to escape from his detaining hold. But she was in the grasp of a man not likely to release her, and in a few minutes, she was handed over to a policeman, charged with committing an unprovoked assault upon Rutter.
Her behaviour after she was handed over to the policeman was not likely to improve the impression already taken up against her, for her passion was by no means exhausted, and she fought at the man in her ungoverned rage much as a wild cat might have done.
She was eventually taken to the police station and locked up for the night, while her father waited hour after hour thinking she would surely return, and supposing she had met with some of her fellow-workers and had gone for a walk with them, for the evenings were fine and pleasant now, and it was a relief to get away from the close stuffy streets. If he could have walked, he would have gone to make some inquiries about her, but as it was, he had to content himself with hobbling down to the Chaplins to tell them how concerned he was about Annie being out so long.
"She told me she would be back soon," he said as he stood in the doorway looking at Winny, and then glancing down the stairs in the hope of seeing Annie.
But no Annie came, and Brown grew more anxious and alarmed, until at last a policeman came and told them that the girl was locked up on a charge of assault.
Brown was almost beside himself with anger when he heard it. He swore he would be the death of Rutter for locking up his girl, his Annie, who was the best girl in London, and would not hurt a fly unless she was angry.
"That's it, Brown," said his neighbour Chaplin, who had undertaken to bring him to reason over the matter, "she must have lost her temper, as you say, and that always makes matters worse."
Fortunately for Brown, the policeman who came to bring him the bad news was a reasonable man, and his new friends the Chaplins were quite ready to say a good word for the girl, so that he was at length persuaded to go to bed without going to Rutter's or fighting the policeman. This in itself was a new experience; for Brown to control himself under such provocation was something he had never dreamed of doing before, and it was not easy to get him to do it now.
It was for the "little un who was ill," he declared, that he did not knock the policeman down when he came to tell him of it. But Annie would not have her frightened, he knew, and so for her sake, he was quiet, and promised not to go out until he went to the police court to hear the charge.
To keep him under due control, Chaplin agreed to lose his chance of getting a job in the morning and go with him, and it was well he did. For in spite of his lameness, he would certainly have struck at the man who by his evidence had got his girl committed to prison for a month. Chaplin had spoken to him before they went in to the magistrate, asking him to do what he could for her, but instead of saying a word to get a mitigation of the sentence, he did all he could to prejudice the magistrate's mind against her, saying he would make an example of her that it might be a warning to others.
So poor Annie was sent to prison for a month, and Rutter went off to work at the docks vexed that the sentence was not more severe, and that he would lose a part of his day's pay over the matter.
"If I could only get to work," muttered Brown between his set teeth. "He shall pay for it yet. My poor girl sha'n't suffer for nothing."
Annie had contrived to say a word to her father and Chaplin too.
"Ask Winny to read to him sometimes," she said with the tears rolling down her cheeks, for to be parted from her father was the hardest part of this going to prison.
Everybody cried shame on Rutter as he left. And Chaplin felt glad that Brown was still much too lame to go to work, for in his present mood, he would most likely have got himself into fresh trouble over the matter.
They went home together, and Brown spent the afternoon talking to Winny and Mrs. Chaplin about his girl, his Annie, whom he still spoke of as his "little un."
How much cause for thankfulness they would all have by and by that the afternoon was so spent, they did not know ab the time, but Mrs. Chaplin was glad when she heard him say that he should not go out again that night. He shared the tea with his new friends, and so did not leave the house or go near the docks, as more than one person besides Winny and her mother could prove.
They had no idea how important this would be then. But the next morning, a policeman came and arrested Brown on the charge of pushing Rutter into the dock. He had been heard to threaten his landlord at the court in the morning, and he was also known to work at the docks, and so, when Rutter was found drowned in one of the dock basins, suspicion at once pointed to Brown as the man who had done it, if it was not the result of accident.
The news of Rutter's death soon spread through the neighbourhood, and though Brown was looked upon as a rough sort of man, who would not be particular what he did in the way of giving a blow, still, in this case, it was clearly impossible that he could have pushed the man in, and they readily went with Mrs. Chaplin to give their evidence on Brown's behalf.
On hearing how he had spent the day, and that he could not possibly have been near the spot where the accident happened, Brown was discharged, and the police turned their attention in another direction. But although they could hear that Rutter had been cordially hated by those who worked under him, it was plain they could not all have had a hand in his death, and so at last it was concluded that he must have slipped in as he was hurrying to his work, having gone by the water-side in order to save a little time as he was already late.
This was the most reasonable conclusion that could be arrived at under the circumstances. But it would have been very different if Brown had not gone back with his neighbour Chaplin, for he had been heard by so many people to threaten to do for Rutter the first chance he had, and he would certainly have followed him to his work if he could.
The neighbourhood was all astir about Brown's arrest.
But no one seemed to think of poor Mrs. Rutter left alone in her grief, until Mrs. Chaplin got back from the court with Brown, when Winny met her with the question, "Have you been to see how poor Mrs. Rutter is?"
The popular indignation was so strong against the harsh landlord, that as yet no one seemed to think of the widow and lonely girl until Winny asked the question.
"I wonder whether she would like me to go and see her?" said Mrs. Chaplin, pausing in the act of taking off her bonnet. "She may not have made friends with her new neighbours, for she wasn't one to do that sort of thing, and she ain't got no relations near her, I know."
"I have thought of poor Miss Rutter over since that day she came to fetch you; she looked so frightened and unhappy. Do go and see them, mother; I'm sure they'll be glad," urged Winny.
"Very well, my dear, I'll go, then; and if I'm not back soon, tell father to go on sewing at the sacks for me, and Letty too might do a bit when she comes in from school."
She gave Winny a slice of bread and dripping for her dinner, and then set off to Mrs. Rutter's, a little doubtful as to whether she might be welcomed, or whether her visit might be looked upon as an intrusion. But as soon as the door was opened, she knew that she was wanted.
"I am so glad you've come, Mrs. Chaplin!" exclaimed Lizzie. "Poor mother does nothing but cry, and the people about here are proud, and don't know us, and we don't know what to do."
Without another word, Mrs. Chaplin took off her bonnet and shawl as though she had come to a day's washing, and followed Lizzie into the kitchen, where the widow sat rocking herself backwards and forwards in her grief.
At the sight of her old neighbour, she got up and threw herself into her arms sobbing out, "I wish I'd never come here; I have had nothing but trouble ever since I left the old house. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What shall I do?"
