STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS

LONDON

CONTENTS:

 THE INCONSIDERATE WAITER, J. M. Barrie THE BLACK POODLE, F. Anstey THAT BRUTE SIMMONS, Arthur Morrison A ROSE OF THE GHETTO, I. Zangwill AN IDYL OF LONDON, Beatrice Harraden THE OMNIBUS, "Q" [Quiller-Couch] THE HIRED BABY, Marie Correlli

THE INCONSIDERATE WAITER, By J. M. BARRIE

Frequently I have to ask myself in the street for the name of the man Ibowed to just now, and then, before I can answer, the wind of the firstcorner blows him from my memory. I have a theory, however, that thosepuzzling faces, which pass before I can see who cut the coat, all belongto club waiters. 

Until William forced his affairs upon me that was all I did know ofthe private life of waiters, though I have been in the club for twentyyears. I was even unaware whether they slept downstairs or had their ownhomes; nor had I the interest to inquire of other members, nor they theknowledge to inform me. I hold that this sort of people should be fedand clothed and given airing and wives and children, and I subscribeyearly, I believe for these purposes; but to come into closer relationwith waiters is bad form; they are club fittings, and William shouldhave kept his distress to himself, or taken it away and patched it uplike a rent in one of the chairs. His inconsiderateness has been a pairof spectacles to me for months. 

It is not correct taste to know the name of a club waiter, so I mustapologise for knowing William's, and still more for not forgetting it. If, again, to speak of a waiter is bad form, to speak bitterly is thecomic degree of it. But William has disappointed me sorely. There wereyears when I would defer dining several minutes that he might waiton me. His pains to reserve the window-seat for me were perfectlysatisfactory. I allowed him privileges, as to suggest dishes, andwould give him information, as that some one had startled me in thereading-room by slamming a door. I have shown him how I cut my fingerwith a piece of string. Obviously he was gratified by these attentions, usually recommending a liqueur; and I fancy he must have understood mysufferings, for he often looked ill himself. Probably he was rheumatic, but I cannot say for certain, as I never thought of asking, and he hadthe sense to see that the knowledge would be offensive to me. 

In the smoking-room we have a waiter so independent that once, whenhe brought me a yellow chartreuse, and I said I had ordered green, he replied, "No, sir; you said yellow. " William could never have beenguilty of such effrontery. In appearance, of course, he is mean, but Ican no more describe him than a milkmaid could draw cows. I suppose wedistinguish one waiter from another much as we pick our hat from therack. We could have plotted a murder safely before William. He neverpresumed to have any opinions of his own. When such was my mood heremained silent, and if I announced that something diverting hadhappened to me he laughed before I told him what it was. He turned thetwinkle in his eye off or on at my bidding as readily as if it was thegas. To my "Sure to be wet to-morrow, " he would reply, "Yes, sir;" andto Trelawney's "It doesn't look like rain, " two minutes afterward, hewould reply, "No, sir. " It was one member who said Lightning Rod wouldwin the Derby and another who said Lightning Rod had no chance, but itwas William who agreed with both. He was like a cheroot, which may besmoked from either end. So used was I to him that, had he died or gotanother situation (or whatever it is such persons do when they disappearfrom the club), I should probably have told the head waiter to bring himback, as I disliked changes. 

It would not become me to know precisely when I began to think Williaman ingrate, but I date his lapse from the evening when he brought meoysters. I detest oysters, and no one knew it better than William. Hehas agreed with me that he could not understand any gentleman's likingthem. Between me and a certain member who smacks his lips twelve timesto a dozen of them William knew I liked a screen to be placed until wehad reached the soup, and yet he gave me the oysters and the other manmy sardine. Both the other member and I quickly called for brandy andthe head waiter. To do William justice, he shook, but never can I forgethis audacious explanation: "Beg pardon, sir, but I was thinking ofsomething else. "

In these words William had flung off the mask, and now I knew him forwhat he was. 

I must not be accused of bad form for looking at William on thefollowing evening. What prompted me to do so was not personal interestin him, but a desire to see whether I dare let him wait on me again. So, recalling that a caster was off a chair yesterday, one is entitled tomake sure that it is on to-day before sitting down. If the expressionis not too strong, I may say that I was taken aback by William's manner. Even when crossing the room to take my orders he let his one hand playnervously with the other. I had to repeat "Sardine on toast" twice, andinstead of answering "Yes, sir, " as if my selection of sardine on toastwas a personal gratification to him, which is the manner one expectsof a waiter, he glanced at the clock, then out at the window, and, starting, asked, "Did you say sardine on toast, sir?"

It was the height of summer, when London smells like a chemist's shop, and he who has the dinner-table at the window needs no candles toshow him his knife and fork. I lay back at intervals, now watching astarved-looking woman sleep on a door-step, and again complaining of theclub bananas. By-and-by I saw a girl of the commonest kind, ill-clad anddirty, as all these Arabs are. Their parents should be compelled to feedand clothe them comfortably, or at least to keep them indoors, wherethey cannot offend our eyes. Such children are for pushing aside withone's umbrella; but this girl I noticed because she was gazing at theclub windows. She had stood thus for perhaps ten minutes when I becameaware that some one was leaning over me to look out at the window. Iturned round. Conceive my indignation on seeing that the rude person wasWilliam. 

"How dare you, William?" I said, sternly. He seemed not to hear me. Letme tell, in the measured words of one describing a past incident, whatthen took place. To get nearer the window he pressed heavily on myshoulder. 

"William, you forget yourself!" I said, meaning--as I see now--that hehad forgotten me. 

I heard him gulp, but not to my reprimand. He was scanning the street. His hands chattered on my shoulder, and, pushing him from me, I saw thathis mouth was agape. 

"What are you looking for?" I asked. 

He stared at me, and then, like one who had at last heard the echo of myquestion, seemed to be brought back to the club. He turned his face fromme for an instant, and answered shakily:

"I beg your pardon, sir! I--I shouldn't have done it. Are the bananastoo ripe, sir?"

He recommended the nuts, and awaited my verdict so anxiously while I ateone that I was about to speak graciously, when I again saw his eyes draghim to the window. 

"William, " I said, my patience giving way at last, "I dislike beingwaited on by a melancholy waiter. "

"Yes, sir, " he replied, trying to smile, and then broke outpassionately, "For God's sake, sir, tell me, have you seen a little girllooking in at the club windows?"

He had been a good waiter once, and his distracted visage was spoilingmy dinner. 

"There, " I said, pointing to the girl, and no doubt would have addedthat he must bring me coffee immediately, had he continued to listen. But already he was beckoning to the child. I have not the least interestin her (indeed, it had never struck me that waiters had private affairs, and I still think it a pity that they should have); but as I happened tobe looking out at the window I could not avoid seeing what occurred. As soon as the girl saw William she ran into the street, regardless ofvehicles, and nodded three times to him. Then she disappeared. 

I have said that she was quite a common child, without attraction ofany sort, and yet it was amazing the difference she made in William. Hegasped relief, like one who had broken through the anxiety that checksbreathing, and into his face there came a silly laugh of happiness. Ihad dined well, on the whole, so I said:

"I am glad to see you cheerful again, William. "

I meant that I approved his cheerfulness because it helped my digestion, but he must needs think I was sympathising with him. 

"Thank you, sir, " he answered. "Oh, sir! when she nodded and I saw itwas all right I could have gone down on my knees to God. "

I was as much horrified as if he had dropped a plate on my toes. EvenWilliam, disgracefully emotional as he was at the moment, flung out hisarms to recall the shameful words. 

"Coffee, William!" I said, sharply. 

I sipped my coffee indignantly, for it was plain to me that William hadsomething on his mind. 

"You are not vexed with me, sir?" he had the hardihood to whisper. 

"It was a liberty, " I said. 

"I know, sir; but I was beside myself. "

"That was a liberty also. "

He hesitated, and then blurted out:

"It is my wife, sir. She--"

I stopped him with my hand. William, whom I had favoured in so manyways, was a married man! I might have guessed as much years before had Iever reflected about waiters, for I knew vaguely that his class didthis sort of thing. His confession was distasteful to me, and I saidwarningly:

"Remember where you are, William. "

"Yes, sir; but you see, she is so delicate--"

"Delicate! I forbid your speaking to me on unpleasant topics. "

"Yes, sir; begging your pardon. "

It was characteristic of William to beg my pardon and withdraw his wife, like some unsuccessful dish, as if its taste would not remain in themouth. I shall be chided for questioning him further about hiswife, but, though doubtless an unusual step, it was only bad formsuperficially, for my motive was irreproachable. I inquired for hiswife, not because I was interested in her welfare, but in the hope ofallaying my irritation. So I am entitled to invite the wayfarer who hasbespattered me with mud to scrape it off. 

I desired to be told by William that the girl's signals meant hiswife's recovery to health. He should have seen that such was my wishand answered accordingly. But, with the brutal inconsiderateness of hisclass, he said:

"She has had a good day; but the doctor, he--the doctor is afeard she isdying. "

Already I repented my questions. William and his wife seemed in leagueagainst me, when they might so easily have chosen some other member. 

"Pooh! the doctor, " I said. 

"Yes, sir, " he answered. 

"Have you been married long, William?"

"Eight years, sir. Eight years ago she was--I--I mind her when . . . Andnow the doctor says--"

The fellow gaped at me. "More coffee, sir?" he asked. 

"What is her ailment?"

"She was always one of the delicate kind, but full of spirit, and--andyou see, she has had a baby lately--"

"William!"

"And she--I--the doctor is afeard she's not picking up. "

"I feel sure she will pick up. "

"Yes, sir?"

It must have been the wine I had drunk that made me tell him:

"I was once married, William. My wife--it was just such a case asyours. "

"She did not get better sir?"

"No. "

After a pause he said, "Thank you, sir, " meaning for the sympathy thatmade me tell him that. But it must have been the wine. 

"That little girl comes here with a message from your wife?"

"Yes; if she nods three times it means my wife is a little better. "

"She nodded thrice to-day. "

"But she is told to do that to relieve me, and maybe those nods don'ttell the truth. "

"Is she your girl?"

"No; we have none but the baby. She is a neighbour's; she comes twice aday. "

"It is heartless of her parents not to send her every hour. "

"But she is six years old, " he said, "and has a house and two sistersto look after in the daytime, and a dinner to cook. Gentlefolk don'tunderstand. "

"I suppose you live in some low part, William. "

"Off Drury Lane, " he answered, flushing; "but--but it isn't low. Yousee, we were never used to anything better, and I mind when I let hersee the house before we were married, she--she a sort of cried becauseshe was so proud of it. That was eight years ago, and now--she's afeardshe'll die when I'm away at my work. "

"Did she tell you that?"

"Never; she always says she is feeling a little stronger. "

"Then how can you know she is afraid of that?"

"I don't know how I know, sir; but when I am leaving the house in themorning I look at her from the door, and she looks at me, and then I--Iknow. "

"A green chartreuse, William!"

I tried to forget William's vulgar story in billiards, but he hadspoiled my game. My opponent, to whom I can give twenty, ran out whenI was sixty-seven, and I put aside my cue pettishly. That in itselfwas bad form, but what would they have thought had they known that awaiter's impertinence caused it! I grew angrier with William as thenight wore on, and next day I punished him by giving my orders throughanother waiter. 

As I had my window-seat, I could not but see that the girl was lateagain. Somehow I dawdled over my coffee. I had an evening paper beforeme, but there was so little in it that my eyes found more of interestin the street. It did not matter to me whether William's wife died, butwhen that girl had promised to come, why did she not come? These lowerclasses only give their word to break it. The coffee was undrinkable. 

At last I saw her. William was at another window, pretending to dosomething with the curtains. I stood up, pressing closer to the window. The coffee had been so bad that I felt shaky. She nodded three times, and smiled. 

"She is a little better, " William whispered to me, almost gaily. 

"Whom are you speaking of?" I asked, coldly, and immediately retired tothe billiard-room, where I played a capital game. The coffee was muchbetter there than in the dining-room. 

Several days passed, and I took care to show William that I hadforgotten his maunderings. I chanced to see the little girl (though Inever looked for her) every evening, and she always nodded three times, save once, when she shook her head, and then William's face grew whiteas a napkin. I remember this incident because that night I could not getinto a pocket. So badly did I play that the thought of it kept me awakein bed, and that, again, made me wonder how William's wife was. Next dayI went to the club early (which was not my custom) to see the new books. Being in the club at any rate, I looked into the dining-room to askWilliam if I had left my gloves there, and the sight of him remindedme of his wife; so I asked for her. He shook his head mournfully, and Iwent off in a rage. 

So accustomed am I to the club that when I dine elsewhere I feeluncomfortable next morning, as if I had missed a dinner. William knewthis; yet here he was, hounding me out of the club! That evening I dined(as the saying is) at a restaurant, where no sauce was served with theasparagus. Furthermore, as if that were not triumph enough for William, his doleful face came between me and every dish, and I seemed to see hiswife dying to annoy me. 

I dined next day at the club for self-preservation, taking, however, a table in the middle of the room, and engaging a waiter who had oncenearly poisoned me by not interfering when I put two lumps of sugar intomy coffee instead of one, which is my allowance. But no William came tome to acknowledge his humiliation, and by-and-by I became aware that hewas not in the room. Suddenly the thought struck me that his wife mustbe dead, and I--It was the worst cooked and the worst served dinner Iever had in the club. 

I tried the smoking-room. Usually the talk there is entertaining, but onthat occasion it was so frivolous that I did not remain five minutes. In the card-room a member told me excitedly that a policeman had spokenrudely to him; and my strange comment was:

"After all, it is a small matter. "

In the library, where I had not been for years, I found two membersasleep, and, to my surprise, William on a ladder dusting books. 

"You have not heard, sir?" he said, in answer to my raised eyebrows. Descending the ladder, he whispered tragically: "It was last evening, sir. I--I lost my head, and I--swore at a member. "

I stepped back from William, and glanced apprehensively at the twomembers. They still slept. 

"I hardly knew, " William went on, "what I was doing all day yesterday, for I had left my wife so weakly that--"

I stamped my foot. 

"I beg your pardon for speaking of her, " he had the grace to say, "butI couldn't help slipping up to the window often yesterday to look forJenny, and when she did come, and I saw she was crying, it--it sortof confused me, and I didn't know right, sir, what I was doing. I hitagainst a member, Mr. Myddleton Finch, and he--he jumped and swore atme. Well, sir, I had just touched him after all, and I was so miserable, it a kind of stung me to be treated like--like that, and me a man aswell as him; and I lost my senses, and--and I swore back. "

William's shamed head sank on his chest, but I even let pass hisinsolence in likening himself to a member of the club, so afraid was Iof the sleepers waking and detecting me in talk with a waiter. 

"For the love of God, " William cried, with coarse emotion, "don't letthem dismiss me!"

"Speak lower!" I said. "Who sent you here?"

"I was turned out of the dining-room at once, and told to attend to thelibrary until they had decided what to do with me. Oh, sir, I'll lose myplace!"

He was blubbering, as if a change of waiters, was a matter ofimportance. 

"This is very bad, William, " I said. "I fear I can do nothing for you. "

"Have mercy on a distracted man!" he entreated. "I'll go on my knees toMr. Myddleton Finch. "

How could I but despise a fellow who would be thus abject for a pound aweek?

"I dare not tell her, " he continued, "that I have lost my place. Shewould just fall back and die. "

"I forbade your speaking of your wife, " I said, sharply, "unless you canspeak pleasantly of her. "

"But she may be worse now, sir, and I cannot even see Jenny from here. The library windows look to the back. "

"If she dies, " I said, "it will be a warning to you to marry a strongerwoman next time. "

Now every one knows that there is little real affection among thelower orders. As soon as they have lost one mate they take another. YetWilliam, forgetting our relative positions, drew himself up and raisedhis fist, and if I had not stepped back I swear he would have struck me. 

The highly improper words William used I will omit, out of considerationfor him. Even while he was apologising for them I retired to thesmoking-room, where I found the cigarettes so badly rolled that theywould not keep alight. After a little I remembered that I wanted to seeMyddleton Finch about an improved saddle of which a friend of his hasthe patent. He was in the newsroom, and, having questioned him about thesaddle, I said:

"By the way, what is this story about your swearing at one of thewaiters?"

"You mean about his swearing at me, " Myddleton Finch replied, reddening. 

"I am glad that was it, " I said; "for I could not believe you guilty ofsuch bad form. "

"If I did swear--" he was beginning, but I went on:

"The version which has reached me was that you swore at him, and herepeated the word. I heard he was to be dismissed and you reprimanded. "

"Who told you that?" asked Myddleton Finch, who is a timid man. 

"I forget; it is club talk, " I replied, lightly. "But of course thecommittee will take your word. The waiter, whichever one he is, richlydeserves his dismissal for insulting you without provocation. "

Then our talk returned to the saddle, but Myddleton Finch wasabstracted, and presently he said:

"Do you know, I fancy I was wrong in thinking that the waiter swore atme, and I'll withdraw my charge to-morrow. "

Myddleton Finch then left me, and, sitting alone, I realised that Ihad been doing William a service. To some slight extent I may haveintentionally helped him to retain his place in the club, and I now seethe reason, which was that he alone knows precisely to what extent Ilike my claret heated. 

For a mere second I remembered William's remark that he should notbe able to see the girl Jenny from the library windows. Then thisrecollection drove from my head that I had only dined in the sense thatmy dinner-bill was paid. Returning to the dining-room, I happened totake my chair at the window, and while I was eating a deviled kidneyI saw in the street the girl whose nods had such an absurd effect onWilliam. 

The children of the poor are as thoughtless as their parents, and thisJenny did not sign to the windows in the hope that William might seeher, though she could not see him. Her face, which was disgracefullydirty, bore doubt and dismay on it, but whether she brought good newsit would not tell. Somehow I had expected her to signal when she sawme, and, though her message could not interest me, I was in the mood inwhich one is irritated at that not taking place which he is awaiting. Ultimately she seemed to be making up her mind to go away. 

A boy was passing with the evening papers, and I hurried out to getone, rather thoughtlessly, for we have all the papers in the club. Unfortunately, I misunderstood the direction the boy had taken; butround the first corner (out of sight of the club windows) I saw the girlJenny, and so asked her how William's wife was. 

"Did he send you to me?" she replied, impertinently taking me for awaiter. "My!" she added, after a second scrutiny, "I b'lieve you're oneof them. His missis is a bit better, and I was to tell him as she tookall the tapiocar. "

"How could you tell him?" I asked. 

"I was to do like this, " she replied, and went through the supping ofsomething out of a plate in dumb-show. 

"That would not show she ate all the tapioca, " I said. 

"But I was to end like this, " she answered, licking an imaginary platewith her tongue. 

I gave her a shilling (to get rid of her), and returned to the clubdisgusted. 

Later in the evening I had to go to the club library for a book, andwhile William was looking in vain for it (I had forgotten the title) Isaid to him:

"By the way, William, Mr. Myddleton Finch is to tell the committeethat he was mistaken in the charge he brought against you, so you willdoubtless be restored to the dining-room to-morrow. "

The two members were still in their chairs, probably sleeping lightly;yet he had the effrontery to thank me. 

"Don't thank me, " I said, blushing at the imputation. "Remember yourplace, William!"

"But Mr. Myddleton Finch knew I swore, " he insisted. 

"A gentleman, " I replied, stiffly, "cannot remember for twenty-fourhours what a waiter has said to him. "

"No, sir; but--"

To stop him I had to say: "And, ah, William, your wife is a littlebetter. She has eaten the tapioca--all of it. "

"How can your know, sir?"

"By an accident. "

"Jenny signed to the window?"

"No. "

"Then you saw her, and went out, and--"

"Nonsense!"

"Oh, sir, to do that for me! May God bl--"

"William!"

"Forgive me, sir; but--when I tell my missis, she will say it wasthought of your own wife as made you do it. "

He wrung my hand. I dared not withdraw it, lest we should waken thesleepers. 

William returned to the dining-room, and I had to show him that if hedid not cease looking gratefully at me I must change my waiter. I alsoordered him to stop telling me nightly how his wife was, but I continuedto know, as I could not help seeing the girl Jenny from the window. Twice in a week I learned from this objectionable child that the ailingwoman had again eaten all the tapioca. Then I became suspicious ofWilliam. I will tell why. 

It began with a remark of Captain Upjohn's. We had been speaking of theinconvenience of not being able to get a hot dish served after 1 A. M. , and he said:

"It is because these lazy waiters would strike. If the beggars had alove of their work they would not rush away from the club the moment oneo'clock strikes. That glum fellow who often waits on you takes to hisheels the moment he is clear of the club steps. He ran into me the othernight at the top of the street, and was off without apologising. "

"You mean the foot of the street, Upjohn, " I said; for such is the wayto Drury Lane. 

"No; I mean the top. The man was running west. "

"East. "

"West. "

I smiled, which so annoyed him that he bet me two to one in sovereigns. The bet could have been decided most quickly by asking William aquestion, but I thought, foolishly doubtless, that it might hurt hisfeelings, so I watched him leave the club. The possibility of Upjohn'swinning the bet had seemed remote to me. Conceive my surprise, thereforewhen William went westward. 

Amazed, I pursued him along two streets without realising that I wasdoing so. Then curiosity put me into a hansom. We followed William, and it proved to be a three-shilling fare, for, running when he was inbreath and walking when he was out of it, he took me to West Kensington. 

I discharged my cab, and from across the street watched William'sincomprehensible behaviour. He had stopped at a dingy row of workmen'shouses, and knocked at the darkened window of one of them. Presently alight showed. So far as I could see, some one pulled up the blind andfor ten minutes talked to William. I was uncertain whether they talked, for the window was not opened, and I felt that, had William spokenthrough the glass loud enough to be heard inside, I must have heard himtoo. Yet he nodded and beckoned. I was still bewildered when, by settingoff the way he had come, he gave me the opportunity of going home. 

Knowing from the talk of the club what the lower orders are, could Idoubt that this was some discreditable love-affair of William's?His solicitude for his wife had been mere pretence; so far as it wasgenuine, it meant that he feared she might recover. He probably told herthat he was detained nightly in the club till three. 

I was miserable next day, and blamed the deviled kidneys for it. WhetherWilliam was unfaithful to his wife was nothing to me, but I had twoplain reasons for insisting on his going straight home from his club:the one that, as he had made me lose a bet, I must punish him; the otherthat he could wait upon me better if he went to bed betimes. 

Yet I did not question him. There was something in his face that--Well, I seemed to see his dying wife in it. 

I was so out of sorts that I could eat no dinner. I left the club. Happening to stand for some time at the foot of the street, I chancedto see the girl Jenny coming, and--No; let me tell the truth, though thewhole club reads: I was waiting for her. 

"How is William's wife to-day?" I asked. 

"She told me to nod three times, " the little slattern replied; "but shelooked like nothink but a dead one till she got the brandy. 

"Hush, child!" I said, shocked. "You don't know how the dead look. "

"Bless yer, " she answered, "don't I just! Why, I've helped to lay 'emout. I'm going on seven. "

"Is William good to his wife?"

"Course he is. Ain't she his missis?"

"Why should that make him good to her?" I asked, cynically, out of myknowledge of the poor. But the girl, precocious in many ways, had neverhad any opportunities of studying the lower classes in the newspapers, fiction, and club talk. She shut one eye, and, looking up wonderingly, said:

"Ain't you green--just!"

"When does William reach home at night?"

"'Tain't night; it's morning. When I wakes up at half dark and halflight, and hears a door shutting, I know as it's either father going offto his work or Mr. Hicking come home from his. "

"Who is Mr. Hicking?"

"Him as we've been speaking on--William. We calls him mister, 'causehe's a toff. Father's just doing jobs in Covent Gardens, but Mr. Hicking, he's a waiter, and a clean shirt every day. The old woman wouldlike father to be a waiter, but he hain't got the 'ristocratic look. "

"What old woman?"

"Go 'long! that's my mother. Is it true there's a waiter in the clubjust for to open the door?"

"Yes; but--"

"And another just for to lick the stamps? My!"

"William leaves the club at one o'clock?" I said, interrogatively. 

She nodded. "My mother, " she said, "is one to talk, and she says Mr. Hicking as he should get away at twelve, 'cause his missis needs himmore'n the gentlemen need him. The old woman do talk. "

"And what does William answer to that?"

"He says as the gentlemen can't be kept waiting for their cheese. "

"But William does not go straight home when he leaves the club?"

"That's the kid. "

"Kid!" I echoed, scarcely understanding, for, knowing how little thepoor love their children, I had asked William no questions about thebaby. 

"Didn't you know his missis had a kid?"

"Yes; but that is no excuse for William's staying away from his sickwife, " I answered, sharply. A baby in such a home as William's, Ireflected, must be trying; but still--Besides, his class can sleepthrough any din. 

"The kid ain't in our court, " the girl explained. "He's in W. , he is, and I've never been out of W. C. ; leastwise, not as I knows on. "

"This is W. I suppose you mean that the child is at West Kensington?Well, no doubt it was better for William's wife to get rid of thechild--"

"Better!" interposed the girl. "'Tain't better for her not to have thekid. Ain't her not having him what she's always thinking on when shelooks like a dead one?"

"How could you know that?"

"Cause, " answered the girl, illustrating her words with a gesture, "Iwatches her, and I sees her arms going this way, just like as she wantedto hug her kid. "

"Possibly you are right, " I said, frowning; "but William had put thechild out to nurse because it disturbed his night's rest. A man who hashis work to do--"

"You are green!"

"Then why have the mother and child been separated?"

"Along of that there measles. Near all the young 'uns in our court has'em bad. "

"Have you had them?"

"I said the young 'uns. "

"And William sent the baby to West Kensington to escape infection?"

"Took him, he did. "

"Against his wife's wishes?"

"Na-o!"

"You said she was dying for want of the child?"

"Wouldn't she rayther die than have the kid die?"

"Don't speak so heartlessly, child. Why does William not go straighthome from the club? Does he go to West Kensington to see it?"

"'Tain't a hit, it's an 'e. Course he do. "

"Then he should not. His wife has the first claim on him. "

"Ain't you green! It's his missis as wants him to go. Do you think shecould sleep till she knowed how the kid was?"

"But he does not go into the house at West Kensington?"

"Is he soft? Course he don't go in, fear of taking the infection to thekid. They just holds the kid up at the window to him, so as he can havea good look. Then he comes home and tells his missis. He sits foot ofthe bed and tells. "

"And that takes place every night? He can't have much to tell. "

"He has just. "

"He can only say whether the child is well or ill. "

"My! He tells what a difference there is in the kid since he seed himlast. "

"There can be no difference!"

"Go 'long! Ain't a kid always growing? Haven't Mr. Hicking to tell howthe hair is getting darker, and heaps of things beside?"

"Such as what?"

"Like whether he larfed, and if he has her nose, and how as he knowedhim. He tells her them things more 'n once. "

"And all this time he is sitting at the foot of the bed?"

"'Cept when he holds her hand. "

"But when does he get to bed himself?"

"He don't get much. He tells her as he has a sleep at the club. "

"He cannot say that. "

"Hain't I heard him? But he do go to his bed a bit, and then they bothlies quiet, her pretending she is sleeping so as he can sleep, and him'feard to sleep case he shouldn't wake up to give her the bottle stuff. "

"What does the doctor say about her?"

"He's a good one, the doctor. Sometimes he says she would get better ifshe could see the kid through the window. "

"Nonsense!"

"And if she was took to the country. "

"Then why does not William take her?"

"My! you are green! And if she drank port wines. "

"Doesn't she?"

"No; but William, he tells her about the gentlemen drinking them. "

On the tenth day after my conversation with this unattractive child Iwas in my brougham, with the windows up, and I sat back, a paper beforemy face lest any one should look in. Naturally, I was afraid of beingseen in company of William's wife and Jenny, for men about town areuncharitable, and, despite the explanation I had ready, might havecharged me with pitying William. As a matter of fact, William wassending his wife into Surrey to stay with an old nurse of mine, and Iwas driving her down because my horses needed an outing. Besides, I wasgoing that way at any rate. 

I had arranged that the girl Jenny, who was wearing an outrageousbonnet, should accompany us, because, knowing the greed of her class, Ifeared she might blackmail me at the club. 

William joined us in the suburbs, bringing the baby with him, as I hadforeseen they would all be occupied with it, and to save me the troubleof conversing with them. Mrs. Hicking I found too pale and fragile for aworkingman's wife, and I formed a mean opinion of her intelligence fromher pride in the baby, which was a very ordinary one. She created quitea vulgar scene when it was brought to her, though she had given me herword not to do so, what irritated me even more than her tears beingher ill-bred apology that she "had been 'feared baby wouldn't know heragain. " I would have told her they didn't know any one for years had Inot been afraid of the girl Jenny, who dandled the infant on her kneesand talked to it as if it understood. She kept me on tenter-hooks byasking it offensive questions, such as, "'Oo know who give me thatbonnet?" and answering them herself, "It was the pretty gentlemanthere;" and several times I had to affect sleep because she announced, "Kiddy wants to kiss the pretty gentleman. "

Irksome as all this necessarily was to a man of taste, I suffered evenmore when we reached our destination. As we drove through the villagethe girl Jenny uttered shrieks of delight at the sight of flowersgrowing up the cottage walls, and declared they were "just like amusic-'all without the drink license. " As my horses required a rest, Iwas forced to abandon my intention of dropping these persons at theirlodgings and returning to town at once, and I could not go to theinn lest I should meet inquisitive acquaintances. Disagreeablecircumstances, therefore, compelled me to take tea with a waiter'sfamily--close to a window too, through which I could see the girl Jennytalking excitedly to the villagers, and telling them, I felt certain, that I had been good to William. I had a desire to go out and put myselfright with those people. 

William's long connection with the club should have given him somemanners, but apparently his class cannot take them on, for, though heknew I regarded his thanks as an insult, he looked them when he wasnot speaking them, and hardly had he sat down, by my orders, than heremembered that I was a member of the club, and jumped up. Nothing is inworse form than whispering, yet again and again, when he thought I wasnot listening, he whispered to Mrs. Hicking, "You don't feel faint?" or"How are you now?" He was also in extravagant glee because she ate twocakes (it takes so little to put these people in good spirits), and whenshe said she felt like another being already the fellow's face chargedme with the change. I could not but conclude, from the way Mrs. Hickinglet the baby pound her, that she was stronger than she had pretended. 

I remained longer than was necessary, because I had something to say toWilliam which I knew he would misunderstand, and so I put off saying it. But when he announced that it was time for him to return to London, --atwhich his wife suddenly paled, so that he had to sign to her not tobreak down, --I delivered the message. 

"William, " I said, "the head waiter asked me to say that you could takea fortnight's holiday just now. Your wages will be paid as usual. "

Confound them! William had me by the hand, and his wife was in tearsbefore I could reach the door. 

"Is it your doing again, sir?" William cried. 

"William!" I said, fiercely. 

"We owe everything to you, " he insisted. "The port wine--"

"Because I had no room for it in my cellar. "

"The money for the nurse in London--"

"Because I objected to being waited on by a man who got no sleep. "

"These lodgings--"

"Because I wanted to do something for my old nurse. "

"And now, sir, a fortnight's holiday!"

"Good-bye, William!" I said, in a fury. 

But before I could get away Mrs. Hicking signed to William to leavethe room, and then she kissed my hand. She said something to me. It wasabout my wife. Somehow I--What business had William to tell her about mywife?

They are all back in Drury Lane now, and William tells me that his wifesings at her work just as she did eight years ago. I have no interest inthis, and try to check his talk of it; but such people have no sense ofpropriety, and he even speaks of the girl Jenny, who sent me latelya gaudy pair of worsted gloves worked by her own hand. The meanestadvantage they took of my weakness, however, was in calling their babyafter me. I have an uncomfortable suspicion, too, that William has giventhe other waiters his version of the affair; but I feel safe so long asit does not reach the committee. 

THE BLACK POODLE, By F. Anstey

I have set myself the task of relating in the course of this story, without suppressing or altering a single detail, the most painful andhumiliating episode of my life. 

I do this, not because it will give me the least pleasure, but simplybecause it affords me an opportunity of extenuating myself, which hashitherto been wholly denied to me. 

As a general rule, I am quite aware that to publish a lengthyexplanation of one's conduct in any questionable transaction is not thebest means of recovering a lost reputation; but in my own case thereis one to whom I shall nevermore be permitted to justify by word ofmouth--even if I found myself able to attempt it. And as she couldnot possibly think worse of me than she does at present, I write this, knowing it can do me no harm, and faintly hoping that it may come to hernotice and suggest a doubt whether I am quite so unscrupulous a villain, so consummate a hypocrite, as I have been forced to appear in her eyes. 

The bare chance of such a result makes me perfectly indifferent to allelse; I cheerfully expose to the derision of the whole reading worldthe story of my weakness and my shame, since by doing so I may possiblyrehabilitate myself somewhat in the good opinion of one person. 

Having said so much, I will begin my confession without further delay. 

My name is Algernon Weatherhead, and I may add that I am in one of thegovernment departments, that I am an only son, and live at home with mymother. 

We had had a house at Hammersmith until just before the period coveredby this history, when, our lease expiring, my mother decided that myhealth required country air at the close of the day, and so we tooka "desirable villa residence" on one of the many new building estateswhich have lately sprung up in such profusion in the home counties. 

We have called it "Wistaria Villa. " It is a pretty little place, the last of a row of detached villas, each with its tiny rusticcarriage-gate and gravel sweep in front, and lawn enough for atennis-court behind, which lines the road leading over the hill to therailway-station. 

I could certainly have wished that our landlord, shortly after giving usthe agreement, could have found some other place to hang himself in thanone of our attics, for the consequence was that a housemaid left us inviolent hysterics about every two months, having learned the tragedyfrom the tradespeople, and naturally "seen a somethink" immediatelyafterward. 

Still it is a pleasant house, and I can now almost forgive the landlordfor what I shall always consider an act of gross selfishness on hispart. 

In the country, even so near town, a next-door neighbor is somethingmore than a mere numeral; he is a possible acquaintance, who will atleast consider a new-comer as worth the experiment of a call. I soonknew that "Shuturgarden, " the next house to our own, was occupied by aColonel Currie, a retired Indian officer; and often, as across the lowboundary wall I caught a glimpse of a graceful girlish figure flittingabout among the rose-bushes in the neighbouring garden, I would losemyself in pleasant anticipations of a time not too far distant when thewall which separated us would be (metaphorically) levelled. 

I remember--ah, how vividly!--the thrill of excitement with which Iheard from my mother, on returning from town one evening, that theCurries had called, and seemed disposed to be all that was neighbourlyand kind. 

I remember, too, the Sunday afternoon on which I returned theircall--alone, as my mother had already done so during the week. I wasstanding on the steps of the colonel's villa, waiting for the door toopen, when I was startled by a furious snarling and yapping behind, and, looking round, discovered a large poodle in the act of making for mylegs. 

He was a coal-black poodle, with half of his right ear gone, and absurdlittle thick moustaches at the end of his nose; he was shaved in theshamlion fashion, which is considered, for some mysterious reason, toimprove a poodle, but the barber had left sundry little tufts of hair, which studded his haunches capriciously. 

I could not help being reminded, as I looked at him, of another blackpoodle, which Faust entertained for a short time with unhappy results, and I thought that a very moderate degree of incantation would be enoughto bring the fiend out of this brute. 

He made me intensely uncomfortable, for I am of a slightly nervoustemperament, with a constitutional horror of dogs, and a liability toattacks of diffidence on performing the ordinary social rites underthe most favourable conditions, and certainly the consciousness that astrange and apparently savage dog was engaged in worrying the heels ofmy boots was the reverse of reassuring. 

The Currie family received me with all possible kindness. "So charmed tomake your acquaintance, Mr. Weatherhead, " said Mrs. Currie, as I shookhands. "I see, " she added, pleasantly, "you've brought the doggie inwith you. " As a matter of fact, I had brought the doggie in at theends of my coat-tails; but it was evidently no unusual occurrence forvisitors to appear in this undignified manner, for she detached himquite as a matter of course, and as soon as I was sufficiently collectedwe fell into conversation. 

I discovered that the colonel and his wife were childless, and theslender willowy figure I had seen across the garden wall was that ofLilian Roseblade, their niece and adopted daughter. She came into theroom shortly afterward, and I felt, as I went through the form of anintroduction, that her sweet, fresh face, shaded by soft masses ofdusky-brown hair, more than justified all the dreamy hopes and fancieswith which I had looked forward to that moment. 

She talked to me in a pretty, confidential, appealing way, which Ihave heard her dearest friends censure as childish and affected; but Ithought then that her manner had an indescribable charm and fascinationabout it, and the memory of it makes my heart ache now with a pang thatis not all pain. 

Even before the colonel made his appearance I had begun to see that myenemy, the poodle, occupied an exceptional position in that household. It was abundantly clear by the time I took my leave. 

He seemed to be the centre of their domestic system, and even lovelyLilian revolved contentedly around him as a kind of satellite; hecould do no wrong in his owner's eyes, his prejudices (and he wasa narrow-minded animal) were rigorously respected, and all domesticarrangements were made with a primary view to his convenience. 

I may be wrong, but I cannot think that it is wise to put any poodleupon such a pedestal as that. How this one in particular, as ordinarya quadruped as ever breathed, had contrived to impose thus upon hisinfatuated proprietors, I never could understand, but so it was; heeven engrossed the chief part of the conversation, which after any lullseemed to veer round to him by a sort of natural law. 

I had to endure a long biographical sketch of him, --what a society paperwould call an "anecdotal photo, "--and each fresh anecdote seemed to meto exhibit the depraved malignity of the beast in a more glaring light, and render the doting admiration of the family more astounding thanever. 

"Did you tell Mr. Weatherhead, Lily, about Bingo" (Bingo was thepoodle's preposterous name) "and Tacks? No? Oh, I _must_ tell him that;it'll make him laugh. Tacks is our gardener down in the village (d' yeknow Tacks?). Well, Tacks was up here the other day, nailing up sometrellis-work at the top of a ladder, and all the time there was MasterBingo sitting quietly at the foot of it looking on; wouldn't leave iton any account. Tacks said he was quite company for him. Well, at last, when Tacks had finished and was coming down, what do you thing thatrascal there did? Just sneaked quietly up behind and nipped him inboth calves and ran off. Been looking out for that the whole time! Ha, ha!--deep that, eh?"

I agreed, with an inward shudder, that it was very deep, thinkingprivately that, if this was a specimen of Bingo's usual treatment ofthe natives, it would be odd if he did not find himself deeper stillbefore--probably _just_ before--he died. 

"Poor, faithful old doggie!" murmured Mrs. Currie; "he thought Tackswas a nasty burglar, didn't he? He wasn't going to see master robbed washe?"

"Capital house-dog, sir, " struck in the colonel. "Gad, I shall neverforget how he made poor Heavisides run for it the other day! Ever metHeavisides of the Bombay Fusileers? Well, Heavisides was stayinghere, and the dog met him one morning as he was coming down from thebath-room. Didn't recognise him in 'pajamas' and a dressing-gown, ofcourse, and made at him. He kept poor old Heavisides outside the landingwindow on top of the cistern for a quarter of an hour, till I had tocome and raise the siege!"