Mrs. Chaplin soothed her as well as she could. But she soon saw she was not fit to be left alone, and a neighbour who came in to see how things were going on, begged her not to go away again until some of her relatives came to be with her.
But the poor woman only had one sister, and she did not know where she was living, for Rutter had forbidden her visits the last year or two; for she was poor, and he did not feel disposed to keep her, he said. Whether he had brothers and sisters or not, his wife did not know, certainly there was no one she could appeal to in her time of trouble, and Mrs. Chaplin found herself to be the only support and friend the widow could look to just now.
Neither mother nor daughter were strong or capable women, and so the visitor found plenty to do, for the house had a forlorn, neglected look about it that troubled Mrs. Chaplin until she could set to work to make things comfortable.
Finding that Lizzie was rather worse than her mother in the matter of fretting, Mrs. Chaplin said during the afternoon: "If I stay here, Lizzie must go and tell them at home that I shall not be home to-night. Winny will get anxious, and I am not sure that there is enough for their tea."
"Oh, mother, shall I take that cold meat to her?" said Lizzie, and as she spoke, the thought that no one would scold because it was given away came to her as a relief. But the next moment, she was angry with herself for thinking thus, for it seemed like rejoicing at her father's death, and the poor girl could not endure this.
But she took the cold meat in a basket and some bread, as well as a message to Brown from her mother, telling him she was very sorry for Annie, and when she came home again, she would help her if she could.
Winny was alone when Lizzie's knock came, and to her eager "Come in," the basket was pushed forward first, and then Lizzie's white wistful face peered round the room.
"I am all alone," said Winny in answer to the look. "Is mother going to stay all the evening with you?" she asked, for she guessed the girl's errand.
"She's going to stay all night with mother," said Lizzie in her cowed frightened voice. "I hope you won't mind," she added, seeing Winny looked disappointed.
"No, we won't mind for once; I thought you might be glad to see her, as you had not been long in your new house. Do you like it?" asked Winny, trying to make conversation.
"Not much; you see we don't know the people about, and father—" but there the girl stopped.
Her father's memory was not a blessing, but she was too loyal to say one word that would betray all it had become to her, and so she turned to the basket she had brought, and lifted out the remains of the leg of mutton it contained.
"Mother sent this for your tea," she said, "for we shall never be able to eat it while it is good," and then she set a loaf upon the table and a pot of jam and some butter, for her mother had filled the basket, taking a melancholy pleasure in doing it, even while she sighed to think that there was no one to scold her now for wasting these things, as Rutter would have thought it.
Lizzie saw the eager look in Winny's eyes as she set the things on the table, and she said, "Would you like me to cut you a piece of meat and bread now? I can if you like."
"Would you mind doing it? I am very hungry, for the dinner mother left for me, I had to give to Letty, and so I have had nothing since breakfast time."
Nothing could have been better to set Lizzie at ease, and very soon the girls were chatting away about the school they used to attend together, trying to revive old memories of that time when they were neighbours and friends. Rutter had done his utmost to break off all this, and succeeded to a great extent. But the memory of what his wife and daughter regarded as their happier days still clung to them. And now that he was torn from them, it was to these old friends they turned for comfort and cheer.
Almost before they knew it, the girls were mingling their tears for the man who had been the best hated in the neighbourhood. Winny because of this held Lizzie close in her arms, while the girl sobbed and cried, for to her the saddest thing was this, that she had never had a kind father, and the manner of his death made it all the more painful.
All she could whisper by way of comfort was: "God knows all about it, dear." And there she stopped, and they mingled their tears and kissed each other, promising that they would be friends for the future.
Lizzie was comforted by the sympathy that could understand such grief as hers, for though no further word was said about the cause of her trouble, she felt that Winny's heart was full of pity for her.
Lizzie stayed until Letty came home and then cut some meat and bread for her tea. But Winny could not rest content with such luxuries being kept to themselves, and so when Letty had finished her tea she said: "I should like you to take Mr. Brown a piece of that meat, Letty. You will not mind his having it, will you?" she asked, turning to her new friend.
"Of course not. Would you like me to cut it for him?" she asked.
She would have done anything that Winny suggested, for she already loved the girl "who was at leisure from herself" to take up the cares or pleasures of her friends and neighbours, and in them forget her own pain and weakness.
Lizzie was in no hurry to go home. The evenings were light, and so when the tea things were washed up, she sat down to talk to Winny again, for in this home she could feel she was wrapped round in the atmosphere of homeliness, and this had long since departed from her own more comfortably furnished abode. They had front rooms and back rooms each crowded with more furniture than was needed, for it had been one of her father's whims to buy furniture when he saw it to be sold cheap whether it was needed or not; but Lizzie had learned by sad experience that a well filled cupboard and a handsomely furnished house does not make a home, and that here in this one room, where there was seldom a full meal for all, they had greater wealth than money could buy.
She went home pondering over these things, and resolving to ask her mother to move back to the old house where they would be among friends, and where they might be able to help them sometimes.
WINNY'S SACRIFICE.
RUTTER'S sudden death was pretty freely discussed among the neighbours, and very little pity was expressed for his untimely fate by anybody but Winny Chaplin, and she drew nearer to Lizzie, to shield her as it were from the hard criticism of the neighbourhood. They moved back to their old house as soon after the funeral as they could, and the week after this, Annie came home from prison.
Her coming, so eagerly looked forward to by her father, was a pain to everybody who knew her. Winny had planned with Brown how the home-coming should be managed. He was to meet her at the prison gates and bring her straight home to Winny first, for the stigma of having been in prison would be sure to cling to her and make some of her old friends avoid her for a time. So Winny was determined to help the girl if she could. But no one was prepared for the fierce, proud bearing of the girl, who felt herself wronged and yet degraded by being sent to prison. She would not see anyone, she declared, she would not come near the place to be stared at, she would even have left her father if she could, and it was not until dusk that he could coax her back to her home with him.
Winny had been on the watch for her all day, for she had a piece of news to impart to Annie, something they had talked of together very often. Her teacher, Miss Lavender, had at last been able to get a ticket for her to go away into the country for a fortnight, and she wanted to tell Annie about it. They could talk about this and forget all about the dreadful prison, she thought. For Annie had not certainly deserved such a severe sentence, she was sure, and the sooner it was all forgotten, like a bad dream, the better for everybody.