Such were the stories of that abandoned dog's blunderheaded ferocity towhich I was forced to listen, while all the time the brute sat oppositeme on the hearth-rug, blinking at me from under his shaggy mane with hisevil, bleared eyes, and deliberating where he would have me when I roseto go. 

This was the beginning of an intimacy which soon displaced all ceremony. It was very pleasant to go in there after dinner, even to sit withthe colonel over his claret, and hear more stories about Bingo; forafterward I could go into the pretty drawing-room and take my tea fromLilian's hands, and listen while she played Schubert to us in the summertwilight. 

The poodle was always in the way, to be sure, but even his ugly blackhead seemed to lose some of its ugliness and ferocity when Lilian laidher pretty hand on it. 

On the whole, I think that the Currie family were well disposed towardme, the colonel considering me as a harmless specimen of the averageeligible young man, --which I certainly was, --and Mrs. Currie showing mefavour for my mother's sake, for whom she had taken a strong liking. 

As for Lilian, I believed I saw that she soon suspected the state of myfeelings toward her, and was not displeased by it. I looked forward withsome hopefulness to a day when I could declare myself with no fear of arepulse. 

But it was a serious obstacle in my path that I could not secureBingo's good opinion on any terms. The family would often lamentthis pathetically themselves. "You see, " Mrs. Currie would observein apology, "Bingo is a dog that does not attach himself easily tostrangers"--though, for that matter, I thought he was unpleasantly readyto attach himself to _me_. 

I did try hard to conciliate him. I brought him propitiatory buns, whichwas weak and ineffectual, as he ate them with avidity, and hated meas bitterly as ever; for he had conceived from the first a profoundcontempt for me, and a distrust which no blandishments of mine couldremove. Looking back now, I am inclined to think it was a propheticinstinct that warned him of what was to come upon him through myinstrumentality. 

Only his approbation was wanting to establish for me a firm footingwith the Curries, and perhaps determine Lilian's wavering heart in mydirection; but, though I wooed that inflexible poodle with an assiduityI blush to remember, he remained obstinately firm. 

Still, day by day, Lilian's treatment of me was more encouraging; day byday I gained in the esteem of her uncle and aunt; I began to hope thatsoon I should be able to disregard canine influence altogether. 

Now there was one inconvenience about our villa (besides its flavour ofsuicide) which it is necessary to mention here. By common consent allthe cats of the neighbourhood had selected our garden for their eveningreunions. I fancy that a tortoise-shell kitchen cat of ours must havebeen a sort of leader of local feline society--I know she was "at home, "with music and recitations, on most evenings. 

My poor mother found this to interfere with her after-dinner nap, and nowonder; for if a cohort of ghosts had been "shrieking and squealing, "as Calpurnia puts it, in our back garden, or it had been fitted up as acreche for a nursery of goblin infants in the agonies of teething, thenoise could not possibly have been more unearthly. 

We sought for some means of getting rid of the nuisance: there waspoison, of course; but we thought it would have an invidious appearance, and even lead to legal difficulties, if each dawn were to discover anassortment of cats expiring in hideous convulsions in various parts ofthe same garden. 

Firearms too were open to objection, and would scarcely assist mymother's slumbers; so for some time we were at a loss for a remedy. Atlast, one day, walking down the Strand, I chanced to see (in an evilhour) what struck me as the very thing: it was an air-gun of superiorconstruction, displayed in a gunsmith's window. I went in at once, purchased it, and took it home in triumph; it would be noiseless, andwould reduce the local average of cats without scandal, --one or twoexamples, --and feline fashion would soon migrate to a more secludedspot. 

I lost no time in putting this to the proof. That same evening I lay inwait after dusk at the study window, protecting my mother's repose. Assoon as I heard the long-drawn wail, the preliminary sputter, and thewild stampede that followed, I let fly in the direction of the sound. Isuppose I must have something of the national sporting instinct in me, for my blood was tingling with excitement; but the feline constitutionassimilates lead without serious inconvenience, and I began to fear thatno trophy would remain to bear witness to my marksmanship. 

But all at once I made out a dark, indistinct form slinking in frombehind the bushes. I waited till it crossed a belt of light whichstreamed from the back kitchen below me, and then I took careful aim andpulled the trigger. 

This time at least I had not failed; there was a smothered yell, arustle, and then silence again. I ran out with the calm pride of asuccessful revenge to bring in the body of my victim, and I foundunderneath a laurel no predatory tom-cat, but (as the discerning readerwill no doubt have foreseen long since) the quivering carcass of thecolonel's black poodle!

I intend to set down here the exact unvarnished truth, and I confessthat at first, when I knew what I had done, I was _not_ sorry. I wasquite innocent of any intention of doing it, but I felt no regret. Ieven laughed--madman that I was--at the thought that there was the endof Bingo, at all events; that impediment was removed; my weary task ofconciliation was over for ever!

But soon the reaction came; I realised the tremendous nature of my deed, and shuddered. I had done that which might banish me from Lilian's sidefor ever! All unwittingly I had slaughtered a kind of sacred beast, theanimal around which the Currie household had wreathed their choicestaffections! How was I to break it to them? Should I send Bingo in, witha card tied to his neck and my regrets and compliments? That was toomuch like a present of game. Ought I not to carry him in myself? I wouldwreathe him in the best crape, I would put on black for him; the Currieswould hardly consider a taper and a white sheet, or sack-cloth andashes, an excessive form of atonement, but I could not grovel to quitesuch an abject extent. 

I wondered what the colonel would say. Simple and hearty, as a generalrule, he had a hot temper on occasions, and it made me ill as I thought, would he and, worse still, would _Lilian_ believe it was really anaccident? They knew what an interest I had in silencing the deceasedpoodle--would they believe the simple truth?

I vowed that they _should_ believe me. My genuine remorse and theabsence of all concealment on my part would speak powerfully for me. Iwould choose a favourable time for my confession; that very evening Iwould tell all. 

Still I shrank from the duty before me, and, as I knelt down sorrowfullyby the dead form and respectfully composed his stiffening limbs, Ithought that it was unjust of fate to place a well-meaning man, whosenerves were not of iron, in such a position. 

Then, to my horror, I heard a well-known ringing tramp on the roadoutside, and smelled the peculiar fragrance of a Burmese cheroot. It wasthe colonel himself, who had been taking out the doomed Bingo for hisusual evening run. 

I don't know how it was, exactly, but a sudden panic came over me. Iheld my breath, and tried to crouch down unseen behind the laurels; buthe had seen me, and came over at once to speak to me across the hedge. 

He stood there, not two yards from his favourite's body! Fortunately itwas unusually dark that evening. 

"Ha, there you are, eh!" he began, heartily; "don't rise, my boy, don'trise. "

I was trying to put myself in front of the poodle, and did not rise--atleast, only my hair did. 

"You're out late, ain't you?" he went on; "laying out your garden, hey?"

I could not tell him that I was laying out his poodle! My voice shookas, with a guilty confusion that was veiled by the dusk, I said it was afine evening--which it was not. 

"Cloudy, sir, " said the colonel, "cloudy; rain before morning, I think. By the way, have you seen anything of Bingo in here?"

This was the turning-point. What I _ought_ to have done was to saymournfully, "Yes, I'm sorry to say I've had a most unfortunate accidentwith him. Here he is; the fact is, I'm afraid I've _shot_ him!"

But I couldn't. I could have told him at my own time, in a prepared formof words--but not then. I felt I must use all my wits to gain time, andfence with the questions. 

"Why, " I said, with a leaden airiness, "he hasn't given you the slip, has he?"

"Never did such a thing in his life!" said the colonel, warmly; "herushed off after a rat or a frog or something a few minutes ago, and asI stopped to light another cheroot I lost sight of him. I thought I sawhim slip in under your gate, but I've been calling him from the frontthere and he won't come out. "

No, and he never _would_ come out any more. But the colonel must not betold that just yet. I temporised again: "If, " I said, unsteadily--"if hehad slipped in under the gate I should have seen him. Perhaps he took itinto his head to run home?"

"Oh, I shall find him on the door-step, I expect, the knowing old scamp!Why, what d' ye think was the last thing he did, now?"

I could have given him the very latest intelligence, but I dared not. However, it was altogether too ghastly to kneel there and laugh atanecdotes of Bingo told across Bingo's dead body; I could not standthat. "Listen, " I said, suddenly, "wasn't that his bark? There, again;it seems to come from the front of your house, don't you think?"

"Well, " said the colonel, "I'll go and fasten him up before he's offagain. How your teeth are chattering! You've caught a chill, man; goindoors at once, and, if you feel equal to it, look in half an hourlater, about grog-time, and I'll tell you all about it. Compliments toyour mother. Don't forget--about grog-time!"

I had got rid of him at last, and I wiped my forehead, gasping withrelief. I would go round in half an hour, and then I should be preparedto make my melancholy announcement. For, even then, I never thoughtof any other course, until suddenly it flashed upon me with terribleclearness that my miserable shuffling by the hedge had made itimpossible to tell the truth! I had not told a direct lie, to be sure, but then I had given the colonel the impression that I had denied havingseen the dog. Many people can appease their consciences by reflectingthat, whatever may be the effect their words produce, they did contriveto steer clear of a downright lie. I never quite knew where thedistinction lay morally, but there _is_ that feeling--I have it myself. 

Unfortunately, prevarication has this drawback: that, if ever the truthcomes to light, the prevaricator is in just the same case as if he hadlied to the most shameless extent, and for a man to point out thatthe words he used contained no absolute falsehood will seldom restoreconfidence. 

I might, of course, still tell the colonel of my misfortune, and leavehim to infer that it had happened after our interview; but the poodlewas fast becoming cold and stiff, and they would most probably suspectthe real time of the occurrence. 

And then Lilian would hear that I had told a string of falsehoods to heruncle over the dead body of their idolised Bingo--an act, no doubt, ofabominable desecration, of unspeakable profanity, in her eyes. 

If it would have been difficult before to prevail on her to accept ablood-stained hand, it would be impossible after that. No, I had burnedmy ships, I was cut off for ever from the straightforward course; thatone moment of indecision had decided my conduct in spite of me; I mustgo on with it now, and keep up the deception at all hazards. 

It was bitter. I had always tried to preserve as many of the moralprinciples which had been instilled into me as can be convenientlyretained in this grasping world, and it had been my pride that, roughlyspeaking, I had never been guilty of an unmistakable falsehood. 

But henceforth, if I meant to win Lilian, that boast must berelinquished for ever. I should have to lie now with all my might, without limit or scruple, to dissemble incessantly, and "wear a mask, "as the poet Bunn beautifully expressed it long ago, "over my hollowheart. " I felt all this keenly; I did not think it was right, but whatwas I to do?

After thinking all this out very carefully, I decided that my onlycourse was to bury the poor animal where he fell, and say nothing aboutit. With some vague idea of precaution, I first took off the silvercollar he wore, and then hastily interred him with a garden-trowel, andsucceeded in removing all traces of the disaster. 

I fancy I felt a certain relief in the knowledge that there would nowbe no necessity to tell my pitiful story and risk the loss of myneighbours' esteem. 

By-and-by, I thought, I would plant a rose-tree over his remains, andsome day, as Lilian and I, in the noontide of our domestic bliss, stoodbefore it admiring its creamy luxuriance, I might (perhaps) find courageto confess that the tree owed some of that luxuriance to the long-lostBingo. 

There was a touch of poetry in this idea that lightened my gloom for themoment. 

I need scarcely say that I did not go round to Shuturgarden thatevening. I was not hardened enough for that yet; my manner might betrayme, and so I very prudently stayed at home. 

But that night my sleep was broken by frightful dreams. I wasperpetually trying to bury a great, gaunt poodle, which would persistin rising up through the damp mould as fast as I covered him up. . . . Lilian and I were engaged, and we were in church together on Sunday, andthe poodle, resisting all attempts to eject him, forbade our banns withsepulchral barks. . . . It was our wedding-day, and at the criticalmoment the poodle leaped between us and swallowed the ring. . . . Or wewere at the wedding-breakfast, and Bingo, a grisly black skeleton withflaming eyes, sat on the cake and would not allow Lilian to cut it. Eventhe rose-tree fancy was reproduced in a distorted form--the tree grew, and every blossom contained a miniature Bingo, which barked; and as Iwoke I was desperately trying to persuade the colonel that they wereordinary dog-roses. 

I went up to the office next day with my gloomy secret gnawing my bosom, and, whatever I did, the spectre of the murdered poodle rose before me. For two days after that I dared not go near the Curries, until at lastone evening after dinner I forced myself to call, feeling that it wasreally not safe to keep away any longer. 

My conscience smote me as I went in. I put on an unconscious, easymanner, which was such a dismal failure that it was lucky for me thatthey were too much engrossed to notice it. 

I never before saw a family so stricken down by a domestic misfortuneas the group I found in the drawing-room, making a dejected pretenceof reading or working. We talked at first--and hollow talk it was--onindifferent subjects, till I could bear it no longer, and plunged boldlyinto danger. 

"I don't see the dog, " I began, "I suppose you--you found him all rightthe other evening, colonel?" I wondered, as I spoke, whether they wouldnot notice the break in my voice, but they did not. 

"Why, the fact is, " said the colonel, heavily, gnawing his graymoustache, "we've not heard anything of him since; he's--he's run off!"

"Gone, Mr. Weatherhead; gone without a word!" said Mrs. Currie, plaintively, as if she thought the dog might at least have left anaddress. 

"I wouldn't have believed it of him, " said the colonel; "it hascompletely knocked me over. Haven't been so cut up for years--theungrateful rascal!"

"O uncle!" pleaded Lilian, "don't talk like that; perhaps Bingo couldn'thelp it--perhaps some one has s-s-shot him!"

"Shot!" cried the colonel, angrily. "By heaven! if I thought there was avillain on earth capable of shooting that poor inoffensive dog, I'd--Why_should_ they shoot him, Lilian? Tell me that! I--I hope you won'tlet me hear you talk like that again. _You_ don't think he's shot, eh, Weatherhead?"

I said--Heaven forgive me!--that I thought it highly improbable. 

"He's not dead!" cried Mrs. Currie. "If he were dead I should know itsomehow--I'm sure I should! But I'm certain he's alive. Only last nightI had such a beautiful dream about him. I thought he came back to us, Mr. Weatherhead, driving up in a hansom-cab, and he was just the sameas ever--only he wore blue spectacles, and the shaved part of him waspainted a bright red. And I woke up with the joy--so, you know, it'ssure to come true!"

It will be easily understood what torture conversations like these wereto me, and how I hated myself as I sympathised and spoke encouragingwords concerning the dog's recovery, when I knew all the time hewas lying hid under my garden mould. But I took it as a part of mypunishment, and bore it all uncomplainingly; practice even made me anadept in the art of consolation--I believe I really was a great comfortto them. 

I had hoped that they would soon get over the first bitterness of theirloss, and that Bingo would be first replaced and then forgotten in theusual way; but there seemed no signs of this coming to pass. 

The poor colonel was too plainly fretting himself ill about it; he wentpottering about forlornly, advertising, searching, and seeing people, but all, of course, to no purpose; and it told upon him. He was morelike a man whose only son and heir had been stolen than an Anglo-Indianofficer who had lost a poodle. I had to affect the liveliest interestin all his inquiries and expeditions, and to listen to and echo the mostextravagant eulogies of the departed; and the wear and tear of so muchduplicity made me at last almost as ill as the colonel himself. 

I could not help seeing that Lilian was not nearly so much impressedby my elaborate concern as her relatives, and sometimes I detectedan incredulous look in her frank brown eyes that made me very uneasy. Little by little, a rift widened between us, until at last in despairI determined to know the worst before the time came when it would behopeless to speak at all. I chose a Sunday evening as we were walkingacross the green from church in the golden dusk, and then I ventured tospeak to her of my love. She heard me to the end, and was evidently verymuch agitated. At last she murmured that it could not be, unless--no, itnever could be now. 

"Unless, what?" I asked. "Lilian--Miss Roseblade, something has comebetween us lately; you will tell me what that something is, won't you?"

"Do you want to know _really_?" she said, looking up at me through hertears. "Then I'll tell you; it--it's Bingo!"

I started back overwhelmed. Did she know all? If not, how much did shesuspect? I must find out that at once. "What about Bingo?" I managed topronounce, with a dry tongue. 

"You never l-loved him when he was here, " she sobbed; "you know youdidn't!"

I was relieved to find it was no worse than this. 

"No, " I said, candidly; "I did not love Bingo. Bingo didn't love _me_, Lilian; he was always looking out for a chance of nipping me somewhere. Surely you won't quarrel with me for that!"

"Not for that, " she said; "only, why do you pretend to be so fond of himnow, and so anxious to get him back again? Uncle John believes you, but_I_ don't. I can see quite well that you wouldn't be glad to find him. You could find him easily if you wanted to!"

"What do you mean, Lilian?" I said, hoarsely. "_How_ could I find him?"Again I feared the worst. 

"You're in a government office, " cried Lilian, "and if you only chose, you could easily g-get g-government to find Bingo! What's the use ofgovernment if it can't do that? Mr. Travers would have found him longago if I'd asked him!"

Lilian had never been so childishly unreasonable as this before, and yetI loved her more madly than ever; but I did not like this allusionto Travers, a rising barrister, who lived with his sister in a prettycottage near the station, and had shown symptoms of being attracted byLilian. 

He was away on circuit just then, luckily; but, at least, even he wouldhave found it a hard task to find Bingo--there was comfort in that. 

"You know that isn't just, Lilian, " I observed; "but only tell me whatyou want me to do. "

"Bub-bub-bring back Bingo!" she said. 

"Bring back Bingo!" I cried, in horror. "But suppose I _can't_--supposehe's out of the country, or--dead, what then Lilian?"

"I can't help it, " she said, "but I don't believe he _is_ out of thecountry or dead. And while I see you pretending to uncle that you caredawfully about him, and going on doing nothing at all, it makes me thinkyou're not quite--quite _sincere_! And I couldn't possibly marry any onewhile I thought that of him. And I shall always have that feeling unlessyou find Bingo!"

It was of no use to argue with her; I knew Lilian by that time. Withher pretty, caressing manner she united a latent obstinacy which itwas hopeless to attempt to shake. I feared, too, that she was not quitecertain as yet whether she cared for me or not, and that this conditionof hers was an expedient to gain time. 

I left her with a heavy heart. Unless I proved my worth by bringing backBingo within a very short time, Travers would probably have everythinghis own way. And Bingo was dead!

However, I took heart. I thought that perhaps if I could succeed by myearnest efforts in persuading Lilian that I really was doing all in mypower to recover the poodle, she might relent in time, and dispense withhis actual production. 

So, partly with this object, and partly to appease the remorse whichnow revived and stung me deeper than before, I undertook long and wearypilgrimages after office hours. I spent many pounds in advertisements; Iinterviewed dogs of every size, colour, and breed, and of course I tookcare to keep Lilian informed of each successive failure. But still herheart was not touched; she was firm. If I went on like that, she toldme, I was certain to find Bingo one day; then, but not before, would herdoubts be set at rest. 

I was walking one day through the somewhat squalid district which liesbetween Bow Street and High Holborn, when I saw, in a small theatricalcostumer's window, a hand-bill stating that a black poodle had "followeda gentleman" on a certain date, and if not claimed and the finderremunerated before a stated time would be sold to pay expenses. 

I went in and got a copy of the bill to show Lilian, and, although bythat time I scarcely dared to look a poodle in the face, I thought Iwould go to the address given and see the animal, simply to be able totell Lilian I had done so. 