But Annie did not come home until it was so late that Winny began to fear she would not come at all, and that something must have happened to her or her father. She was determined to see her, however, and so she had the door set wide open that she might not be able to pass the landing without being seen.
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THE GIRL LOOKED ALMOST SAVAGE IN HER WILDNESS.
At last weary, dragging footsteps were heard ascending the stairs, and then Winny called out: "Come in and see me, Annie, I have been looking out for you all day."
"Yes, to be sure, you must go and see Winny," said Brown in a coaxing tone. And then the footsteps paused, and a wild white face peeped into the room to see if there was anybody else to be seen.
But Mrs. Chaplin and Letty had gone to a meeting at the mission room, and as Chaplin was often out until nine or ten o'clock now, Winny was all alone.
Finding this was the case, Annie stole in, and Winny, looking at her, was almost frightened at the change she saw. The girl looked almost savage in her wildness.
"Oh, Annie, wouldn't you like to go into the country for a bit, just to see the green fields?" said Winny hardly knowing what she said.
"What's the good of asking me that?" said the girl fiercely. "I'm more likely to go to prison again, for I hate everybody and everything now."
"No, no, Annie, you must not do that, for see, people have thought about you, and I have got a ticket for you to go into the country next week, and you can stay for a fortnight too."
Annie stared. "Do you mean it, Winny Chaplin?" she asked solemnly.
To have a ticket for this country holiday would be to rehabilitate her in public opinion, to wipe out the disgrace of her imprisonment, and she clutched Winny's hand and looked into her eyes as if she would read her very soul.
"Look here, Winny," she said, "if that could be true, I think I could believe in God, though he does let men like Rutter get rich and people like you be poor. I could believe he cared for me a little bit, if he'd let me go away for a bit like that, for I could come back then and go to my work again."
"You shall believe it, Annie, for you shall go," said Winny in an earnest tone.
And then Annie dropped her head upon the fragile shoulder and burst into such a passionate flood of tears that Winny was fairly frightened. And Brown, who had stood near the door scratching his head in perplexity, now came forward to comfort his "little un," but hardly knew what to say, for both girls were sobbing together, Winny dimly understanding how her companion felt, and grieving for the uncontrolled passion that could drive a girl into the commission of a crime that brought such a punishment.
The same ungoverned nature that made her throw the glass of beer at Rutter, now made her give herself up to such emotion that at last Winny had to beg her to be still.
And the piteous entreaty in the invalid's voice made itself heard through all the tumult of the storm that was raging in Annie's mind. With a mighty effort, she stayed her tears a little, and then fell to kissing Winny until she was almost calm again. Then she whispered: "God bless you, God bless you, Winny. I know it's you who have given me this chance to get back my character. I never thought I should have such a chance a little while ago."
"You must thank God for it, Annie, and believe he does love you as well as me," said Winny quickly.
She wanted to get rid of her now, for fear she should ask inconvenient questions which Winny could not answer truthfully just at present. She was glad her mother and sister were not at home just now, or they would certainly have spoiled the whole by asking some question impossible to answer. As it was, her task would be difficult enough, she knew, but she was determined to carry out the self-sacrificing plan that had suggested itself to her mind, let it cost what it might.
Of course the holiday ticket she had promised to Annie was what had been given to herself, but she did not doubt that the sudden self-sacrificing plan which had suggested itself to her mind had come by the inspiration of the Spirit of God, and as such must be obeyed. Not that she had any desire to rebel in her cooler moments, but she did not hide from herself the fact, that to give up this long-desired holiday would be a bitter disappointment to her, and it might be that her mother would not see that it was a duty at all.
This was the most difficult part of her plan. She must not only stifle her own heart's longings, but argue against herself. Then there would be Miss Lavender to convince as well as her mother and father; but she had more hope of doing this, for the lady's whole life was given up to the work of helping and comforting her poorer neighbours.
Not a man or woman in the place for miles round but had heard of Miss Lavender. "Sweet Lavender" some of the rougher boys called her, though there was not one of them, rough as they were, but would stop into the road that their friend might walk on the footpath in comfort. Scarcely a home existed but had to be thankful for some timely help from this lady.
She and a few of her friends round this poverty-stricken neighbourhood had provided a place where men, and boys, and girls could spend a quiet hour, or a merry hour of an evening if their homes were too small or too miserable, as so many of them were, for them to get a chance of this under their own roofs. Then when the pinch of poverty had been extra keen during the winter, she and they had managed to feed men, women, and children, not only with penny dinners, but free breakfasts and often festival teas, when, after a good meal, they could, for an hour or two at least, forget hunger and cold and all the misery of their lives.
Yes, Winny thought Miss Lavender would be able to understand and sympathize in her desire to help Annie, for she would know that she was only reducing to practice what the lady had so often taught her, as being the Christ-life which all his followers were bound to copy.
She was sure, though, that the lady would feel disappointed, for it was not easy to get these fortnightly tickets, for there were so many who needed them, and for each ticket available, there were sure to be half a dozen deserving claimants. So she resolved to send Letty round to Miss Lavender when she came in, and ask her to come and see her the first thing in the morning.
Her mother was going to clean up at Mrs. Rutter's, and so she would see the lady first while her mother was out, and thus have the matter settled beyond dispute, and by this means, it would be more easily got over.
But Winny found the lady more hard to convince than she had expected. She had not known much more of Winny than of the rest of her class until she was laid up; but the girl's quiet patience, which touched the heart of every one who knew her, had made her doubly dear to her teacher, and one of the first tickets issued she had secured for her favourite, that she might start for this summer holiday early in the season. So that her request that Annie Brown, a girl she did not know, and one who had just come out of prison too, might have this one chance to go away, did not please her at all at first.
"But, teacher, Jesus came to seek and to save those who were lost," said Winny. "This poor Annie looked so lost and hopeless when she came home last night, that I could not help telling her that she should go away into the country."
"Did she know it was your ticket she was to have?" asked the lady a little severely.
Winny opened her eyes at the question. "No, indeed, and she must not know it either, or she would not go. People don't know Annie; she is rough, and don't mind much what she says or does when she is angry, but she would not let me do this if she thought she was taking my chance, I can tell you."
The lady was a little more reconciled to the plan when she heard this. "I hope she is worth the sacrifice, Winny," she said, "for I shall not be able to get another ticket for you."
"Of course not; I am giving up my chance to Annie, and so, of course, I can't give her the ticket and go away myself."
"That is just it, Winny, and so I think you ought to consider the matter very carefully before you finally decide."
"I did, teacher. In the night I often lie awake with the pain in my back, and it's then my best thoughts come. God seems to speak to me then, and he made it quite clear to me last night, that what I thought of doing for Annie Brown was just what he would have me do, and so you see—"
"Yes, yes, dear child, I do see, and I will not say one word more against your wish," interrupted the lady. "It is not as I would have had it, but you are bound to follow God's bidding as much as I am, and if he has said 'Do this,' doubtless he has his reasons, and will make it plain to us by and by. I will take the ticket I brought for you yesterday, and if you will send Letty round when she comes home from school, I will give her one made out in the name of Annie Brown. She must go next Monday, you know," she added as she rose from her seat to take her departure.
Letty was sent at twelve o'clock to Miss Lavender's, and the lady sent not only the holiday ticket, but a dinner ticket for both girls; for Letty was not so reticent as her sister, and told the lady, in answer to her questions, that they seldom had but two meals a day, for the work at the docks seemed to be getting worse and worse.
Letty was too full of delight at the prospect of having an extra meal and bringing one home for Winny to inquire what the envelope contained, but she would have been bitterly disappointed if she had known it, for she had told most of her schoolfellows that her sister Winny was going away to the country, and she might be able to walk when she came home. She told Winny just before she went to her dinner that all the girls were very glad she was going, and some of them were coming to see her, and wish her good-bye.
"I wish you hadn't said anything about it," said Winny, and her sister stared at the tone in which the words were spoken, for it was very rarely that Winny spoke so crossly.
"Why shouldn't I tell them? You was going to tell Annie Brown about it," retorted Letty.
"Well, don't say any more about it, especially to Annie Brown if she should happen to come in."
"As if I should talk to a girl who has been to prison," said Letty, tossing her head and looking very disdainful.
"How dare you talk like that?" exclaimed Winny angrily. "You know nothing about such things, and it is not fair to Annie—"
"To say she has been to prison?" interrupted Letty. "Why, everybody knows it, and knows she must be a bad girl, or else she would not be sent there; all the girls have been talking about it, and of course they know. They say she used to get into awful passions when she went to school, and this is what comes of it."
"Then mind you never get into a passion," said Winny, but she spoke so angrily that she might fairly be accused of committing the fault she was warning her sister against.
Letty never remembered Winny speaking to her in this way before, and although she would not own it, either to herself or her sister, she really felt greatly concerned about it. And before she went to school in the afternoon, she said in a more gentle tone, "Don't you feel well, Winny dear?"
"Yes, I think I feel better than I do sometimes," said the invalid; "perhaps I shall get well without going away," she added, looking at Letty, and wondering whether she had better tell her what she had done about this holiday.
This was the worst part of the whole business to Winny, the telling people she was not going away after all, more especially as she was anxious that Annie should know nothing about this just now. She would hear about it by and by, that was inevitable, but if she could only keep her secret from being talked of for the next few days Annie would hear nothing about it until she came back.
As soon as Letty had gone to school, Annie ventured downstairs. "You've had a lot of people to see you this morning," she said as she came in; "I wanted to come in before, but I could hear people talking every time I came and listened."
"Oh, Mrs. Price came in, and little Jimmy Rowe, and my teacher, Miss Lavender. I wish you had come in while she was here, Annie; you could not help loving her."
"Oh, I've heard about her," said the girl; "but I don't love people as quick as you do. Of course, we know she got the boys their gymnasium, and gives the little uns the breakfasts and dinners in the winter, and I don't wonder that people say she's good; but me and father ain't the sort of people Miss Lavender likes, and so I can't be expected to like her."
"But it was she who gave me the ticket for you to go into the country," said Winny.
"Did she, now? Well, I wonder at that. Did you tell her about me? Have you got the ticket?" she asked eagerly.
"Yes, you shall have it. See, your name is written on it, so you see there can be no mistake," and she took the card from its envelope as she spoke, and gave it to Annie to read.
There was her name sure enough, and the girl's face changed, and a softened look came into her eyes as she gazed. It was more to her than a mere holiday ticket, great as this treat must be to her. It held all sorts of possibilities for her in the future, and not least the power of hope that even now began to dawn in her heart.
Hearing her father's footstep on the stairs, she ran to the door and pulled him in to see her treasure. "I've got it! I've got it!" she said holding up the card triumphantly. "I must buy some soap to-night and wash and mend all my clothes ready to go away on Monday."
Brown was scarcely less delighted than Annie herself. He read his daughter's name written there with as much pride as though it had been her patent of nobility, and Winny hoped no one would tell either of them how the card had been obtained.
"Letty shall fetch the soap for you when she comes in," she said, for she did not want them to go talking about this at the shop just now, for as Letty had been telling the girls at school that she was going away, it might cause awkward questions to be asked.
The offer of Letty's help to run errands was very gladly accepted, for Annie was by no means anxious to meet any of her old friends so soon after her release from prison.
By the time she came back from the country, her former absence might be forgotten, or at all events that she was deemed worthy to receive one of these holiday tickets would go far to redeem her character, and so she had no wish to see anybody if she could avoid doing so.
By this means, she heard nothing of the talk about Winny Chaplin going into the country, and few heard that the plan had been given up beyond Mrs. Chaplin, and, of course, she had to be told.
It was the hardest part of Winny's task to have to tell her mother. Mrs. Chaplin could not or would not see that there was any need for such a sacrifice as this. Annie Brown was nothing to them. A rude rough girl at the best, who had got herself into trouble through her uncontrolled temper; why should Winny give up her chance of health for a girl like this? If she had been a gentle, respectable girl, who went to Sunday-school, and behaved herself in a proper manner, there might be some reason in Winny giving up to her if she had happened to need it more than herself, but as it was, the notion was altogether most foolish.
This was the way Mrs. Chaplin argued, and Letty followed in her mother's lead, and actually cried over it, she felt so disappointed. It was just what Winny had expected, and for a time her mother could not be persuaded to see the matter in any other light.
Fortunately for everybody, Annie was too busy washing and mending her clothes to come downstairs much, and Brown was either out looking for work or sitting with Annie, as she was to leave him so soon again, and so to Winny's relief, the time went and Monday morning came without a word being said to Annie about her journey to the country.
ONE WINDY MORNING.
ANNIE went to wander in cool green country lanes or pleasant sunny meadows, while Winny was left to pant and stifle in the heat of those June days, sometimes too tired and languid to eat the bread and dripping, which was all her mother could afford to get for her dinner five days out of the seven. But she never regretted the sacrifice she had made.