The gentleman whom the dog had very unaccountably followed was a certainMr. William Blagg, who kept a little shop near Endell Street, and calledhimself a bird-fancier, though I should scarcely have credited him withthe necessary imagination. He was an evil-browed ruffian in a fur cap, with a broad broken nose and little shifty red eyes; and after I hadtold him what I wanted he took me through a horrible little den, stackedwith piles of wooden, wire, and wicker prisons, each quivering withrestless, twittering life, and then out into a back yard, in which weretwo or three rotten old kennels and tubs. "That there's him, " he said, jerking his thumb to the farthest tub; "follered me all the way 'omefrom Kinsington Gardens, _he_ did. Kim out, will yer?"

And out of the tub there crawled slowly, with a snuffling whimper anda rattling of its chain, the identical dog I had slain a few eveningsbefore!

At least, so I thought for a moment, and felt as if I had seen aspectre; the resemblance was so exact--in size, in every detail, even tothe little clumps of hair about the hind parts, even to the lop of halfan ear, this dog might have been the _doppelganger_ of the deceasedBingo. I suppose, after all, one black poodle is very like any otherblack poodle of the same size, but the likeness startled me. 

I think it was then that the idea occurred to me that here was amiraculous chance of securing the sweetest girl in the whole world, andat the same time atoning for my wrong by bringing back gladness with meto Shuturgarden. It only needed a little boldness; one last deception, and I could embrace truthfulness once more. 

Almost unconsciously, when my guide turned round and asked, "Is thatthere dawg yourn?" I said hurriedly, "Yes, yes; that's the dog I want;that--that's Bingo!"

"He don't seem to be a-puttin' of 'isself out about seein' you again, "observed Mr. Blagg, as the poodle studied me with calm interest. 

"Oh, he's not exactly _my_ dog, you see, " I said; "he belongs to afriend of mine!"

He gave me a quick, furtive glance. "Then maybe you're mistook abouthim, " he said, "and I can't run no risks. I was a-goin' down in thecountry this 'ere werry evenin' to see a party as lives at WistariaWilla; he's been a-hadwertisin' about a black poodle, _he_ has!"

"But look here, " I said; "that's _me_. "

He gave me a curious leer. "No offence, you know, guv'nor, " he said, "but I should wish for some evidence as to that afore I part with avallyable dawg like this 'ere!"

"Well, " I said, "here's one of my cards; will that do for you?"

He took it and spelled it out with a pretence of great caution; but Isaw well enough that the old schoundrel suspected that if I had lost adog at all it was not this particular dog. "Ah, " he said, as he putit in his pocket, "if I part with him to you I must be cleared of allrisks. I can't afford to get into trouble about no mistakes. Unless youlikes to leave him for a day or two you must pay accordin', you see. "

I wanted to get the hateful business over as soon as possible. I didnot care what I paid--Lilian was worth all the expense! I said I had nodoubt myself as to the real ownership of the animal, but I would givehim any sum in reason, and would remove the dog at once. 

And so we settled it. I paid him an extortionate sum, and came away witha duplicate poodle, a canine counterfeit, which I hoped to pass off atShuturgarden as the long-lost Bingo. 

I know it was wrong, --it even came unpleasantly near dog-stealing, --butI was a desperate man. I saw Lilian gradually slipping away from me, I knew that nothing short of this could ever recall her, I was sorelytempted, I had gone far on the same road already; it was the old storyof being hung for a sheep. And so I fell. 

Surely some who read this will be generous enough to consider thepeculiar state of the case, and mingle a little pity with theircontempt. 

I was dining in town that evening, and took my purchase home by a latetrain; his demeanour was grave and intensely respectable; he was not theanimal to commit himself by any flagrant indiscretion; he was gentle andtractable too, and in all respects an agreeable contrast in characterto the original. Still, it may have been the after-dinner workings ofconscience, but I could not help fancying that I saw a certain look inthe creature's eyes, as if he were aware that he was required to conniveat a fraud, and rather resented it. 

If he would only be good enough to back me up! Fortunately, however, he was such a perfect facsimile of the outward Bingo that the risk ofdetection was really inconsiderable. 

When I got him home I put Bingo's silver collar round his neck, congratulating myself on my forethought in preserving it, and took himin to see my mother. She accepted him as what he seemed without theslightest misgiving; but this, though it encouraged me to go on, was notdecisive--the spurious poodle would have to encounter the scrutiny ofthose who knew every tuft on the genuine animal's body!

Nothing would have induced me to undergo such an ordeal as that ofpersonally restoring him to the Curries. We gave him supper, and tiedhim up on the lawn, where he howled dolefully all night and buriedbones. 

The next morning I wrote a note to Mrs. Currie, expressing my pleasureat being able to restore the lost one, and another to Lilian, containingonly the words, "Will you believe _now_ that I am sincere?" Then I tiedboth round the poodle's neck, and dropped him over the wall into thecolonel's garden just before I started to catch my train to town. 

I had an anxious walk home from the station that evening; I went roundby the longer way, trembling the whole time lest I should meet any ofthe Currie household, to which I felt myself entirely unequal just then. I could not rest until I knew whether my fraud had succeeded, or if thepoodle to which I had intrusted my fate had basely betrayed me; but mysuspense was happily ended as soon as I entered my mother's room. "Youcan't think how delighted those poor Curries were to see Bingo again, "she said at once; "and they said such charming things about you, Algy--Lilian particularly; quite affected she seemed, poor child! Andthey wanted you to go round and dine there and be thanked to-night, butat last I persuaded them to come to us instead. And they're going tobring the dog to make friends. Oh, and I met Frank Travers; he's backfrom circuit again now, so I asked him in too to meet them!"

I drew a deep breath of relief. I had played a desperate game, but I hadwon! I could have wished, to be sure, that my mother had not thought ofbringing in Travers on that of all evenings, but I hoped that I coulddefy him after this. 

The colonel and his people were the first to arrive, he and his wifebeing so effusively grateful that they made me very uncomfortableindeed; Lilian met me with downcast eyes and the faintest possibleblush, but she said nothing just then. Five minutes afterward, when sheand I were alone together in the conservatory, where I had brought heron pretence of showing a new begonia, she laid her hand on my sleeveand whispered, almost shyly, "Mr. Weatherhead--Algernon! Can you everforgive me for being so cruel and unjust to you?" And I replied that, upon the whole, I could. 

We were not in the conservatory long, but before we left it beautifulLilian Roseblade had consented to make my life happy. When we reenteredthe drawing-room we found Frank Travers, who had been told the story ofthe recovery; and I observed his jaw fall as he glanced at our faces, and noted the triumphant smile which I have no doubt mine wore, and thetender, dreamy look in Lilian's soft eyes. Poor Travers! I was sorry forhim, although I was not fond of him. Travers was a good type of risingyoung common-law barrister, tall, not bad-looking, with keen dark eyes, black whiskers, and the mobile forensic mouth which can express everyshade of feeling, from deferential assent to cynical incredulity;possessed, too, of an endless flow of conversation that was decidedlyagreeable, if a trifling too laboriously so, he had been a dangerousrival. But all that was over now; he saw it himself at once, and duringdinner sank into dismal silence, gazing pathetically at Lilian, andsighing almost obtrusively between the courses. His stream of small talkseemed to have been cut off at the main. 

"You've done a kind thing, Weatherhead, " said the colonel. "I can't tellyou all that dog is to me, and how I missed the poor beast. I'd quitegiven up all hope of ever seeing him again, and all the time there wasWeatherhead, Mr. Travers, quietly searching all London till he foundhim! I sha'n't forget it. It shows a really kind feeling. "

I saw by Travers's face that he was telling himself he would have foundfifty Bingos in half the time--if he had only thought of it; he smileda melancholy assent to all the colonel said, and then began to study mewith an obviously depreciatory air. 

"You can't think, " I heard Mrs. Currie telling my mother, "how really_touching_ it was to see poor Bingo's emotion at seeing all the oldfamiliar objects again! He went up and sniffed at them all in turn, quite plainly recognising everything. And he was quite put out to findthat we had moved his favourite ottoman out of the drawing-room. But he_is_ so penitent too, and so ashamed of having run away; he kept under achair in the hall all the morning; he wouldn't come in here, either, sowe had to leave him in your garden. "

"He's been sadly out of spirits all day, " said Lilian; "he hasn't bittenone of the tradespeople. "

"Oh, _he's_ all right, the rascal!" said the colonel, cheerily. "He'llbe after the cats again as well as ever in a day or two. "

"Ah, those cats!" said my poor innocent mother. "Algy, you haven't triedthe air-gun on them again lately, have you? They're worse than ever. "

I troubled the colonel to pass the claret. Travers laughed for the firsttime. "That's a good idea, " he said, in that carrying "bar-mess" voiceof his; "an air-gun for cats, ha, ha! Make good bags, eh, Weatherhead?"I said that I did, _very_ good bags, and felt I was getting painfullyred in the face. 

"Oh, Algy is an excellent shot--quite a sportsman, " said my mother. "Iremember, oh, long ago, when we lived at Hammersmith, he had a pistol, and he used to strew crumbs in the garden for the sparrows, and shoot atthem out of the pantry window; he frequently hit one. "

"Well, " said the colonel, not much impressed by these sportingreminiscences, "don't go rolling over our Bingo by mistake, youknow, Weatherhead, my boy. Not but what you've a sort of right afterthis--only don't. I wouldn't go through it all twice for anything. "

"If you really won't take any more wine, " I said, hurriedly, addressingthe colonel and Travers, "suppose we all go out and have our coffeeon the lawn? It--it will be cooler there. " For it was getting very hotindoors, I thought. 

I left Travers to amuse the ladies--he could do no more harm now; and, taking the colonel aside, I seized the opportunity, as we strolled upand down the garden path, to ask his consent to Lilian's engagement tome. He gave it cordially. "There's not a man in England, " he said, "thatI'd sooner see her married to after to-day. You're a quiet, steady youngfellow, and you've a good kind heart. As for the money, that's neitherhere nor there; Lilian won't come to you without a penny, you know. Butreally, my boy, you can hardly believe what it is to my poor wife and meto see that dog. Why, bless my soul, look at him now! What's the matterwith him, eh?"

To my unutterable horror, I saw that that miserable poodle, afterbegging unnoticed at the tea-table for some time, had retired to an openspace before it, where he was industriously standing on his head. 

We gathered round and examined the animal curiously, as he continued tobalance himself gravely in his abnormal position. "Good gracious, John, "cried Mrs. Currie, "I never saw Bingo do such a thing before in hislife!"

"Very odd, " said the colonel, putting up his glasses; "never learnedthat from _me_. "

"I tell you what I fancy it is, " I suggested wildly. "You see, he wasalways a sensitive, excitable animal, and perhaps the--the sudden joy ofhis return has gone to his head--_upset_ him, you know. "

They seemed disposed to accept this solution, and, indeed, I believethey would have credited Bingo with every conceivable degree ofsensibility; but I felt myself that if this unhappy animal had many moreof these accomplishments I was undone, for the original Bingo had neverbeen a dog of parts. 

"It's very odd, " said Travers, reflectively, as the dog recovered hisproper level, "but I always thought that it was half the _right_ earthat Bingo had lost. "

"So it is, isn't it?" said the colonel. "Left, eh? Well, I thoughtmyself it was the right. "

My heart almost stopped with terror; I had altogether forgotten that. I hastened to set the point at rest. "Oh, it _was_ the left, " I said, positively; "I know it because I remember so particularly thinking howodd it was that it _should_ be the left ear, and not the right!" I toldmyself this should be positively my last lie. 

"_Why_ odd?" asked Frank Travers, with his most offensive Socraticmanner. 

"My dear fellow, I can't tell you, " I said, impatiently; "everythingseems odd when you come to think at all about it. "

"Algernon, " said Lilian, later on, "will you tell Aunt Mary and Mr. Travers and--me how it was you came to find Bingo? Mr. Travers is quiteanxious to hear all about it. "

I could not very well refuse; I sat down and told the story, all my ownway. I painted Blagg perhaps rather bigger and blacker than life, anddescribed an exciting scene, in which I recognised Bingo by his collarin the streets, and claimed and bore him off then and there in spite ofall opposition. 

I had the inexpressible pleasure of seeing Travers grinding his teethwith envy as I went on, and feeling Lilian's soft, slender hand glidesilently into mine as I told my tale in the twilight. 

All at once, just as I reached the climax, we heard the poodle barkingfuriously at the hedge which separated my garden from the road. 

"There's a foreign-looking man staring over the hedge, " said Lilian;"Bingo always _did_ hate foreigners. "

There certainly was a swarthy man there, and, though I had no reason forit then, somehow my heart died within me at the sight of him. 

"Don't be alarmed, sir, " cried the colonel; "the dog won't biteyou--unless there's a hole in the hedge anywhere. "

The stranger took off his small straw hat with a sweep. "Ah, I am notafraid, " he said, and his accent proclaimed him a Frenchman; "he is notenrage at me. May I ask, it is pairmeet to speak viz Misterre Vezzered?"

I felt I must deal with this person alone, for I feared the worst; and, asking them to excuse me, I went to the hedge and faced the Frenchmanwith the frightful calm of despair. He was a short, stout little man, with blue cheeks, sparkling black eyes, and a vivacious walnut-colouredcountenance; he wore a short black alpaca coat, and a large whitecravat, with an immense oval malachite brooch in the centre of it, whichI mention because I found myself staring mechanically at it during theinterview. 

"My name is Weatherhead, " I began with the bearing of a detectedpickpocket. "Can I be of any service to you?"

"Of a great service, " he said, emphatically; "you can restore to me zepoodle vich I see zere!"

Nemesis had called at last in the shape of a rival claimant. I staggeredfor an instant; then I said, "Oh, I think you are under a mistake; thatdog is not mine. "

"I know it, " he said; "zere 'as been leetle mistake, so if ze dog is notto you, you give him back to me, _hein_?"

"I tell you, " I said, "that poodle belongs to the gentleman over there. "And I pointed to the colonel, seeing that it was best now to bring himinto the affair without delay. 

"You are wrong, " he said, doggedly; "ze poodle is my poodle! And I wasdirect to you--it is your name on ze carte!" And he presented me withthat fatal card which I had been foolish enough to give to Blagg as aproof of my identity. I saw it all now; the old villain had betrayed me, and to earn a double reward had put the real owner on my track. 

I decided to call the colonel at once, and attempt to brazen it out withthe help of his sincere belief in the dog. 

"Eh, what's that; what's it all about?" said the colonel, bustling up, followed at intervals by the others. 

The Frenchman raised his hat again. "I do not vant to make a trouble, "he began, "but zere is leetle mistake. My word of honour, sare, I see myown poodle in your garden. Ven I appeal to zis gentilman to restore 'imhe reffer me to you. "

"You must allow me to know my own dog, sir, " said the colonel. "Why, I've had him from a pup. Bingo, old boy, you know your name, don't you?"

But the brute ignored him altogether, and began to leap wildly at thehedge in frantic efforts to join the Frenchman. It needed no Solomon todecide _his_ ownership!

"I tell you, you 'ave got ze wrong poodle--it is my own dog, my Azor! Heremember me well, you see? I lose him, it is three, four days. . . . Isee a nottice zat he is found, and ven I go to ze address zey tell me, 'Oh, he is reclaim, he is gone viz a strangaire who has advertise. ' Zeyshow me ze placard; I follow 'ere, and ven I arrive I see my poodle inze garden before me!"

"But look here, " said the colonel, impatiently; "it's all very well tosay that, but how can you prove it? I give you _my_ word that the dogbelongs to _me_! You must prove your claim, eh, Travers?"

"Yes, " said Travers, judicially; "mere assertion is no proof; it's oathagainst oath at present. "

"Attend an instant; your poodle, was he 'ighly train, had he sometalents--a dog viz tricks, eh?"

"No, he's not, " said the colonel; "I don't like to see dogs taught toplay the fool; there's none of that nonsense about _him_, sir!"

"Ah, remark him well, then. _Azor, mon chou, danse donc un peu_!"

And, on the foreigner's whistling a lively air, that infernal poodlerose on his hind legs and danced solemnly about half-way round thegarden! We inside followed his movements with dismay. 

"Why, dash it all!" cried the disgusted colonel, "he's dancing alonglike a d--d mountebank! But it's my Bingo, for all that!"

"You are not convince? You shall see more. Azor, ici! Pour Beesmarck, Azor!" (the poodle barked ferociously. ) "Pour Gambetta!" (He wagged histail and began to leap with joy. ) "Meurs pour la patrie!" And the tooaccomplished animal rolled over as if killed in battle!

"Where could Bingo have picked up so much French?" cried Lilian, incredulously. 

"Or so much French history?" added that serpent, Travers. 

"Shall I command 'im to jump, or reverse 'imself?" inquired the obligingFrenchman. 

"We've seen that, thank you, " said the colonel, gloomily. "Upon my word, I don't know what to think. It can't be that that's not my Bingo afterall--I'll never believe it!"

I tried a last desperate stroke. "Will you come round to the front?" Isaid to the Frenchman. "I'll let you in, and we can discuss the matterquietly. " Then, as we walked back together, I asked him eagerly what hewould take to abandon his claims and let the colonel think the poodlewas his after all. 

He was furious--he considered himself insulted; with great emotion heinformed me that the dog was the pride of his life (it seems to be themission of black poodles to serve as domestic comforts of this pricelesskind!), that he would not part with him for twice his weight in gold. 

"Figure, " he began, as we joined the others, "zat zis gentilman 'ere'as offer me money for ze dog! He agrees zat it is to me, you see? Ver'well, zen, zere is no more to be said!"

"Why, Weatherhead, have _you_ lost faith too, then?" said the colonel. 

I saw it was no good; all I wanted now was to get out of it creditablyand get rid of the Frenchman. "I'm sorry to say, " I replied, "that I'mafraid I've been deceived by the extraordinary likeness. I don't think, on reflection, that that _is_ Bingo!"

"What do you think, Travers?" asked the colonel. 

"Well, since you ask me, " said Travers, with quite unnecessary dryness, "I never did think so. "

"Nor I, " said the colonel; "I thought from the first that was never myBingo. Why, Bingo would make two of that beast!"

And Lilian and her aunt both protested that they had had their doubtsfrom the first. 

"Zen you pairmeet zat I remove 'im?" said the Frenchman. 

"Certainly, " said the colonel; and, after some apologies on our part forthe mistake, he went off in triumph, with the detestable poodle friskingafter him. 

When he had gone the colonel laid his hand kindly on my shoulder. "Don'tlook so cut up about it, my boy, " he said; "you did your best--there wasa sort of likeness to any one who didn't know Bingo as we did. "

Just then the Frenchman again appeared at the hedge. "A thousandpardons, " he said, "but I find zis upon my dog; it is not to me. Sufferme to restore it viz many compliments. "

It was Bingo's collar. Travers took it from his hand and brought it tous. 

"This was on the dog when you stopped that fellow, didn't you say?" heasked me. 

One more lie--and I was so weary of falsehood! "Y-yes, " I said, reluctantly; "that was so. "

"Very extraordinary, " said Travers; "that's the wrong poodle beyond adoubt, but when he's found he's wearing the right dog's collar! Now howdo you account for that?"

"My good fellow, " I said, impatiently, "I'm not in the witness-box. I_can't_ account for it. It-it's a mere coincidence!"

"But look here, my _dear_ Weatherhead, " argued Travers (whether ingood faith or not I never could quite make out), "don't you see what atremendously important link it is? Here's a dog who (as I understand thefacts) had a silver collar, with his name engraved on it, round his neckat the time he was lost. Here's that identical collar turning up soonafterward round the neck of a totally different dog! We must followthis up; we must get at the bottom of it somehow! With a clue like this, we're sure to find out either the dog himself, or what's become of him!Just try to recollect exactly what happened, there's a good fellow. Thisis just the sort of thing I like!"