After the first week in July, the weather changed and was much cooler. Rain fell nearly every day, and work at the docks seemed to grow slacker, and the struggle for bare existence more keen among the workers.
But there was something more than this going on among the men, Mrs. Chaplin felt sure. She forgot her vexation about Annie Brown having Winny's holiday ticket in the uneasiness she felt about her husband.
There was a change in Chaplin that his wife and others could not help noticing.
He gradually became more alert, and carried himself less slouchingly as he walked. He stood upright and gazed round him as though he had the right to look up at the sky, and he was not the only one either that put on a brisker air. Brown began to talk in a louder and more aggressive tone, and often spoke of what they heard at the dock gates, with sundry hints and whispers that "people would hear something by and by."
"It's neither more nor less than a strike that they're thinking of, I do believe," said poor Mrs. Chaplin with a groan when she was talking to her friend Mrs. Rutter about these varied signs of some stir being on foot among the men.
"Strike? Dock labourers strike? Why, I have heard my poor dear husband say they fought like wild beasts against each other to get the chance of being taken on for an hour."
"Yes, and I have heard that the foremen don't care to have too many regular hands, but prefer to have a hundred or two waiting round the gate that they can pick from whenever they want a fresh batch of hands." Mrs. Chaplin spoke resentfully, for she did not like the insinuation about her husband fighting for work like a "wild beast." "If everything was done fair and square at the docks, some would get a little more and others a good deal less," she added.
"I don't know anything about that," said Mrs. Rutter a little tartly. "But you ought to tell Chaplin not to be talked into any foolish scheme of striking for higher wages, for I can tell you this, they could get men at them gates to work for twopence an hour if they wanted 'em. I've heard my poor dear say so many a time."
Mrs. Rutter always spoke of her husband as her "poor dear" now. She had plucked up a little more spirit and did not look quite so miserable as she used to do, but still she was far from being a happy woman.
Her husband had left her comfortably provided for so far as money went, but she was haunted with a fear that her money would all be spent and she would be left in want if she was not very careful.
Every day saw her grow more miserly, and she was constantly reminding Lizzie that she had no father to work for her now, and so they ought not to spend a penny more than they could possibly help for fear they should come to want by and by.
This mention of something like a strike being likely to take place among those who were her tenants made Mrs. Rutter very anxious, and the worst of it was, she could get no definite information about what was going on.
It is doubtful whether at that time anybody knew definitely what was likely to be done. Everybody know there was a mighty stir of thought beneath the surface, but what it portended none could tell.
When the time came for Annie to return, her father had a letter from her asking if she might stay to pick fruit. She had been offered work at a fruit-grower's close to where she had been staying, and if her father would agree to it, she thought she would like to stay till the end of the season.
Brown brought the letter for Winny to read, for he had heard by this time to whom he was indebted for the opportunity his daughter had of retrieving her character, and he could not do enough for the girl who had thus sacrificed her only means of regaining health and strength that his "little un" might have another chance in life.
So it was with a sort of tender reverence that he always came in to ask how Winny was, and he regarded it as her right to see the letter that had come from Annie and give her opinion upon it.
"Oh! I think it will be first-rate for her," she said when she could make out what the badly spelled words really meant. "Why, she will be earning more money in the country than she could here, and I heard to-day that work was slack at the factory."
"So you think she'd better stay?" said Brown scratching his head as was usual with him when he was in doubt about anything.
"Don't you think so too?" asked Winny looking up at him with a meaning smile.
"Well, if we do make up our minds to stand shoulder to shoulder like men and not act like wild beasts, why, the fewer mouths there are to fill the better," said Brown with a sigh, for he had been looking forward to this time, and he could not help feeling disappointed to find that Annie was not in such a hurry to return as he had expected. The days had passed more slowly with him than they seemed to have passed with Annie.
"If there should be a strike, as you and father seem to think may have to be before things can be altered at the docks, why, Annie could send you some of her money to help you," said Winny.
"So she could, my lass. But we won't tell her what we think of doing or else she'll want to come home and look after me, for I'm a rum customer when I'm put out, and Annie knows it too."
"Ah! But you will surely remember how poor Annie suffered through getting into a temper. Father says that is the greatest danger of all, for if the men get wild and riotous if they can't get what they want at once, then it will all be spoiled. You will tell the men this, won't you? Father says you are a sort of a leader among the roughest of the men, and what you do, they will do. I pray to God about it every night, Mr. Brown, ever since father first told me about it. I have asked God to help the men somehow, and I feel sure he will if they will help too, but they must all be steady and sober."
"My lass, I haven't touched a drop since I joined the temperance people down at the mission room. I don't say I fancied it much at first, but after I knowed what you'd give up for my 'little un,' why, how could I go agin anything you asked me to do? If you said, 'Go and get me the top brick off the chimbley,' why, I should feel bound to have a shy at it for you."
It was quite a long speech for Brown to make, and Winny laughed aloud at his offer. There was no time to say more about what was going on among the men at the dock gates, for her mother came in, and Winny was eager to tell her the news about Annie.
But Mrs. Chaplin was very cool about the matter; she could not forget that Winny herself might have had this chance, and Brown saw it.
"There ain't another gal in London as could ha' done such a thing as Winny has done for my gal," he said fervently. "I don't wonder as you feels bad about it sometimes; it's nat'ral like, being as you are her mother," he said excusingly.
"I'm glad to find you see it in that way, Mr. Brown," said Mrs. Chaplin icily, "and if ever you have the chance of doing her a good turn, you won't forget it, I hope," she added.
"I won't," said Brown with as much solemnity as though he was taking an oath.
"Do you know what the men are going to do?" asked Mrs. Chaplin, for she had made up her mind how he ought to help Winny and all of them, and meant to tell him so.
"No; I don't think anybody knows," replied Brown twirling his cap and wishing himself well out of the room.
But Mrs. Chaplin had heard that this man, unlikely as it seemed to her, was regarded as a sort of leader, and so she determined to get him to promise her his help. "Now, I want you to help us this way, Mr. Brown. Just tell the men to give up all foolish notions about being able to get up a strike. I know what strikes are, and I know this, if these foolish men strike, we shall all be starved to death in a week."
"Never while Jack Brown has got two arms on his body, and can remember what this lass here has done for his 'little un.' No, no, I'll never see you or yours starve while I've got a hand to help you."