It was the sort of thing I did not enjoy at all. "You must excuse meto-night, Travers, " I said, uncomfortably; "you see, just now it'srather a sore subject for me, and I'm not feeling very well!" I wasgrateful just then for a reassuring glance of pity and confidence fromLilian's sweet eyes, which revived my drooping spirits for the moment. 

"Yes, we'll go into it to-morrow, Travers, " said the colonel; "andthen--hullo, why, there's that confounded Frenchman _again_!"

It was indeed; he came prancing back delicately, with a maliciousenjoyment on his wrinkled face. "Once more I return to apologise, " hesaid. "My poodle 'as permit 'imself ze grave indiscretion to make a verybig 'ole at ze bottom of ze garden!"

I assured him that it was of no consequence. "Perhaps, " he replied, looking steadily at me through his keen, half-shut eyes, "you vill notsay zat ven you regard ze 'ole. And you others, I spik to you: sometimesvon loses a somzing vich is qvite near all ze time. It is ver' droll, eh? my vord, ha, ha, ha!" And he ambled off, with an aggressivelyfiendish laugh that chilled my blood. 

"What the deuce did he mean by that, eh?" said the colonel, blankly. 

"Don't know, " said Travers; "suppose we go and inspect the hole?"

But before that I had contrived to draw near it myself, in deadly fearlest the Frenchman's last words had contained some innuendo which I hadnot understood. 

It was light enough still for me to see something, at the unexpectedhorror of which I very nearly fainted. 

That thrice accursed poodle which I had been insane enough to attempt tofoist upon the colonel must, it seems, have buried his supper the nightbefore very near the spot in which I had laid Bingo, and in his attemptsto exhume his bone had brought the remains of my victim to the surface!

There the corpse lay, on the very top of the excavations. Time had not, of course, improved its appearance, which was ghastly in the extreme, but still plainly recognisable by the eye of affection. 

"It's a very ordinary hole, " I gasped, putting myself before it andtrying to turn them back. "Nothing in it--nothing at all!"

"Except one Algernon Weatherhead, Esq. , eh?" whispered Travers, jocosely, in my ear. 

"No; but, " persisted the colonel, advancing, "look here! Has the dogdamaged any of your shrubs?"

"No, no!" I cried, piteously; "quite the reverse. Let's all go indoorsnow; it's getting so cold!"

"See, there _is_ a shrub or something uprooted, " said the colonel, stillcoming nearer that fatal hole. "Why, hullo, look there! What's that?"

Lilian, who was by his side, gave a slight scream. "Uncle, " she cried, "it looks like--like _Bingo_!"

The colonel turned suddenly upon me. "Do you hear?" he demanded, in achoked voice. "You hear what she says? Can't you speak out? Is that ourBingo?"

I gave it up at last; I only longed to be allowed to crawl away undersomething! "Yes, " I said in a dull whisper, as I sat down heavily on agarden seat, "yes . . . That's Bingo . . . Misfortune . . . Shoot him. . . Quite an accident!"

There was a terrible explosion after that; they saw at last how I haddeceived them, and put the very worst construction upon everything. Evennow I writhe impotently at times, and my cheeks smart and tingle withhumiliation, as I recall that scene--the colonel's very plain speaking, Lilian's passionate reproaches and contempt, and her aunt's speechlessprostration of disappointment. 

I made no attempt to defend myself; I was not, perhaps, the completevillain they deemed me, but I felt dully that no doubt it all served meperfectly right. 

Still I do not think I am under any obligation to put their remarks downin black and white here. 

Travers had vanished at the first opportunity--whether out of delicacy, or the fear of breaking out into unseasonable mirth, I cannot say; andshortly afterward the others came to where I sat silent with bowed head, and bade me a stern and final farewell. 

And then, as the last gleam of Lilian's white dress vanished down thegarden path, I laid my head down on the table among the coffee-cups, andcried like a beaten child. 

I got leave as soon as I could, and went abroad. The morning after myreturn I noticed, while shaving, that there was a small square marbletablet placed against the wall of the colonel's garden. I got myopera-glass and read--and pleasant reading it was--the followinginscription:

IN AFFECTIONATE MEMORY

OF

B I N G O, SECRETLY AND CRUELLY PUT TO DEATH, IN COLD BLOOD, BY A

NEIGHBOUR AND FRIEND. 

JUNE, 1881. 

If this explanation of mine ever reaches my neighbours' eyes, I humblyhope they will have the humanity either to take away or tone down thattablet. They cannot conceive what I suffer when curious visitors insist, as they do every day, on spelling out the words from our windows, andasking me countless questions about them!

Sometimes I meet the Curries about the village, and as they pass me withaverted heads I feel myself growing crimson. Travers is almost alwayswith Lilian now. He has given her a dog, --a fox-terrier, --and they takeostentatiously elaborate precautions to keep it out of my garden. 

I should like to assure them here that they need not be under any alarm. I have shot one dog. 

THAT BRUTE SIMMONS, By Arthur Morrison

Simmons's infamous behaviour toward his wife is still matter forprofound wonderment among the neighbours. The other women had all alongregarded him as a model husband, and certainly Mrs. Simmons was a mostconscientious wife. She toiled and slaved for that man, as any woman inthe whole street would have maintained, far more than any husband hada right to expect. And now this was what she got for it. Perhaps he hadsuddenly gone mad. 

Before she married Simmons, Mrs. Simmons had been the widowed Mrs. Ford. Ford had got a berth as donkeyman on a tramp steamer, and that steamerhad gone down with all hands off the Cape: a judgment, the widowwoman feared, for long years of contumacy, which had culminated in thewickedness of taking to the sea, and taking to it as a donkeyman--animmeasurable fall for a capable engine-fitter. Twelve years as Mrs. Ford had left her still childless, and childless she remained as Mrs. Simmons. 

As for Simmons, he, it was held, was fortunate in that capable wife. Hewas a moderately good carpenter and joiner, but no man of the world, andhe wanted one. Nobody could tell what might not have happened to TommySimmons if there had been no Mrs. Simmons to take care of him. He was ameek and quiet man, with a boyish face and sparse, limp whiskers. Hehad no vices (even his pipe departed him after his marriage), and Mrs. Simmons had ingrafted on him divers exotic virtues. He went solemnly tochapel every Sunday, under a tall hat, and put a penny--one returned tohim for the purpose out of his week's wages--in the plate. Then, Mrs. Simmons overseeing, he took off his best clothes, and brushed them withsolicitude and pains. On Saturday afternoons he cleaned the knives, the forks, the boots, the kettles, and the windows, patiently andconscientiously; on Tuesday evenings he took the clothes to themangling; and on Saturday nights he attended Mrs. Simmons in hermarketing, to carry the parcels. 

Mrs. Simmons's own virtues were native and numerous. She was a wonderfulmanager. Every penny of Tommy's thirty-six or thirty-eight shillings aweek was bestowed to the greatest advantage, and Tommy never venturedto guess how much of it she saved. Her cleanliness in housewifery wasdistracting to behold. She met Simmons at the front door wheneverhe came home, and then and there he changed his boots for slippers, balancing himself painfully on alternate feet on the cold flags. Thiswas because she scrubbed the passage and door-step turn about with thewife of the downstairs family, and because the stair-carpet was herown. She vigilantly supervised her husband all through the process of"cleaning himself" after work, so as to come between her walls and thepossibility of random splashes; and if, in spite of her diligence, aspot remained to tell the tale, she was at pains to impress the fact onSimmons's memory, and to set forth at length all the circumstances ofhis ungrateful selfishness. In the beginning she had always escortedhim to the ready-made clothes shop, and had selected and paid for hisclothes, for the reason that men are such perfect fools, and shopkeepersdo as they like with them. But she presently improved on that. She founda man selling cheap remnants at a street-corner, and straightway sheconceived the idea of making Simmons's clothes herself. Decision wasone of her virtues, and a suit of uproarious check tweeds was begunthat afternoon from the pattern furnished by an old one. More: it wasfinished by Sunday, when Simmons, overcome by astonishment at the feat, was endued in it, and pushed off to chapel ere he could recover hissenses. The things were not altogether comfortable, he found: thetrousers hung tight against his shins, but hung loose behind his heels;and when he sat, it was on a wilderness of hard folds and seams. Also, his waistcoat collar tickled his nape, but his coat collar wentstraining across from shoulder to shoulder; while the main garmentbagged generously below his waist. Use made a habit of his discomfort, but it never reconciled him to the chaff of his shopmates; for, as Mrs. Simmons elaborated successive suits, each one modelled on the last, theprimal accidents of her design developed into principles, and greweven bolder and more hideously pronounced. It was vain for Simmons tohint--as hint he did--that he shouldn't like her to overwork herself, tailoring being bad for the eyes, and there was a new tailor's in theMile End Road, very cheap, where . . . "Ho yus, " she retorted, "you'revery consid'rit I dessay sittin' there actin' a livin' lie before yourown wife Thomas Simmons as though I couldn't see through you like abook a lot you care about overworkin' me as long as _your_ turn'sserved throwin' away money like dirt in the street on a lot o' swindlin'tailors an' me workin' and' slavin' 'ere to save a 'a'penny an' thisis my return for it any one 'ud think you could pick up money in the'orse-road an' I b'lieve I'd be thought better of if I laid in bedall day like some would that I do. " So that Thomas Simmons avoided thesubject, nor even murmured when she resolved to cut his hair. 

So his placid fortune endured for years. Then there came a golden summerevening when Mrs. Simmons betook herself with a basket to do some smallshopping, and Simmons was left at home. He washed and put away thetea-things, and then he fell to meditating on a new pair of trousers, finished that day, and hanging behind the parlour door. There theyhung, in all their decent innocence of shape in the seat, and they wereshorter of leg, longer of waist, and wilder of pattern than he had everworn before. And as he looked on them the small devil of Original Sinawoke and clamoured in his breast. He was ashamed of it, of course, forwell he knew the gratitude he owed his wife for those same trousers, among other blessings. Still, there the small devil was, and the smalldevil was fertile in base suggestions, and could not be kept fromhinting at the new crop of workshop gibes that would spring at Tommy'sfirst public appearance in such things. 

"Pitch 'em in the dust-bin!" said the small devil at last. "It's allthey're fit for. "

Simmons turned away in sheer horror of his wicked self, and for a momentthought of washing the tea-things over again by way of discipline. Thenhe made for the back room, but saw from the landing that the front doorwas standing open, probably the fault of the child downstairs. Nowa front door standing open was a thing that Mrs. Simmons would _not_abide: it looked low. So Simmons went down, that she might not be wrothwith him for the thing when she came back; and, as he shut the door, helooked forth into the street. 

A man was loitering on the pavement, and prying curiously about thedoor. His face was tanned, his hands were deep in the pockets ofhis unbraced blue trousers, and well back on his head he wore thehigh-crowned peaked cap, topped with a knob of wool, which is affectedby Jack ashore about the docks. He lurched a step nearer to the door, and "Mrs. Ford ain't in, is she?" he said. 

Simmons stared at him for a matter of five seconds, and then said, "Eh?"

"Mrs. Ford as was, then--Simmons now, ain't it?"

He said this with a furtive leer that Simmons neither liked norunderstood. 

"No, " said Simmons; "she ain't in now. "

"You ain't her 'usband, are ye?"

"Yus. "

The man took his pipe from his mouth and grinned silently and long. "Blimy, " he said at length, "you look like the sort o' bloke she'dlike, " and with that he grinned again. Then, seeing that Simmons madeready to shut the door, he put a foot on the sill and a hand against thepanel. "Don't be in a 'hurry, matey, " he said; "I come 'ere t' 'ave alittle talk with you, man to man, d' ye see?" And he frowned fiercely. 

Tommy Simmons felt uncomfortable, but the door would not shut, so heparleyed. "Wotjer want?" he asked, "I dunno you. "

"Then, if you'll excuse the liberty, I'll interdooce meself, in a mannerof speaking. " He touched his cap with a bob of mock humility. "I'm BobFord, " he said, "come back out o' kingdom come so to say. Me as wentdown with the _Mooltan_--safe dead five year gone. I come to see mywife. "

During this speech Thomas Simmons's jaw was dropping lower and lower. Atthe end of it he poked his fingers up through his hair, looked down atthe mat, then up at the fanlight, then out into the street, then hard athis visitor. But he found nothing to say. 

"Come to see my wife, " the man repeated. "So now we can talk it over--asman to man. "

Simmons slowly shut his mouth, and led the way upstairs mechanically, his fingers still in his hair. A sense of the state of affairs sankgradually into his brain, and the small devil woke again. Supposethis man _was_ Ford? Suppose he _did_ claim his wife? Would it bea knock-down blow? Would it hit him out?--or not? He thought of thetrousers, the tea-things, the mangling, the knives, the kettles, and thewindows; and he thought of them in the way of a backslider. 

On the landing Ford clutched at his arm, and asked in a hoarse whisper, "'Ow long 'fore she's back?"

"'Bout an hour, I expect, " Simmons replied, having first of allrepeated the question in his own mind. And then he opened the parlourdoor. 

"Ah, " said Ford, looking about him, "you've bin pretty comf'table. Themchairs an' things, " jerking his pipe toward them, "was hers--mine, thatis to say, speakin' straight, and man to man. " He sat down, puffingmeditatively at his pipe, and presently, "Well, " he continued, "'ereI am agin, ol' Bob Ford, dead an' done for--gone down in the _Mooltan_. On'y I _ain't_ done for, see?" And he pointed the stem of his pipe atSimmons's waistcoat. "I ain't done for, 'cause why? Cons'kence o' bein'picked up by a ol' German sailin'-'utch an' took to 'Frisco 'forethe mast. I've 'ad a few years o' knockin' about since then, an'now"--looking hard at Simmons--"I've come back to see my wife. "

"She--she don't like smoke in 'ere, " said Simmons, as it were at random. 

"No, I bet she don't, " Ford answered, taking his pipe from his mouth andholding it low in his hand. "I know 'Anner. 'Ow d' you find 'er? Do shemake ye clean the winders?"

"Well, " Simmons admitted, uneasily, "I--I do 'elp 'er sometimes, o'course. "

"Ah! An' the knives too, I bet, an' the bloomin' kittles. I know. W'y"--he rose and bent to look behind Simmons's head--"s' 'elp me, Ib'lieve she cuts yer 'air! Well, I'm dammed! Jes' wot she would do, too. "

He inspected the blushing Simmons from divers points of vantage. Thenhe lifted a leg of the trousers hanging behind the door. "I'd bet atrifle, " he said, "she made these 'ere trucks. No-body else 'ud do 'emlike that. Damme! they're wuss'n wot you've got on. "

The small devil began to have the argument all its own way. If this mantook his wife back perhaps he'd have to wear those trousers. 

"Ah, " Ford pursued, "she ain't got no milder. An', my davy, wot a jore!"

Simmons began to feel that this was no longer his business. Plainly, 'Anner was this other man's wife, and he was bound in honour toacknowledge the fact. The small devil put it to him as a matter of duty. 

"Well, " said Ford, suddenly, "time's short an' this ain't business. Iwon't be 'ard on you, matey. I ought prop'ly to stand on my rights, butseein' as you're a well-meaning young man, so to speak, an' all settledan' a-livin' 'ere quiet an' matrimonual, I'll"--this with a burst ofgenerosity--"damme! yus, I'll compound the felony an' take me 'ook. Come, I'll name a figure, as man to man, fust an' last, no less an' nomore. Five pound does it. "

Simmons hadn't five pounds, --he hadn't even fivepence, --and he said so. "An' I wouldn't think to come between a man an' 'is wife, " he added, "not on no account. It may be rough on me, but it's a dooty. _I'll_ 'ookit. "

"No, " said Ford, hastily, clutching Simmons by the arm, "don't do that. I'll make it a bit cheaper. Say three quid--come, that's reasonable, ain't it? Three quid ain't much compensation for me goin' away forever--where the stormy winds do blow, so to say--an' never as much asseein' me own wife agin for better nor wuss. Between man an' man, now, three quid, an' I'll shunt. That's fair, ain't it?"

"Of course it's fair, " Simmons replied, effusively. "It's more'n fair:it's noble--downright noble, _I_ call it. But I ain't goin' to take amean advantage o' your good-'artedness, Mr. Ford. She's your wife, an'I oughtn't to 'a' come between you. I apologise. You stop an' 'ave yerproper rights. It's me as ought to shunt, an' I will. " And he made astep toward the door. 

"'Old on, " quoth Ford, and got between Simmons and the door; "don't dothings rash. Look wot a loss it'll be to you with no 'ome to go to, an' nobody to look after ye, an' all that. It'll be dreadful. Say acouple--there, we won't quarrel, jest a single quid, between manan' man, an' I'll stand a pot out o' the money. You can easy raise aquid--the clock 'ud pretty nigh do it. A quid does it, an' I'll--"

There was a loud double knock at the front door. In the East End adouble knock is always for the upstairs lodgers. 

"Oo's that?" asked Bob Ford, apprehensively. 

"I'll see, " said Thomas Simmons, in reply, and he made a rush for thestaircase. 

Bob Ford heard him open the front door. The he went to the window, andjust below him he saw the crown of a bonnet. It vanished, and borneto him from within the door there fell upon his ear the sound of awell-remembered female voice. 

"Where ye goin' now with no 'at?" asked the voice, sharply. 

"Awright, 'Anner--there's--there's somebody upstairs to see you, "Simmons answered. And, as Bob Ford could see, a man went scuttling downthe street in the gathering dusk. And behold, it was Thomas Simmons. 

Ford reached the landing in three strides. His wife was still at thefront door, staring after Simmons. He flung into the back room, threwopen the window, dropped from the wash-house roof into the back yard, scrambled desperately over the fence, and disappeared into the gloom. He was seen by no living soul. And that is why Simmons's basedesertion--under his wife's very eyes, too--is still an astonishment tothe neighbours. 

A ROSE OF THE GHETTO, By Israel Zangwill

One day it occurred to Leibel that he ought to get married. He went toSugarman the Shadchan forthwith. 

"I have the very thing for you, " said the great marriage broker. 

"Is she pretty?" asked Leibel. 

"Her father has a boot and shoe warehouse, " replied Sugarman, enthusiastically. 

"Then there ought to be a dowry with her, " said Leibel, eagerly. 

"Certainly a dowry! A fine man like you!"

"How much do you think it would be?"

"Of course it is not a large warehouse; but then you could get yourboots at trade price, and your wife's, perhaps, for the cost of theleather. "

"When could I see her?"

"I will arrange for you to call next Sabbath afternoon. "

"You won't charge me more than a sovereign?"

"Not a groschen more! Such a pious maiden! I'm sure you will be happy. She has so much way-of-the-country [breeding]. And of course five percent on the dowry?"

"H'm! Well, I don't mind!" "Perhaps they won't give a dowry, " he thoughtwith a consolatory sense of outwitting the Shadchan. 

On the Saturday Leibel went to see the damsel, and on the Sunday he wentto see Sugarman the Shadchan. 

"But your maiden squints!" he cried, resentfully. 

"An excellent thing!" said Sugarman. "A wife who squints can never lookher husband straight in the face and overwhelm him. Who would quailbefore a woman with a squint?"

"I could endure the squint, " went on Leibel, dubiously, "but she alsostammers. "

"Well, what is better, in the event of a quarrel? The difficulty she hasin talking will keep her far more silent than most wives. You had bestsecure her while you have the chance. "

"But she halts on the left leg, " cried Leibel, exasperated. 

"_Gott in Himmel!_ Do you mean to say you do not see what an advantageit is to have a wife unable to accompany you in all your goings?"

Leibel lost patience. 

"Why, the girl is a hunchback!" he protested, furiously. 