"What's all this about?" asked a voice from the doorway, and the next minute Chaplin walked into the room looking very weary, and laying down his day's earnings of fivepence. He seldom got hired for more than an hour now, for by that time his strength was exhausted, he was so weak from insufficient food.
Brown knew the signs of slow starvation, and saw the money that his neighbour put down on the table, and recalled the time when Winny had sent him the cold mutton for tea. Although he, too, had a hard fight to make ends meet sometimes, still he was better off than most, for he had only himself to think of, and he had earned four times as much as Chaplin, just because he had been able to get better food, and was therefore stronger and able to stand four hours' work.
So laying a shilling on the table he said, "I want you to let me have my bit of tea with you. I ain't got no kettle boiling, and if you don't mind me taking it along of you, I could pay that for it."
But Mrs. Chaplin looked dubious, and glanced at her husband for a moment. Brown was not the sort of person she cared to associate with, unless she herself was the bestower of the favour. But her pride melted before the look in her husband's face, and she eagerly took up the shilling.
"Yes, you shall have tea with us, and I'm much obliged for the help; I'll go myself and get something for you," she added.
It was one of the hardships of this way of living that no provision in the way of a cheap nourishing meal could be prepared beforehand, or at least very rarely, and so now that Mrs. Chaplin had got a shilling to spend, her first thought was to go to the butcher and get a pound of steak. This was what most housewives did when they could indulge in the luxury of a piece of meat.
But Mrs. Chaplin reflected that a pound of steak would swallow up nearly all her money, and that if she got some bread and dripping for the tea, she might get a more nourishing and tasty meal for supper. So instead of the steak to fry, she bought some pieces of meat to stew, and some oatmeal to boil with it. This with a pennyworth of vegetables would make a savoury dish that all might enjoy.
It must be confessed that Chaplin looked a little disappointed when he found that they were not going to have the expected treat. But tea and dripping toast reconciled him to the change, and Brown was invited to have hot supper with them as well as tea for his shilling.
While Letty made the toast, her mother put the stew on, for it would require two or three hours' cooking, and then they sat down to tea. There was a meeting for the men to attend at the mission-hall, and the supper was to be ready by the time they came home.
The night had turned out cold and wet, so that Winny enjoyed the unwonted luxury of a bit of fire, for they rarely lighted one now except to boil the kettle. Soon after nine, the men came in to their supper, both eager and excited over the news they had heard since they had left the mission room. A ship would reach the docks about one o'clock in the morning, and so the few who were in the secret of a telegram being sent might hope for a few hours' work at least.
"Things couldn't have happened better, Mrs. Chaplin," said Brown rubbing his hands as he smelt the savoury stew that was just ready to turn out. It was a hotch-potch of meat, vegetables and oatmeal, warm and nourishing, and easy of digestion, and the two men looked as eager and pleased over the unusual luxury of a hot supper and a chance of work to follow as though a fortune had been left to them.
"The best day's work I ever did was to come and live near you, Chaplin," said his companion as Mrs. Chaplin helped them to a plate of stew.
She took care that they should have the lion's share of the meal. Winny would have declined having any at all, so eager was she that her father should have enough to do a few hours' work upon, but her mother assured her there was enough for her and Letty to have some as well as her father.
When supper was over, it was agreed that the men should go and lie down in Brown's room for an hour or two and try to sleep, while Mrs. Chaplin cleared away and got their own beds ready. Then at half-past twelve, she was to call them, that they might be at the dock gate in good time.
It was raining fast now, and the wind was almost as cold as in January, as it blew up from the river. Chaplin went down to look out at the weather the last thing before he went to lie down, and it rather pleased him than otherwise, for the wet would drive the chance loafers indoors, and so there would be the fewer at the dock gates to scramble for this job.
But there was one fact that the poor fellow had altogether overlooked, and that was that a man seldom got employed at the same dock two days running, and he had been at work at this place a few hours before.
Brown remembered it, however, and was afraid his companion would be rejected, and so as he went along battling against the cutting wind and rain in the darkness of the early morning, he said, "Look here, mate, we'll make a bargain for this job. Share and share alike it shall be, mind, between us for this. If you gets four hours and I gets two, three it shall be for both of us; and if I gets four and you gets two, why then it shall be the same. It was your mates, as I may call 'em, at that mission room as told us of this, and so we'll share and share alike over it."
"All right, I shall get took on, I fancy; that supper has just set me up, and I could do a day's work with anybody now," said Chaplin confidently.
He forgot that although he might feel better, he did not show it much in his looks yet, and, moreover, had begun to be known as broken-winded—a man who would break down after a couple of hours' driving.
When they reached the dock gates, they saw that their secret was shared by at least two hundred. The foreman had taken care of this, for he wanted a good number to pick from. There in the cold rain and the darkness, the usual struggle for an hour's work took place, and Chaplin was among the number not chosen. Brown got a labour-ticket, and the eagerness with which these were struggled for, would have made one think it was for a party of pleasure rather than work of the most laborious kind that they were being given. The foreman was besieged as soon as he appeared at the top of the wall with the coveted tickets in his hand, and men prayed him to give them a chance of earning fivepence, as though it was the greatest favour that he could bestow upon them.
The twenty tickets that were given out were soon distributed. With the practised eye of one well versed in appraising the working capabilities of the crowd before him, the foreman selected his party. He recognized Chaplin by the light of the lantern he held, as one who had scarcely been able to keep up for an hour the previous day, and so a ticket was handed over his head to a man who had only just come up.
With a sickening feeling of despair, Chaplin turned away as the gates closed. Brown had been selected, and for a minute, he felt as though he almost hated him for his "luck."
Although the gates had shut, and there would not be another call for an hour at least, the crowd showed no intention of moving from their post. Silent and subdued they ranged themselves against the dock wall for such shelter as it would afford them from the pelting rain, and presently the new day broke, cold and misty, and yet it made one or two of the men raise their heads, and perhaps there was a flutter of something like hope stealing through their minds as one and another looked out towards the east, and then towards the dock gates in the hope that they would be opened again soon now that daylight had come. Patient and quiet they stood until about three o'clock, and then another call for hands came, and there was the same fighting and struggling for the chance of an hour's work.
Some of those who had gone in with the first lot came out now, thoroughly exhausted with their two hours' labour; but Brown was not among them. Chaplin did not get taken on, and the foreman told him plainly there would be no work for him that day. So with a sigh he turned homewards, wet through now with the drenching rain.
Brown would want a good breakfast when he came out at five o'clock, and recalling the bargain they had made, he thought the least he could do was to have something ready for him when he came home. So without disturbing his wife, he lighted a fire in Brown's room, and by the time he came back from the docks between five and six, he had got some coffee ready, as well as some bacon and eggs cooked.
"That's it, mate," said Brown heartily when he came in and saw the preparations that had been made for his home-coming; "when I get that into me, and have had an hour or two to rest, I shall be ready for another shift. Mate, you and I must just go shares for a bit longer, and—"
"No, no," interrupted Chaplin, "we've had enough of that, or I should think you had. Here you've been at work four hours, and according to our bargain, if you mean to hold to it, I shall have half your money for doing nothing."
"You call it doing nothing to eat your heart out leaning up against the dock wall. Well, I'd rather do the hardest shift they could put me to than have to do that," said Brown with his mouth full of bread. Chaplin was hungry too, after being out in the keen morning air, but he did not like to eat anything, for his journey had brought no profit, and so he grudged eating until Brown insisted that he should have some bread and coffee at least.
When the meal was over, Chaplin trudged out to another and more distant dock, and Brown laid himself on the bed for an hour's sleep, that he too might go and look for another job before the day was over.
His good luck this morning had quite heartened him, and he chuckled to himself over the idea of going partners with the man who was almost worn-out.
"Do what I may, though, I can never do half as much for them as that little lass has done for my Annie," was his last thought before he went to sleep.
THE STRIKE.
THINGS went on outwardly the same for the next week or two, and then one morning about the middle of August, news flew from dock to dock that at one, three hundred labourers had come out refusing to work unless some other plan was adopted than that at present in vogue. What the men asked was, that they should have the money they earned by their labour, and the contract system abolished.
To the men themselves it seemed a very reasonable demand, and one that would surely soon be granted. It was not all they asked, for they also wanted sixpence an hour to be paid to them out of the eightpence paid for their labour by the merchants and shippers.
There was likewise another thing, and that was that when they were called into the docks, they should be employed at least four hours, and not be discharged after two hours' labour, which often prevented them getting a longer job at another place because they were too late.
These were the reforms that were demanded, but the dock officials did not see their way clear to making any alteration in the system upon which they had worked so long, and declined to do anything.
But the gentlemen who spoke in this way, found that the men had begun to think for themselves to some purpose at last. The next day, the men came out of the other docks, or refused to go in, and the stevedores—the skilled packers who alone knew how to stow a ship's cargo properly—followed the labourers, declaring they would not work until the poor dockers' demands were granted.
"We shall win now, mother, in less than a week," said Chaplin running home to his wife with the news of this piece of self-denial on the part of men who were well able to help themselves.
Winny clasped her hands and tears of joy stood in her eyes as she said, "We shall win, I know we shall, daddy; only we must be patient."
"Yes, we're likely to need plenty of that before this strike comes to an end," said Mrs. Chaplin with a sob.
She had just taken her best shawl to the pawnshop, and in all her straits, she had managed to hold to that as the one respectable garment she had to go to the mission room in on Sunday. But the trim, tidy, threadbare shawl had to go at last, and the pawnbroker could only give her a shilling on it, so that when that was gone, they must part with some of the furniture, and what they could spare it was not easy to determine. So it was not to be wondered at that the poor woman lost heart when she heard that the struggle was likely to be prolonged.
She had been to ask if her neighbour had any more sacks to sew, but the last had been taken in and no more had been given out again.
"It's this strike, I believe," said the sack-maker. "Did you ever hear of such foolishness as dockers to strike? They'll starve fast enough, there's no fear of that."
"Ah! That they will," said poor Mrs. Chaplin dolefully; "and my poor Winny! It will kill her I am afraid," she added with a gasp.
It was of her children she was thinking, and especially of Winny, when she grumbled so about the strike. For to hear her sometimes, one would have thought that Chaplin was alone responsible for it.
He certainly had not been slow in taking up the idea when once it had entered his head. And the leaders, finding he was a steady man and one whose character could be relied upon, often consulted him, for it was to such men as he that they looked to keep out all disturbing influences, and keep the men steady in the time of excitement that was certain to follow.
Winny did not grumble. She always contrived to meet her father with a smile whenever he came in. Letty did not fare so badly as those at home, for very soon after the strike commenced, the friends who always took care that poor school children should be fed in the winter time, decided to have the same provision made for them now.
Appeals were made for funds to carry on free breakfasts and dinners too for the poor dockers' children, and the money came in as it was needed and was spent as fast as it came.
When a week went past, and all the efforts made by the men and their leaders failed to gain a settlement of the dispute, some of the rougher and wilder of the men proposed that, as they could not get what they wanted by fair means, they should adopt other measures.
Brown from his former character was taken into the confidence of one or two desperate men who had formed a plan for doing a good deal of mischief in London while there was so much confusion.
Brown heard all they had to say, and then asked if they knew that anyone had actually starved through this strike. "If you do, tell me where he is, and I'll see he gets something," he added.
"Well, if we ain't actually starving, we're often hungry," grumbled the other in a sullen tone.
"Ah! Hunger and dockers have been close acquaintance for years. But look you, the money that feeds the young uns every day comes out of the pockets of people you would ruin. How would that help us, do you think? No, no, I tell you while we get a meal a day, that will keep us from starving, we ought to behave ourselves like men and not like wild beasts."
This from the father of the girl who had thrown a glass at their landlord, and swept all his treasured ornaments from the mantel-piece, was something so astonishing that the men could scarcely believe they had heard aright. Brown had been their leader in many a desperate venture, so that to hear him talk like this was beyond their power of belief at first, and when at last they were convinced that he was in earnest in what he said, they were half disposed to wreak their vengeance upon him, for they knew that henceforth he would watch them so as to frustrate any plan of theirs for creating a riot among the thousands of unemployed hungry workmen.
Each day as it dawned, the anxious hungry families of the men hoped that before night some settlement would be made and the dispute terminate. Each day, too, saw the men better organized and more prepared to act from a feeling of common brotherhood instead of individual gain. Each day, crowds of men gathered round the dock gates, and there the leaders would tell them what had been done the day before, and exhort them to restrain their impatience, no matter what the provocation might be, to use no violence in word or deed.