"My dear Leibel, " said the marriage broker, deprecatingly shrugging hisshoulders and spreading out his palms, "you can't expect perfection!"

Nevertheless Leibel persisted in his unreasonable attitude. He accusedSugarman of wasting his time, of making a fool of him. 

"A fool of you!" echoed the Shadchan, indignantly, "when I give you achance of a boot and shoe manufacturer's daughter? You will make a foolof yourself if you refuse. I dare say her dowry would be enough to setyou up as a master tailor. At present you are compelled to slave away asa cutter for thirty shillings a week. It is most unjust. If you only hada few machines you would be able to employ your own cutters. And theycan be got so cheap nowadays. "

This gave Leibel pause, and he departed without having definitely brokenthe negotiations. His whole week was befogged by doubt, his work becameuncertain, his chalk marks lacked their usual decision, and he did notalways cut his coat according to his cloth. His aberrations becameso marked that pretty Rose Green, the sweater's eldest daughter, who managed a machine in the same room, divined, with all a woman'sintuition, that he was in love. 

"What is the matter?" she said, in rallying Yiddish, when they weretaking their lunch of bread and cheese and ginger-beer amid the clatterof machines, whose serfs had not yet knocked off work. 

"They are proposing me a match, " he answered, sullenly. 

"A match!" ejaculated Rose. "Thou!" She had worked by his side foryears, and familiarity bred the second person singular. Leibel noddedhis head, and put a mouthful of Dutch cheese into it. 

"With whom?" asked Rose. Somehow he felt ashamed. He gurgled the answerinto the stone ginger-beer bottle, which he put to his thirsty lips. 

"With Leah Volcovitch!"

"Leah Volcovitch!" gasped Rose. "Leah, the boot and shoe manufacturer'sdaughter?"

Leibel hung his head--he scarce knew why. He did not dare meet her gaze. His droop said "Yes. " There was a long pause. 

"And why dost thou not have her?" said Rose. It was more than aninquiry; there was contempt in it, and perhaps even pique. 

Leibel did not reply. The embarrassing silence reigned again, andreigned long. Rose broke it at last. 

"Is it that thou likest me better?" she asked. 

Leibel seemed to see a ball of lightning in the air; it burst, and hefelt the electric current strike right through his heart. The shockthrew his head up with a jerk, so that his eyes gazed into a face whosebeauty and tenderness were revealed to him for the first time. The faceof his old acquaintance had vanished; this was a cajoling, coquettish, smiling face, suggesting undreamed-of things. 

"_Nu_, yes, " he replied, without perceptible pause. 

"_Nu_, good!" she rejoined as quickly. 

And in the ecstasy of that moment of mutual understanding Leibelforgot to wonder why he had never thought of Rose before. Afterward heremembered that she had always been his social superior. 

The situation seemed too dream-like for explanation to the room justyet. Leibel lovingly passed a bottle of ginger-beer, and Rose took asip, with a beautiful air of plighting troth, understood only of thosetwo. When Leibel quaffed the remnant it intoxicated him. The relics ofthe bread and cheese were the ambrosia to this nectar. They did not darekiss; the suddenness of it all left them bashful, and the smack of lipswould have been like a cannon-peal announcing their engagement. Therewas a subtler sweetness in this sense of a secret, apart from the factthat neither cared to break the news to the master tailor, a sternlittle old man. Leibel's chalk marks continued indecisive thatafternoon, which shows how correctly Rose had connected them with love. 

Before he left that night Rose said to him, "Art thou sure thou wouldstnot rather have Leah Volcovitch?"

"Not for all the boots and shoes in the world, " replied Leibel, vehemently. 

"And I, " protested Rose, "would rather go without my own than withoutthee. "

The landing outside the workshop was so badly lighted that their lipscame together in the darkness. 

"Nay, nay; thou must not yet, " said Rose. "Thou art still courtingLeah Volcovitch. For aught thou knowest, Sugarman the Shadchan may haveentangled thee beyond redemption. "

"Not so, " asserted Leibel. "I have only seen the maiden once. "

"Yes. But Sugarman has seen her father several times, " persisted Rose. "For so misshapen a maiden his commission would be large. Thou must goto Sugarman to-night, and tell him that thou canst not find it in thyheart to go on with the match. "

"Kiss me, and I will go, " pleaded Leibel. 

"Go, and I will kiss thee, " said Rose, resolutely. 

"And when shall we tell thy father?" he asked, pressing her hand, as thenext best thing to her lips. 

"As soon as thou art free from Leah. "

"But will he consent?"

"He will not be glad, " said Rose, frankly. "But after mother'sdeath--peace be upon her--the rule passed from her hands into mine. "

"Ah, that is well, " said Leibel. He was a superficial thinker. 

Leibel found Sugarman at supper. The great Shadchan offered him a chair, but nothing else. Hospitality was associated in his mind with specialoccasions only, and involved lemonade and "stuffed monkeys. "

He was very put out--almost to the point of indigestion--to hear ofLeibel's final determination, and plied him with reproachful inquiries. 

"You don't mean to say that you give up a boot and shoe manufacturermerely because his daughter has round shoulders!" he exclaimed, incredulously. 

"It is more than round shoulders--it is a hump!" cried Leibel. 

"And suppose? See how much better off you will be when you get your ownmachines! We do not refuse to let camels carry our burdens because theyhave humps. "

"Ah, but a wife is not a camel, " said Leibel, with a sage air. 

"And a cutter is not a master tailor, " retorted Sugarman. 

"Enough, enough!" cried Leibel. "I tell you, I would not have her if shewere a machine warehouse. "

"There sticks something behind, " persisted Sugarman, unconvinced. 

Leibel shook his head. "Only her hump" he said with a flash of humour. 

"Moses Mendelssohn had a hump, " expostulated Sugarman, reproachfully. 

"Yes, but he was a heretic, " rejoined Leibel, who was not withoutreading. "And then he was a man! A man with two humps could find a wifefor each. But a woman with a hump cannot expect a husband in addition. "

"Guard your tongue from evil, " quoth the Shadchan, angrily. "Ifeverybody were to talk like you Leah Volcovitch would never be marriedat all. "

Leibel shrugged his shoulders, and reminded him that hunchbacked girlswho stammered and squinted and halted on left legs were not usually ledunder the canopy. 

"Nonsense! Stuff!" cried Sugarman, angrily. "That is because they do notcome to me. "

"Leah Volcovitch _has_ come to you, " said Leibel, "but she shall notcome to me. " And he rose, anxious to escape. 

Instantly Sugarman gave a sigh of resignation. "Be it so! Then I shallhave to look out for another, that's all. "

"No, I don't want any, " replied Leibel, quickly. 

Sugarman stopped eating. "You don't want any?" he cried. "But you cameto me for one?"

"I--I--know, " stammered Leibel. "But I've--I've altered my mind. "

"One needs Hillel's patience to deal with you!" cried Sugarman. "ButI shall charge you, all the same, for my trouble. You cannot cancel anorder like this in the middle! No, no! You can play fast and loose withLeah Volcovitch, but you shall not make a fool of me. "

"But if I don't want one?" said Leibel, sullenly. 

Sugarman gazed at him with a cunning look of suspicion. "Didn't I saythere was something sticking behind?"

Leibel felt guilty. "But whom have you got in your eye?" he inquired, desperately. 

"Perhaps you may have some one in yours!" naively answered Sugarman. 

Leibel gave a hypocritic long-drawn "U-m-m-m! I wonder if RoseGreen--where I work--" he said, and stopped. 

"I fear not, " said Sugarman. "She is on my list. Her father gave her tome some months ago, but he is hard to please. Even the maiden herself isnot easy, being pretty. "

"Perhaps she has waited for some one, " suggested Leibel. 

Sugarman's keen ear caught the note of complacent triumph. 

"You have been asking her yourself!" he exclaimed, in horror-strickenaccents. 

"And if I have?" said Leibel, defiantly. 

"You have cheated me! And so has Eliphaz Green--I always knew he wastricky! You have both defrauded me!"

"I did not mean to, " said Leibel, mildly. 

"You _did_ mean to. You had no business to take the matter out of myhands. What right had you to propose to Rose Green?"

"I did not, " cried Leibel, excitedly. 

"Then you asked her father!"

"No; I have not asked her father yet. "

"Then how do you know she will have you?"

"I--I know, " stammered Leibel, feeling himself somehow a liar as well asa thief. His brain was in a whirl; he could not remember how the thinghad come about. Certainly he had not proposed; nor could he say that shehad. 

"You know she will have you, " repeated Sugarman, reflectively. "And does_she_ know?"

"Yes. In fact, " he blurted out, "we arranged it together. "

"Ah, you both know. And does her father know?"

"Not yet. "

"Ah, then I must get his consent, " said Sugarman, decisively. 

"I--I thought of speaking to him myself. "

"Yourself!" echoed Sugarman, in horror. "Are you unsound in the head?Why, that would be worse than the mistake you have already made!"

"What mistake?" asked Leibel, firing up. 

"The mistake of asking the maiden herself. When you quarrel with herafter your marriage she will always throw it in your teeth that youwished to marry her. Moreover, if you tell a maiden you love her, herfather will think you ought to marry her as she stands. Still, what isdone is done. " And he sighed regretfully. 

"And what more do I want? I love her. "

"You piece of clay!" cried Sugarman, contemptuously. "Love will not turnmachines, much less buy them. You must have a dowry. Her father has abig stocking; he can well afford it. "

Leibel's eyes lit up. There was really no reason why he should not havebread and cheese with his kisses. 

"Now, if _you_ went to her father, " pursued the Shadchan, "the oddsare that he would not even give you his daughter--to say nothing of thedowry. After all, it is a cheek of you to aspire so high. As you told mefrom the first, you haven't saved a penny. Even my commission you won'tbe able to pay till you get the dowry. But if _I_ go I do not despair ofgetting a substantial sum--to say nothing of the daughter. "

"Yes, I think you had better go, " said Leibel, eagerly. 

"But if I do this thing for you I shall want a pound more, " rejoinedSugarman. 

"A pound more!" echoed Leibel, in dismay. "Why?"

"Because Rose Green's hump is of gold, " replied Sugarman, oracularly. "Also, she is fair to see, and many men desire her. "

"But you have always your five per cent, on the dowry. "

"It will be less than Volcovitch's, " explained Sugarman. "You see, Greenhas other and less beautiful daughters. "

"Yes, but then it settles itself more easily. Say five shillings. "

"Eliphaz Green is a hard man, " said the Shadchan instead. 

"Ten shillings is the most I will give!"

"Twelve and sixpence is the least I will take. Eliphaz Green haggles soterribly. "

They split the difference, and so eleven and threepence represented thepredominance of Eliphaz Green's stinginess over Volcovitch's. 

The very next day Sugarman invaded the Green workroom. Rose bent overher seams, her heart fluttering. Leibel had duly apprised her ofthe roundabout manner in which she would have to be won, and she hadacquiesced in the comedy. At the least it would save her the trouble offather-taming. 

Sugarman's entry was brusque and breathless. He was overwhelmed withjoyous emotion. His blue bandana trailed agitatedly from his coat-tail. 

"At last!" he cried, addressing the little white-haired master tailor;"I have the very man for you. "

"Yes?" grunted Eliphaz, unimpressed. The monosyllable was packed withemotion. It said, "Have you really the face to come to me again with anideal man?"

"He has all the qualities that you desire, " began the Shadchan, in atone that repudiated the implications of the monosyllable. "He is young, strong, God-fearing--"

"Has he any money?" grumpily interrupted Eliphaz. 

"He _will_ have money, " replied Sugarman, unhesitatingly, "when hemarries. "

"Ah!" The father's voice relaxed, and his foot lay limp on the treadle. He worked one of his machines himself, and paid himself the wages so asto enjoy the profit. "How much will he have?"

"I think he will have fifty pounds; and the least you can do is to lethim have fifty pounds, " replied Sugarman, with the same happy ambiguity. 

Eliphaz shook his head on principle. 

"Yes, you will, " said Sugarman, "when you learn how fine a man he is. "

The flush of confusion and trepidation already on Leibel's countenancebecame a rosy glow of modesty, for he could not help overhearing whatwas being said, owing to the lull of the master tailor's machine. 

"Tell me, then, " rejoined Eliphaz. 

"Tell me, first, if you will give fifty to a young, healthy, hard-working, God-fearing man, whose idea it is to start as a mastertailor on his own account? And you know how profitable that is!"

"To a man like that, " said Eliphaz, in a burst of enthusiasm, "I wouldgive as much as twenty-seven pounds ten!"

Sugarman groaned inwardly, but Leibel's heart leaped with joy. To getfour months' wages at a stroke! With twenty-seven pounds ten he couldcertainly procure several machines, especially on the instalment system. Out of the corners of his eyes he shot a glance at Rose, who was beyondearshot. 

"Unless you can promise thirty it is waste of time mentioning his name, "said Sugarman. 

"Well, well--who is he?"

Sugarman bent down, lowering his voice into the father's ear. 

"What! Leibel!" cried Eliphaz, outraged. 

"Sh!" said Sugarman, "or he will overhear your delight, and ask more. Hehas his nose high enough, as it is. "

"B--b--b--ut, " sputtered the bewildered parent, "I know Leibel myself. I see him every day. I don't want a Shadchan to find me a man I know--amere hand in my own workshop!"

"Your talk has neither face nor figure, " answered Sugarman, sternly. "Itis just the people one sees every day that one knows least. I warrantthat if I had not put it into your head you would never have dreamt ofLeibel as a son-in-law. Come now, confess. "

Eliphaz grunted vaguely, and the Shadchan went on triumphantly: "Ithought as much. And yet where could you find a better man to keep yourdaughter?"

"He ought to be content with her alone, " grumbled her father. 

Sugarman saw the signs of weakening, and dashed in, full strength: "It'sa question whether he will have her at all. I have not been to him abouther yet. I awaited your approval of the idea. " Leibel admired the verbalaccuracy of these statements, which he had just caught. 

"But I didn't know he would be having money, " murmured Eliphaz. 

"Of course you didn't know. That's what the Shadchan is for--to pointout the things that are under your nose. "

"But where will he be getting this money from?"

"From you, " said Sugarman, frankly. 

"From me?"

"From whom else? Are you not his employer? It has been put by for hismarriage day. "

"He has saved it?"

"He has not _spent_ it, " said Sugarman, impatiently. 

"But do you mean to say he has saved fifty pounds?"

"If he could manage to save fifty pounds out of your wages he would beindeed a treasure, " said Sugarman. "Perhaps it might be thirty. "

"But you said fifty. "

"Well, _you_ came down to thirty, " retorted the Shadchan. "You cannotexpect him to have more than your daughter brings. "

"I never said thirty, " Eliphaz reminded him. "Twenty-seven ten was mylast bid. "

"Very well; that will do as a basis of negotiations, " said Sugarman, resignedly. "I will call upon him this evening. If I were to go overand speak to him now, he would perceive you were anxious, and raise histerms, and that will never do. Of course you will not mind allowing me apound more for finding you so economical a son-in-law?"

"Not a penny more. "

"You need not fear, " said Sugarman, resentfully. "It is not likely Ishall be able to persuade him to take so economical a father-in-law. Soyou will be none the worse for promising. "

"Be it so, " said Eliphaz, with a gesture of weariness, and he startedhis machine again. 

"Twenty-seven pounds ten, remember, " said Sugarman, above the whir. 

Eliphaz nodded his head, whirring his wheel-work louder. 

"And paid before the wedding, mind. "

The machine took no notice. 

"Before the wedding, mind, " repeated Sugarman. "Before we go under thecanopy. "

"Go now, go now!" grunted Eliphaz, with a gesture of impatience. "Itshall all be well. " And the white-haired head bowed immovably over itswork. 

In the evening Rose extracted from her father the motive of Sugarman'svisit, and confessed that the idea was to her liking. 

"But dost thou think he will have me, little father?" she asked, withcajoling eyes. 

"Any one would have my Rose. "

"Ah, but Leibel is different. So many years he has sat at my side andsaid nothing. "

"He had his work to think of. He is a good, saving youth. "

"At this very moment Sugarman is trying to persuade him--not so? Isuppose he will want much money. "

"Be easy, my child. " And he passed his discoloured hand over her hair. 

Sugarman turned up the next day, and reported that Leibel wasunobtainable under thirty pounds, and Eliphaz, weary of the contest, called over Leibel, till that moment carefully absorbed in hisscientific chalk marks, and mentioned the thing to him for the firsttime. "I am not a man to bargain, " Eliphaz said, and so he gave theyoung man his tawny hand, and a bottle of rum sprang from somewhere, and work was suspended for five minutes, and the "hands" all drankamid surprised excitement. Sugarman's visits had prepared them tocongratulate Rose; but Leibel was a shock. 

The formal engagement was marked by even greater junketing, and at lastthe marriage day came. Leibel was resplendent in a diagonal frockcoat, cut by his own hand; and Rose stepped from the cab a medley of flowers, fairness, and white silk, and behind her came two bridesmaids, --hersisters, --a trio that glorified the spectator-strewn pavement outsidethe synagogue. Eliphaz looked almost tall in his shiny high hat andfrilled shirt-front. Sugarman arrived on foot, carrying red-sockedlittle Ebenezer tucked under his arm. 

Leibel and Rose were not the only couple to be disposed of, for it wasthe thirty-third day of the Omer--a day fruitful in marriages. 

But at last their turn came. They did not, however, come in their turn, and their special friends among the audience wondered why they hadlost their precedence. After several later marriages had taken placea whisper began to circulate. The rumour of a hitch gained groundsteadily, and the sensation was proportionate. And, indeed, the rose wasnot to be picked without a touch of the thorn. 

Gradually the facts leaked out, and a buzz of talk and comment ranthrough the waiting synagogue. Eliphaz had not paid up!

At first he declared he would put down the money immediately after theceremony. But the wary Sugarman, schooled by experience, demanded itsinstant delivery on behalf of his other client. Hard pressed, Eliphazproduced ten sovereigns from his trousers-pocket, and tendered them onaccount. These Sugarman disdainfully refused, and the negotiations weresuspended. The bridegroom's party was encamped in one room, the bride'sin another, and after a painful delay Eliphaz sent an emissary to saythat half the amount should be forthcoming, the extra five pounds in abright new Bank of England note. Leibel, instructed and encouraged bySugarman, stood firm. 

And then arose a hubbub of voices, a chaos of suggestions; friendsrushed to and fro between the camps, some emerging from their seats inthe synagogue to add to the confusion. But Eliphaz had taken his standupon a rock--he had no more ready money. To-morrow, the next day, hewould have some. And Leibel, pale and dogged, clutched tighter at thosemachines that were slipping away momently from him. He had not yet seenhis bride that morning, and so her face was shadowy compared with thetangibility of those machines. Most of the other maidens were marriedwomen by now, and the situation was growing desperate. From the femalecamp came terrible rumours of bridesmaids in hysterics, and a bride thattore her wreath in a passion of shame and humiliation. Eliphaz sent wordthat he would give an I O U for the balance, but that he really couldnot muster any more current coin. Sugarman instructed the ambassador tosuggest that Eliphaz should raise the money among his friends. 

And the short spring day slipped away. In vain the minister, apprised ofthe block, lengthened out the formulae for the other pairs, and blessedthem with more reposeful unction. It was impossible to stave off theLeibel-Green item indefinitely, and at last Rose remained the onlyorange-wreathed spinster in the synagogue. And then there was a hush ofsolemn suspense, that swelled gradually into a steady rumble of babblingtongues, as minute succeeded minute and the final bridal party stillfailed to appear. The latest bulletin pictured the bride in a deadfaint. The afternoon was waning fast. The minister left his post nearthe canopy, under which so many lives had been united, and came to addhis white tie to the forces for compromise. But he fared no better thanthe others. Incensed at the obstinacy of the antagonists, he declared hewould close the synagogue. He gave the couple ten minutes to marry inor quit. Then chaos came, and pandemonium--a frantic babel of suggestionand exhortation from the crowd. When five minutes had passed a legatefrom Eliphaz announced that his side had scraped together twenty pounds, and that this was their final bid. 