Subscriptions came in faster as the days went on, and every heart among those of their neighbours who were able to help them seemed touched with a divine spirit of generosity. For pawnbrokers who took their chairs, blankets, and other portable property, declared they would charge no interest on the pledges taken during the strike, while shopkeepers gave credit until shelves and drawers were empty, and tills too.
Even Mrs. Rutter was moved to show her tenants the greatest kindness in her power. Mrs. Chaplin went to work for her one day, and not being able to take the balance of the rent in her hand as she generally did, burst into tears almost before the street door was closed.
"I don't know whatever is to become of us, Mrs. Rutter," she said with a gasp. "I haven't been able to bring you any rent this morning, for the strike ain't over yet, and I don't know when it's likely to be."
"No, I suppose not," replied Mrs. Rutter in a tone rather less complaining than usual. "I've been wondering how your poor Winny was getting along."
"Well, ma'am, that girl is more than I can understand. If you'll believe me, she just upholds her father in all he does about it, and I can tell you he's one of the busiest of the lot keeping the men together. I told him only yesterday the dock people were sure to hear of it, and if they take the others in by and by, they'll have nothing to do with him, mark my words;" and poor Mrs. Chaplin buried her face in her apron at the thought of the dismal picture she had conjured up the strike over, but her husband wholly unable to get a day's work.
"Then Winny takes her father's part, I suppose?" said Mrs. Butter.
"Bless you, ma'am, I believe she spends half her time praying to God for the dockers. It ain't herself she's thinking of, I know, for the little bit of food she lives on is something wonderful. Not a word of complaint have I heard about her back either, although she has not had a drop of medicine for nearly a month now."
"Well, you need not let the rent worry you, Mrs. Chaplin, for I have made up my mind that I'll wait for it till the strike is over, and then I'll take what's owing a shilling a week till it's cleared off."
To hear such news as this seemed almost too good to be true, and the poor woman with the thought of taking home her day's earnings was almost overwhelmed with joy.
When she got back at night, Winny had some more good news in store for her. A letter had come from Annie Brown, who had heard about the strike away there in the country, and so for the future she was going to send every penny she could spare out of her wages for fruit-picking to help her father and Winny. She did not know yet that Winny had given up her own chance of a country visit for her to go instead. But she did know that it was Winny's doings that she got the ticket, and so she said that whatever she could send was to be divided with Winny, and the letter had brought ten shillings, so that Winny was able to lay five in her mother's hand when she had read the letter, for Brown had already changed the postal order, and brought her share of the money home that she might have the pleasure of giving it to her mother as soon as she came in.
With five shillings in hand, and Letty sure of one meal a day, Mrs. Chaplin felt herself quite rich, and reproached herself for complaining so much.
"I was sure God would take care of us," said Winny with a beaming smile.
When Chaplin came in and heard the news, he declared that they were safe from starvation now, for the strike must end before this week was over. "We are going in procession to-morrow to the west end; we must let the rich see what hunger means, and I am pretty sure more help will come in. We shall have a good allowance of bread and cheese served out to us before we start, and so we sha'n't hurt."
"But I can get you some breakfast to-morrow," said his wife.
Such a luxury as breakfast had not been known since the strike began, and Chaplin decided that if they could afford this, he need not be a burden on the strike fund even to the extent of the bread and cheese.
It had been decided to have collecting boxes taken round with the procession of starving dockers, and Chaplin was one of those chosen for this duty, so that it was well he had had a good meal before he started, for he had to be on his feet all day, and could not return home even if he had felt tired until the march was over.
When they got back late in the afternoon, he had a ticket for a shilling given to him, and each man had the same who could prove he was out of work through the strike. It was more than some of them earned even when the dock gates were open. But there was this to be considered, that wives and daughters who could often earn a little in ordinary times, were unable to earn a farthing now, for every branch of industry in this quarter of the town was almost at a stand-still, and people usually well provided with everyday comforts stood on the verge of ruin.
It was sad to see the silent deserted streets, for men and women seemed to have no heart for anything, they were all so hungry.
Subscriptions came pouring in faster than ever as the days went on; but to give even a shilling a day needed some thousands of pounds should be sent daily, but happily there was sufficient to keep men and women too from actual starvation, near as it might come to a good many.
Mrs. Rutter thought more of Winny than she did of anybody else during this time, for Winny had spoken kindly and pityingly of her husband, when everybody else had nothing but hard words for all of them. So Lizzie was sent to see her very often, and always took something in her little basket for Winny's dinner or tea. Sometimes she carried the remains of a joint they had had the day before, for Mrs. Rutter seemed to grow less and less miserly as time went on, and more rent had to be remitted.
"I do believe it is doing mother good, if it don't anybody else," said Lizzie one day as she took the remnants of a meat pie from her basket and set it on the table. "I began to be afraid mother would get to be a regular old miser, for she was so afraid to touch a penny of the money in the bank; but now that she is obliged to draw some out every week, she seems to be more cheerful and happy than she has been since father died. It is funny; I can't understand it at all," concluded Lizzie with a little laugh.
"Perhaps it is God making her happy because she is helping the poor people about the rent," suggested Winny; "I heard mother say it was a great thing to have the rent settled like this, for so many people worry more about that than they do about food, that as your mother is helping them in this way, it was a blessing to so many."
"Yes, and a blessing to herself as well, I am sure; for you know, Winny, father did make it a little unfairly, I'm afraid. I never understood about it till the other day, when I heard a man speaking about it, and I am sure it is not a fair plan the way they work now. I wish somebody had made a stir about it before. People did hate poor father, and it was not so much his fault after all. I don't say that your friend Brown pushed him into the basin, because he was here all the time, and so he couldn't. But there were lots of others who would, and I can't be sure that somebody didn't push him in that day."
It was the first time Lizzie had mentioned her father lately, and the tears stood in her eyes now as she spoke of him. "I shall never be able to think of my father as you can of yours, for he was always too busy with his money to have time to be kind to me. If somebody had only thought of altering things before, he might be alive now. That is what I am always thinking of, Winny, and why I hope the men will get what they want."
"Poor Lizzie!" said Winny, tenderly stroking the hand she held in hers. What could she say to comfort such a grief as this? She pitied poor Lizzie from the bottom of her heart, and yet no word beyond this: "God knows all about it, dear," could she say. Nothing to comfort the sorrowing girl.
She thought of her own father, and what he was to her, and then of Annie Brown—rough and thoughtless and uncontrolled—Annie who yet loved her father so dearly, while he could think of nothing but in its relation to his "little un."