Leibel wavered; the long day's combat had told upon him; the reportsof the bride's distress had weakened him. Even Sugarman had lost hiscocksureness of victory. A few minutes more and both commissions mightslip through his fingers. Once the parties left the synagogue, it wouldnot be easy to drive them there another day. But he cheered on his manstill: one could always surrender at the tenth minute. 

At the eighth the buzz of tongues faltered suddenly, to be transposedinto a new key, so to speak. Through the gesticulating assembly sweptthat murmur of expectation which crowds know when the procession iscoming at last. By some mysterious magnetism all were aware that theBRIDE herself--the poor hysteric bride--had left the paternal camp, wascoming in person to plead with her mercenary lover. 

And as the glory of her and the flowers and the white draperies loomedupon Leibel's vision his heart melted in worship, and he knew hiscitadel would crumble in ruins at her first glance, at her first touch. Was it fair fighting? As his troubled vision cleared, and as she camenigh unto him, he saw to his amazement that she was speckless andcomposed--no trace of tears dimmed the fairness of her face, there wasno disarray in her bridal wreath. 

The clock showed the ninth minute. 

She put her hand appeallingly on his arm, while a heavenly light cameinto her face--the expression of a Joan of Arc animating her country. 

"Do not give in, Leibel!" she said. "Do not have me! Do not let thempersuade thee! By my life, thou must not! Go home!"

So at the eleventh minute the vanquished Eliphaz produced the balance, and they all lived happily ever afterward. 

AN IDYL OF LONDON, By Beatrice Harraden

It was one o'clock, and many of the students in the National Galleryhad left off work and were refreshing themselves with lunch andconversation. There was one old worker who had not stirred from hisplace, but he had put down his brush, and had taken from his pocket asmall book, which was like its owner--thin and shabby of covering. Heseemed to find pleasure in reading it, for he turned over its pages withall the tenderness characteristic of one who loves what he reads. Nowand again he glanced at his unfinished copy of the beautiful portrait ofAndrea del Sarto, and once his eyes rested on another copy next tohis, better and truer than his, and once he stopped to pick up a girl'sprune-coloured tie, which had fallen from the neighbouring easel. After this he seemed to become unconscious of his surroundings, asunconscious, indeed, as any one of the pictures near him. Any one mighthave been justified in mistaking him for the portrait of a man, but thathis lips moved; for it was his custom to read softly to himself. 

The students passed back to their places, not troubling to notice him, because they knew from experience that he never noticed them, and thatall greetings were wasted on him and all words were wanton expenditureof breath. They had come to regard him very much in the same way as manyof us regard the wonders of nature, without astonishment, without anyquestionings, and often without any interest. One girl, a new-comer, didchance to say to her companion:

"How ill that old man looks!"

"Oh, he always looks like that, " was the answer. "You will soon getaccustomed to him. Come along! I must finish my 'Blind Beggar' thisafternoon. "

In a few minutes most of the workers were busy again, although therewere some who continued to chat quietly, and several young men whoseemed reluctant to leave their girl friends, and who were by no meansencouraged to go! One young man came to claim his book and pipe, whichhe had left in the charge of a bright-eyed girl, who was copying SirJoshua's "Angels. " She gave him his treasures, and received in exchangea dark-red rose, which she fastened in her belt; and then he returnedto his portrait of Mrs. Siddons. But there was something in hisdisconsolate manner which made one suspect that he thought less of Mrs. Siddons's beauty than of the beauty of the girl who was wearing thedark-red rose! The strangers, strolling through the rooms, stopped nowand again to peer curiously at the students' work. They were stared atindignantly by the students themselves, but they made no attempt tomove away, and even ventured sometimes to pass criticisms of no tendercharacter on some of the copies. The fierce-looking man who was copying"The Horse Fair" deliberately put down his brushes, folded his arms, and waited defiantly until they had gone by; but others, wiser in theirgeneration, went on painting calmly. Several workers were painting thenew Raphael; one of them was a white-haired old gentlewoman, whose handwas trembling, and yet skilful still. More than once she turned to givea few hints to the young girl near her, who looked in some distressand doubt. Just the needful help was given, and then the girl pliedher brush merrily, smiling the while with pleasure and gratitude. Thereseemed to be a genial, kindly influence at work, a certain homelinesstoo, which must needs assert itself where many are gathered together, working side by side. All made a harmony; the wonderful pictures, collected from many lands and many centuries, each with its meaning andits message from the past; the ever-present memories of the paintersthemselves, who had worked and striven and conquered; and the livinghuman beings, each with his wealth of earnest endeavour and hope. 

Meanwhile the old man read on uninterruptedly until two hands were putover his book and a gentle voice said:

"Mr. Lindall, you have had no lunch again. Do you know, I begin to hateLucretius. He always makes you forget your food. "

The old man looked up, and something like a smile passed over hisjoyless face when he saw Helen Stanley bending over him. 

"Ah, " he answered, "you must not hate Lucretius. I have had morepleasant hours with him than with any living person. "

He rose and came forward to examine her copy of Andrea del Sarto'sportrait. 

"Yours is better than mine, " he said, critically; "in fact, mine isa failure. I think I shall only get a small price for mine; indeed, Idoubt whether I shall get sufficient to pay for my funeral. "

"You speak dismally, " she answered, smiling. 

"I missed you yesterday, " he continued, half dreamily. "I left my work, and I wandered through the rooms, and I did not even read Lucretius. Something seemed to have gone from my life. At first I thought it mustbe my favourite Raphael, or the Murillo; but it was neither the one northe other; it was you. That was strange, wasn't it? But you know we getaccustomed to anything, and perhaps I should have missed you less thesecond day, and by the end of a week I should not have missed you atall. Mercifully, we have in us the power of forgetting. "

"I do not wish to plead for myself, " she said, "but I do not believethat you or any one could really forget. That which outsiders callforgetfulness might be called by the better name of resignation. "

"I don't care about talking any more now, " he said, suddenly, and hewent to his easel and worked silently at his picture; and Helen Stanleyglanced at him, and thought she had never seen her old companion lookso forlorn and desolate as he did to-day. He looked as if no gentle handhad ever been placed on him in kindliness and affection, and that seemedto her a terrible thing; for she was one of those prehistorically mindedpersons who persist in believing that affection is as needful tohuman life as rain to flower life. When first she came to work at thegallery--some twelve months ago--she had noticed this old man, and hadwished for his companionship; she was herself lonely and sorrowful, and, although young, had to fight her own battles, and had learned somethingof the difficulties of fighting, and this had given her an experiencebeyond her years. She was not more than twenty-four years of age, butshe looked rather older, and, though she had beautiful eyes, full ofmeaning and kindness, her features were decidedly plain as well asunattractive. There were some in the gallery who said among themselvesthat, as Mr. Lindall had waited so many years before talking to any one, he might have chosen some one better worth the waiting for! But theysoon became accustomed to seeing Helen Stanley and Mr. Lindall together, and they laughed less than before; and meanwhile the acquaintanceripened into a sort of friendship, half sulky on his part and whollykind on her part. He told her nothing about himself, and he askednothing about herself; for weeks he never even knew her name. Sometimeshe did not speak at all, and the two friends would work silently sideby side until it was time to go; and then he waited until she was ready, and walked with her across Trafalgar Square, where they parted and wenttheir own ways. 

But occasionally, when she least expected it, he would speak withglowing enthusiasm on art; then his eyes seemed to become bright, andhis bent figure more erect, and his whole bearing proud and dignified. There were times, too, when he would speak on other subjects: on themorality of free thought--on Bruno, of blessed memory, on him, andscores of others too. He would speak of the different schools ofphilosophy; he would laugh at himself, and at all who, having given timeand thought to the study of life's complicated problems, had not reachedone step further than the Old-World thinkers. Perhaps he would quote oneof his favourite philosophers, and then suddenly relapse into silence, returning to his wonted abstraction and to his indifference to hissurroundings. Helen Stanley had learned to understand his ways and toappreciate his mind, and, without intruding on him in any manner, hadput herself gently into his life as his quiet champion and his friend. No one in her presence dared speak slightingly of the old man, or tomake fun of his tumble-down appearance, or of his worn-out silk hat witha crack in the side, or of his rag of a black tie, which, together withhis overcoat, had "seen better days. " Once she brought her needle andthread, and darned the torn sleeve during her lunch-time; and, though henever knew it, it was a satisfaction to her to have helped him. 

To-day she noticed that he was painting badly, and that he seemedto take no interest in his work; but she went on busily with her ownpicture, and was so engrossed in it that she did not at first observethat he had packed up his brushes and was preparing to go home. 

"Three more strokes, " he said, quietly, "and you will have finished yourpicture. I shall never finish mine; perhaps you will be good enough toset it right for me. I am not coming here again. I don't seem to havecaught the true expression; what do you think? But I am not going to letit worry me, for I am sure you will promise to do your best for me. See, I will hand over these colours and these brushes to you, and no doubtyou will accept the palette as well. I have no further use for it. "

Helen Stanley took the palette which he held out toward her, and lookedat him as though she would wish to question him. 

"It is very hot here, " he continued, "and I am going out. I am tired ofwork. "

He hesitated, and then added, "I should like you to come with me, if youcan spare the time. "

She packed up her things at once, and the two friends moved slowly away, he gazing absently at the pictures, and she wondering in her mind as tothe meaning of his strange mood. 

When they were on the steps inside the building, he turned to HelenStanley and said:

"I should like to go back to the pictures once more. I feel as if I muststand among them just a little longer. They have been my companions forso long that they are almost part of myself. I can close my eyes andrecall them faithfully. But I want to take a last look at them; I wantto feel once more the presence of the great masters, and to refresh mymind with their genius. When I look at their work I think of their life, and can only wonder at their death. It was so strange that they shoulddie. "

They went back together, and he took her to his favourite pictures, butremained speechless before them, and she did not disturb his thoughts. At last he said:

"I am ready to go. I have said farewell to them all. I know nothingmore wonderful than being among a number of fine pictures. It is almostoverwhelming. Once expects nature to be grand, but one does not expectman to be grand. "

"You know we don't agree there, " she answered. "_I_ expect everythinggrand and great from man. "

They went out of the gallery, and into Trafalgar Square. It was ascorching afternoon in August, but there was some cooling comfort inseeing the dancing water of the fountains sparkling so brightly in thesunshine. 

"Do you mind stopping here a few minutes?" he said. "I should like tosit down and watch. There is so much to see. "

She led the way to a seat, one end of which was occupied by a workman, who was sleeping soundly, and snoring too, his arms folded tightlytogether. He had a little clay pipe in the corner of his mouth; itseemed to be tucked in so snugly that there was not much danger of itsfalling to the ground. At last Helen spoke to her companion. 

"What do you mean by saying that you will not be able to finish yourpicture? Perhaps you are not well. Indeed, you don't look well. You makeme anxious, for I have a great regard for you. "

"I am ill and suffering, " he answered, quietly. "I thought I should havedied yesterday; but I made up my mind to live until I saw you again, andI thought I would ask you to spend the afternoon with me, and go withme to Westminster Abbey, and sit with me in the cloisters. I do notfeel able to go by myself, and I know of no one to ask except you; andI believed you would not refuse me, for you have been very kind to me. I do not quite understand why you have been kind to me, but I amwonderfully grateful to you. Today I heard some one in the gallery saythat you were plain. I turned round and I said, 'I beg your pardon; _I_think she is very beautiful. ' I think they laughed, and that puzzled me;for you have always seemed to me a very beautiful person. "

At that moment the little clay pipe fell from the workman's mouth andwas broken into bits. He awoke with a start, gazed stupidly at the oldman and his companion, and at the broken clay pipe. 

"Curse my luck!" he said, yawning. "I was fond of that damned littlepipe. "

The old man drew his own pipe and his own tobacco-pouch from his pocket. 

"Take these, stranger, " he said. "I don't want them. And good luck toyou. "

The man's face brightened up as he took the pipe and pouch. 

"You're uncommon kind, " he said. "Can you spare them?" he added, holdingthem out half reluctantly. 

"Yes, " answered the old man; "I shall not smoke again. You may as wellhave these matches too. "

The labourer put them in his pocket, smiled his thanks, and walked somelittle distance off; and Helen watched him examine his new pipe, andthen fill it with tobacco and light it. 

Mr. Lindall proposed that they should be getting on their way toWestminster, and they soon found themselves in the abbey. They sattogether in the Poets' Corner; a smile of quiet happiness broke overthe old man's tired face as he looked around and took in all the solemnbeauty and grandeur of the resting-place of the great. 

"You know, " he said, half to himself, half to his companion, "I have nobelief of any kind, and no hopes and no fears; but all through my lifeit has been a comfort to me to sit quietly in a church or a cathedral. The graceful arches, the sun shining through the stained windows, the vaulted roof, the noble columns, have helped me to understand themystery which all our books of philosophy cannot make clear, though webend over them year after year, and grow old over them, old in age andin spirit. Though I myself have never been outwardly a worshipper, Ihave never sat in a place of worship but that, for the time being, Ihave felt a better man. But directly the voice of doctrine or dogma wasraised the spell was broken for me, and that which I hoped was beingmade clear had no further meaning for me. There was only one voicewhich ever helped me, the voice of the organ, arousing me, thrillingme, filling me with strange longing, with welcome sadness, with solemngladness. I have always thought that music can give an answer wheneverything else is of no avail. I do not know what you believe. "

"I am so young to have found out, " she said, almost pleadingly. 

"Don't worry yourself, " he answered, kindly. "Be brave and strong, andlet the rest go. I should like to live long enough to see what you willmake of your life. I believe you will never be false to yourself or toany one. That is rare. I believe you will not let any lower ideal takethe place of your high ideal of what is beautiful and noble in art, inlife. I believe that you will never let despair get the upper hand ofyou. If it does you may as well die; yes, you may as well. And I entreatyou not to lose your entire faith in humanity. There is nothing likethat for withering up the very core of the heart. I tell you, humanityand nature have so much in common with each other that if you lose partof your pleasure in the latter; you will see less beauty in the trees, the flowers, and the fields, less grandeur in the mighty mountains andthe sea. The seasons will come and go, and you will scarcely heed theircoming and going: winter will settle over your soul, just as it settledover mine. And you see what I am. "

They had now passed into the cloisters, and they sat down in one ofthe recesses of the windows, and looked out upon the rich plot ofgrass which the cloisters enclose. There was not a soul there exceptthemselves; the cool and the quiet and the beauty of the spot refreshedthese pilgrims, and they rested in calm enjoyment. 

Helen was the first to break the silence. 

"I am glad you have brought me here, " she said; "I shall never grumblenow at not being able to afford a fortnight in the country. This isbetter than anything else. "

"It has always been my summer holiday to come here, " he said. "WhenI first came I was like you, young and hopeful, and I had wonderfulvisions of what I intended to do and to be. Here it was I made a vowthat I would become a great painter, and win for myself a resting placein this very abbey. There is humour in the situation, is there not?"

"I don't like to hear you say that, " she answered. "It is not alwayspossible for us to fulfil all our ambitions. Still, it is better to havehad them, and failed of them, than not to have had them at all. "

"Possibly, " he replied, coldly. Then he added, "I wish you would tell meabout yourself. You have always interested me. "

"I have nothing to tell you about myself, " she answered, frankly. "I amalone in the world, without friends and without relations. The very nameI use is not a real name. I was a foundling. At times I am sorry I donot belong to any one, and at other times I am glad. You know I am fondof books and of art, so my life is not altogether empty; and I find mypleasure in hard work. When I saw you at the gallery I wished to knowyou, and I asked one of the students who you were. He told me you werea misanthrope. Then I did not care so much about knowing you, until oneday you spoke to me about my painting, and that was the beginning of ourfriendship. "

"Forty years ago, " he said, sadly, "the friend of my boyhood deceivedme. I had not thought it possible that he could be false to me. Hescreened himself behind me, and became prosperous and respected at theexpense of my honour. I vowed I would never again make a friend. A fewyears later, when I was beginning to hold up my head, the woman whomI loved deceived me. Then I put from me all affection and all love. Greater natures than mine are better able to bear these troubles, but myheart contracted and withered up. "

He paused for a moment, many recollections overpowering him. Then hewent on telling her the history of his life, unfolding to her the storyof his hopes and ambitions, describing to her the very home where he wasborn, and the dark-eyed sister whom he had loved, and with whom he hadplayed over the daisied fields, and through the carpeted woods, and allamong the richly tinted bracken. One day he was told she was dead, andthat he must never speak her name; but he spoke it all the day and allthe night, --Beryl, nothing but Beryl, --and he looked for her in thefields and in the woods and among the bracken. It seemed as if he hadunlocked the casket of his heart, closed for so many years, and asif all the memories of the past and all the secrets of his life wererushing out, glad to be free once more, and grateful for the open air ofsympathy. 

"Beryl was as swift as a deer!" he exclaimed. "You would have laughedto see her on the moor. Ah, it was hard to give up all the thoughts ofmeeting her again. They told me I should see her in heaven, but I didnot care about heaven. I wanted Beryl on earth, as I knew her, a merrylaughing sister. I think you are right: we don't forget; we becomeresigned in a dead, dull kind of way. "

Suddenly he said, "I don't know why I have told you all this. And yet ithas been such a pleasure to me. You are the only person to whom I couldhave spoken about myself, for no one else but you would have cared. "

"Don't you think, " she said gently, "that you made a mistake in lettingyour experiences embitter you? Because you had been unlucky in one ortwo instances it did not follow that all the world was against you. Perhaps you unconsciously put yourself against all the world, andtherefore saw every one in an unfavourable light. It seems so easy todo that. Trouble comes to most people, doesn't it? And your philosophyshould have taught you to make the best of it. At least, that is mynotion of the value of philosophy. "

She spoke hesitatingly, as though she gave utterance to these wordsagainst her will. 

"I am sure you are right, child, " he said, eagerly. 

He put his hands to his eyes, but he could not keep back the tears. 

"I have been such a lonely old man, " he sobbed; "no one can tell what alonely, loveless life mine has been. If I were not so old and so tired Ishould like to begin all over again. "

He sobbed for many minutes, and she did not know what to say to him ofcomfort; but she took his hand within her own, and gently caressedit, as one might do to a little child in pain. He looked up and smiledthrough his tears. 

"You have been very good to me, " he said, "and I dare say you havethought me ungrateful. You mended my coat for me one morning, and not aday has passed but that I have looked at that darn and thought of you. I liked to remember that you had done it for me. But you have donefar more than this for me: you have put some sweetness into my life. Whatever becomes of me hereafter, I shall never be able to think of mylife on earth as anything but beautiful, because you thought kindly ofme and acted kindly for me. The other night, when this terrible paincame over me, I wished you were near me; I wished to hear your voice. There is very beautiful music in your voice. "

"I would have come to you gladly, " she said, smiling quietly at him. "You must make a promise that when you feel ill again you will send forme. Then you will see what a splendid nurse I am, and how soon you willbecome strong and well under my care, strong enough to paint many morepictures, each one better than the last. Now will you promise?"

"Yes, " he said, and he raised her hand reverently to his lips. 

"You are not angry with me for doing that?" he asked, suddenly. "Ishould not like to vex you. "

"I am not vexed, " she answered, kindly. 

"Then perhaps I may kiss it once more?" he asked. 

"Yes, " she answered; and again he raised her hand to his lips. 

"Thank you, " he said quietly; "that was kind of you. Do you see thatbroken sun-ray yonder? Is it not golden? I find it very pleasant to sithere; and I am quite happy, and almost free from pain. Lately I havebeen troubled with a dull thudding pain near my heart; but now I feel sostrong that I believe I shall finish that Andrea del Sarto after all. "

"Of course you will, " she answered, cheerily, "and I shall have toconfess that yours is better than mine! I am quite willing to yield thepalm to you. "

"I must alter the expression of the mouth, " he replied. "That is thepart which has worried me. I don't think I told you that I have had acommission to copy Rembrandt's 'Old Jew. ' I must set to work on thatnext week. "

"But you have given me your palette and brushes!" she laughed. 

"You must be generous enough to lend them to me, " he said, smiling. "Bythe way, I intend to give you my books, all of them. Some day I mustshow them to you. I especially value my philosophical books; they havebeen my faithful companions through many years. I believe you do notread Greek. That is a pity, because you would surely enjoy Aristotle. Ithink I must teach you Greek; it would be an agreeable legacy to leaveyou when I pass away into the Great Silence. "

"I should like to learn, " she said, wondering to hear him speak sounreservedly. It seemed as if some vast barrier had been rolled aside, and as if she were getting to know him better, having been allowed toglance into his past life, to sympathise with his past mistakes, andwith the failure of his ambitions, and with the deadening of his heart. 

"You must read AEschylus, " he continued, enthusiastically; "and, if Imistake not, the Agamemnon will be an epoch in your life. You will findthat all these studies will serve to ennoble your art, and you will beable to put mind into your work, and not merely form and colour. Doyou know, I feel so well that I believe I shall not only live to finishAndrea del Sarto, but also to smoke another pipe?"

"You have been too rash to-day, " she laughed, "giving away your pipe andpouch, your palette and brushes, in this reckless manner! I must getyou a new pipe to-morrow. I wonder you did not part with your venerableLucretius. "

"That reminds me, " he said, fumbling in his pocket; "I think I havedropped my Lucretius. I fancy I left it somewhere in the Poets' Corner. It would grieve me to lose that book. "

"Let me go and look for it, " she said, and she advanced a few steps, andthen came back to him. 

"You have been saying many kind words to me, " she said, as she put herhand on his arm, "and I have not told you that I value your friendship, and am grateful to you for letting me be more than a mere strangerto you. I have been very lonely in my life, for I am not one to makefriends easily, and it has been a great privilege to me to talk withyou. I want you to know this: for if I have been anything to you, youhave been a great deal to me. I have never met with much sympathy fromthose of my own age: I have found them narrow and unyielding, and theyfound me dull and uninteresting. They had passed through few experiencesand knew nothing about failure or success, and some of them did not evenunderstand the earnestness of endeavour, and laughed at me when I spokeof a high ideal. So I withdrew into myself, and should probably havegrown still more isolated than I was before, but that I met you, and, astime went on, we became friends. I shall always remember your teaching, and I will try to keep to a high ideal of life and art and endeavour, and I will not let despair creep into my heart, and I will not lose myfaith in humanity. "

As she spoke a lingering ray of sunshine lit up her face and gentlycaressed her soft brown hair; slight though her form, sombre herclothes, and unlovely her features, she seemed a gracious presencebecause of her earnestness. 

"Now, " she said, cheerily, "you rest here until I come back with yourLucretius, and then I think I must be getting on my way home. Butyou must fix a time for our first Greek lesson, for we must beginto-morrow. "

When she had gone he walked in the cloisters, holding his hat in hishand and his stick under his arm. There was a quiet smile on his face, which was called forth by pleasant thoughts in his mind, and he did notlook quite so shrunken and shrivelled as usual. His eyes were fixed onthe ground, but he raised them, and observed a white cat creeping towardhim. It came and rubbed itself against his foot, and, purring with allits might, seemed determined to win some kind of notice from him. Theold man stooped down to stroke it, and was just touching its sleek coatwhen he suddenly withdrew his hand and groaned deeply. He struggled tothe recess, and sank back. The stick fell on the stone with a clatter, and the battered hat rolled down beside it, and the white cat fled awayin terror; but realising that there was no cause for alarm, it cameback and crouched near the silent figure of the old man, watching himintently. Then it stretched out its paw and played with his hand, doingits utmost to coax him into a little fun; but he would not be coaxed, and the cat lost all patience with him, and left him to himself. 

Meanwhile Helen Stanley was looking for the lost Lucretius in the Poets'Corner. She found it laying near Chaucer's tomb, and was just going totake it to her friend when she saw the workman to whom they had spokenin Trafalgar Square. He recognised her at once, and came toward her. 

"I've been having a quiet half-hour here, " he said. "It does me a sightof good to sit in the abbey. "

"You should go into the cloisters, " she said, kindly. "I have beensitting there with my friend. He will be interested to hear that youlove this beautiful abbey. "

"I should like to see him again, " said the workman. "He had a kind wayabout him, and that pipe he gave me is an uncommon good one. Still, I amsorry I smashed the little clay pipe. I'd grown used to it. I'd smokedit ever since my little girl died and left me alone in the world. I usedto bring my little girl here, and now I come alone. But it isn't thesame thing. "

"No, it could not be the same thing, " said Helen, gently. "But you findsome comfort here?"

"Some little comfort, " he answered. "One can't expect much. "

They went together into the cloisters, and as they came near the recesswhere the old man rested Helen said:

"Why, he has fallen asleep! He must have been very tired. And he hasdropped his hat and stick. Thank you. If you will put them down there, Iwill watch by his side until he wakes up. I don't suppose he will sleepfor long. "

The workman stooped down to pick up the hat and stick, and glancedat the sleeper. Something in the sleeper's countenance arrested hisattention. He turned to the girl, and saw that she was watching him. 

"What is it?" she asked anxiously. "What is the matter with you?"

He tried to speak, but his voice failed him, and all he could do was topoint with trembling hand to the old man. 

Helen looked, and a loud cry broke from her lips. The old man was dead. 

THE OMNIBUS, By Quiller-Couch

All that follows was spoken in a small tavern, a stone's throw fromCheapside, the day before I left London. It was spoken in a dull voice, across a greasy table-cloth, and amid an atmosphere so thick with thereek of cooking that one longed to change it for the torrid streetagain, to broil in an ampler furnace. Old Tom Pickford spoke it, who hasbeen a clerk for fifty-two years in Tweedy's East India warehouse, and in all that time has never been out of London, but when he takes aholiday spends it in hanging about Tweedy's, and observing that unlovelyplace of business from the outside. The dust, if not the iron, ofTweedy's has entered into his soul; and Tweedy's young men know himas "the Mastodon. " He is a thin, bald septuagenarian, with slopingshoulders, and a habit of regarding the pavement when he walks, so thathe seems to steer his way by instinct rather than sight. In generalhe keeps silence while eating his chop; and on this occasion there wassomething unnatural in his utterance, a divorce of manner between thespeaker and his words, such as one would expect in a sibyl disclaimingunder stress of the god. I fancied it had something to do with a blacknecktie that he wore instead of the blue bird's-eye cravat familiar toTweedy's, and with his extraordinary conduct in refusing to-day the chopthat the waiter brought, and limiting his lunch to cheese and lettuce. 

Having pulled the lettuce to pieces, he pushed himself back alittle from the table, looked over his spectacles at me, then at thetable-cloth, and began in a dreamy voice:

"Old Gabriel is dead. I heard the news at the office this morning, and went out and bought a black tie. I am the oldest man in Tweedy'snow--older by six years than Sam Collins, who comes next; so there is nomistake about it. Sam is looking for the place; I saw it in his eyewhen he told me, and I expect he'll get it. But I'm the oldest clerk inTweedy's. Only God Almighty can alter that, and it's very satisfactoryto me. I don't care about the money. Sam Collins will be stuck up overit, like enough; but he'll never write a hand like Gabriel's, not ifhe lives to be a hundred; and he knows it, and knows I'll be there toremind him of it. Gabriel's was a beautiful fist--so small, too, if hechose. Why, once, in his spare hours, he wrote out all the Psalms, withthe headings, on one side of a folio sheet, and had it framed and hungup in his parlour, out at Shepherd's Bush. He died in the night--oh yes, quite easily. He was down at the office all yesterday, and spoke to meas brisk as a bird. They found him dead in his bed this morning. 

"I seem cut up about it? Well, not exactly. Ah, you noticed thatI refused my chop to-day. Bless your soul, that's not on Gabriel'saccount. I am well on in years, and I suppose it would be natural of meto pity old men, and expect pity. But I can't; no, _it's only the youngthat I pity_. If you _must_ know, I didn't take the chop to-day becauseI haven't the money in my pocket to pay for it. You see, there was thisblack tie that I gave eighteenpence for; but something else happenedthis morning that I'll tell you about. 

"I came down in a 'bus, as usual. You remember what muggy weather it wasup to ten o'clock--though you wouldn't think it, to feel the heat now. Well, the 'bus was packed, inside and out. At least, there was just roomfor one more inside when we pulled up by Charing Cross, and there he gotin--a boy with a stick and a bundle in a blue handkerchief. 

"He wasn't more than thirteen; bound for the docks, you could tell at aglance; and by the way he looked about you could tell as easily that instepping outside Charing Cross station he'd set foot on London stonesfor the first time. God knows how it struck him--the slush and drizzle, the ugly shop-fronts, the horses slipping in the brown mud, the crowdon the pavement pushing him this side and that. The poor little chap wasstanding in the middle of it with dazed eyes, like a hare's, when the'bus pulled up. His eyelids were pink and swollen; but he wasn't crying, though he wanted to. Instead, he gave a gulp as he came on board withstick and bundle, and tried to look brave as a lion. 

"I'd have given worlds to speak to him, but I couldn't. On my word, sir, I should have cried. It wasn't so much the little chap's look. Butto the knot of his bundle there was tied a bunch of cottageflowers, --sweet-williams, boy's-love, and a rose or two, --and the sightand smell of them in that stuffy omnibus were like tears on thirstyeyelids. It's the young that I pity, sir. For Gabriel, in his bed up atShepherd's Bush, there's no more to be said, as far as I can see; andas for me, I'm the oldest clerk in Tweedy's, which is very satisfactory. It's the young faces, set toward the road along which we have travelled, that trouble me. Sometimes, sir, I lie awake in my lodgings and listen, and the whole of this London seems filled with the sound of children'sfeet running, and I can sob aloud. You may say that it is onlyselfishness, and what I really pity is my own boyhood. I dare say you'reright. It's certain that, as I kept glancing at the boy and his seakit and his bunch of flowers, my mind went back to the January morning, sixty-five years back, when the coach took me off for the first timefrom the village where I was born to a London charity-school. I wasworse off than the boy in the omnibus, for I had just lost father andmother. Yet it was the sticks and stones and flower-beds that I mostlythought of. I went round and said good-bye to the lilacs, and told themto be in flower by the time I came back. I said to the rose-bush, 'Youmust be as high as my window next May; you know you only missed it bythree inches last summer. ' Then I went to the cow-house, and kissed thecows, one by one. They were to be sold by auction the very next week, but I guessed nothing of it, and ordered them not to forget me. Andlast I looked at the swallows' nests under the thatch, --the last year'snests, --and told myself that they would be filled again when I returned. I remembered this, and how I stretched out my hands to the place fromthe coach-top; and how at Reading, where we stopped, I spent the twoshillings that I possessed in a cocoanut and a bright clasp-knife;and how, when I opened it, the nut was sour; and how I cried myself tosleep, and woke in London. 

"The young men in Tweedy's, though they respect my long standing there, make fun of me at times because I never take a holiday in the country. Why, sir, _I dare not_. I should wander back to my old village, and--Well, I know how it would be then. I should find it smaller andmeaner; I should search about for the flowers and nests, and listen forthe music that I knew sixty-five years ago, and remember; and they wouldnot be discoverable. Also every face would stare at me, for all thefaces I know are dead. Then I should think I had missed my way and cometo the wrong place; or (worse) that no such spot ever existed, and Ihave been cheating myself all these years; that, in fact, I was mad allthe while, and have no stable reason for existing--I, the oldest clerkin Tweedy's! To be sure, there would be my parents' headstones in thechurchyard. But what are they, if the churchyard itself is changed?

"As it is, with three hundred pounds per annum, and enough laid by tokeep him, if I fail, an old bachelor has no reason to grumble. But thesight of that little chap's nosegay, and the thought of the mother whotied it there, made my heart swell as I fancy the earth must swell whenrain is coming. His eyes filled once, and he brushed them under thepretence of pulling his cap forward, and stole a glance round to see ifany one had noticed him. The other passengers were busy with their ownthoughts, and I pretended to stare out of the window opposite; but therewas the drop, sure enough, on his hand as he laid it on his lap again. 

"He was bound for the docks, and thence for the open sea, and I, thatwas bound for Tweedy's only, had to get out at the top of Cheapside. I know the 'bus conductor, --a very honest man, --and, in getting out, Islipped half a crown into his hand to give to the boy, with my blessing, at his journey's end. When I picture his face, sir, I wish I had made itfive shillings, and gone without a new tie and dinner altogether. "

THE HIRED BABY, By Marie Corelli

A dark, desolate December night, a night that clung to the metropolislike a wet black shroud, a night in which the heavy, low-hangingvapours melted every now and then into a slow, reluctant rain, cold asicicle-drops in a rock cavern. People passed and repassed in the streetslike ghosts in a bad dream; the twinkling gas-light showed them at onemoment rising out of the fog, and then disappearing from view as thoughsuddenly engulfed in a vaporous ebon sea. With muffled, angry shrieks, the metropolitan trains deposited their shoals of shivering, coughingtravelers at the several stations, where sleepy officials, renderedvicious by the weather, snatched the tickets from their hands withoffensive haste and roughness. Omnibus conductors grew ill-temperedand abusive without any seemingly adequate reason; shopkeepers becameflippant, disobliging, and careless of custom; cabmen shouted derisiveor denunciatory language after their rapidly retreating fares; inshort, everybody was in a discontented, almost spiteful humour, withthe exception of those few aggressively cheerful persons who are in thehabit of always making the best of everything, even bad weather. Downthe long wide vista of the Cromwell Road, Kensington, the fog had it allits own way; it swept on steadily, like thick smoke from a huge fire, choking the throats and blinding the eyes of foot-passengers, stealingthrough the crannies of the houses, and chilling the blood of eventhose luxurious individuals who, seated in elegant drawing-rooms beforeblazing fires, easily forgot that there were such bitter things as coldand poverty in that outside world against which they had barred theirwindows. At one house in particular--a house with gaudy glass doorsand somewhat spoiled yellow silk curtains at the windows, a house thatplainly said to itself, "Done up for show!" to all who cared to examineits exterior--there stood a closed brougham, drawn by a prancing pairof fat horses. A coachman of distinguished appearance sat on the box;a footman of irreproachable figure stood waiting on the pavement, hisyellow-gloved hand resting elegantly on the polished silver knob ofthe carriage door. Both these gentlemen were resolute and inflexibleof face; they looked as if they had determined on some great deed thatshould move the world to wild applause; but, truth to tell, they hadonly just finished a highly satisfactory "meat-tea, " and before thisgrave silence had fallen upon them, they had been discussing theadvisability of broiled steak and onions for supper. The coachman hadinclined to plain mutton-chops as being easier of digestion; the footmanhad earnestly asseverated his belief in the superior succulence andsweetness of the steak and onions, and in the end he had gained hispoint. This weighty question being settled, they had gradually grownreflective on the past, present, and future joys of eating at some oneelse's expense, and in this bland and pleasing state of meditation theywere still absorbed. The horses were impatient, and pawed the muddyground with many a toss of their long manes and tails, the steam fromtheir glossy coats mingling with the ever-thickening density of the fog. On the white stone steps of the residence before which they waited wasan almost invisible bundle, apparently shapeless and immovable. Neitherof the two gorgeous personages in livery observed it; it was too farback in a dim corner, too unobtrusive, for the casual regard of theirlofty eyes. Suddenly the glass doors before mentioned were thrown apartwith a clattering noise, a warmth and radiance from the entrance-hallthus displayed streamed into the foggy street, and at the same instantthe footman, still with grave and imperturbable countenance, opened thebrougham. An elderly lady, richly dressed, with diamonds sparkling inher gray hair, came rustling down the steps, bringing with her faintodours of patchouly and violet-powder. She was followed by a girl ofdoll-like prettiness, with a snub nose and petulant little mouth, whoheld up her satin-and-lace skirts with a sort of fastidious disdain, asthough she scorned to set foot on earth that was not carpeted withthe best velvet pile. As they approached their carriage the inert darkbundle, crouched in the corner, started into life--a woman, with wildhair and wilder eyes, whose pale lips quivered with suppressed weepingas her piteous voice broke into sudden clamour:

"Oh, lady!" she cried, "for the love of God, a trifle! Oh, lady, lady!"

But the "lady, " with a contemptuous sniff and a shake of her scentedgarments, passed her before she could continue her appeal, and sheturned with a sort of faint hope to the softer face of the girl. 

"Oh, my dear, do have pity! Just the smallest little thing, and God willbless you! You are rich and happy--and I am starving! Only a penny! Forthe baby--the poor little baby!" And she made as though she would openher tattered shawl and reveal some treasure hidden therein, but shrunkback, repelled by the cold, merciless gaze that fell upon her from thoseeyes, in which youth dwelt without tenderness. 

"You have no business on our door step, " said the girl, harshly. "Goaway directly, or I shall tell my servant to call a policeman. "

Then, as she entered the brougham after her mother, she addressed therespectable footman angrily, giving him the benefit of a strong nasalintonation. 

"Howard, why do you let such dirty beggars come near the carriage? Whatare you paid for, I should like to know? It is perfectly disgraceful tothe house!"

"Very sorry, miss!" said the footman, gravely. "I didn't see the--theperson before. " Then shutting the brougham door, he turned with adignified air to the unfortunate creature, who still lingered near, and, with a sweeping gesture of his gold-embroidered coat-sleeve, saidmajestically:

"Do you 'ear? Be hoff!"

Then, having thus performed his duty, he mounted the box beside hisfriend the coachman, and the equipage rattled quickly away, its gleaminglights soon lost in the smoke-laden vapours that drooped downward likefuneral hangings from the invisible sky to the scarcely visible ground. Left to herself, the woman who had vainly sought charity from those inwhom no charity existed, looked up despairingly, as one distraught, andseemed as though she would have given vent to some fierce exclamation, when a feeble wail came pitifully forth from the sheltering folds of hershawl. She restrained herself instantly, and walked on at a rapid pace, scarcely heeding whither she went, till she reached the Catholic churchknown as the "Oratory. " Its unfinished facade loomed darkly out of thefog; there was nothing picturesque or inviting about it, yet there werepeople passing softly in and out, and through the swinging to and froof the red baize-covered doors there came a comforting warm glimmer oflight. The woman paused, hesitated, and then, having apparently made upher mind, ascended the broad steps, looked in, and finally entered. Theplace was strange to her; she knew nothing of its religious meaning, and its cold, uncompleted appearance oppressed her. There were only somehalf-dozen persons scattered about, like black specks, in its vast whiteinterior, and the fog hung heavily in the vaulted dome and dark littlechapels. One corner alone blazed with brilliancy and colour; this wasthe altar of the Virgin. Toward it the tired vagrant made her way, andon reaching it sank on the nearest chair as though exhausted. She didnot raise her eyes to the marble splendours of the shrine--one of themasterpieces of old Italian art; she had been merely attracted to thespot by the glitter of the lamps and candles, and took no thought as tothe reason of their being lighted, though she was sensible of a certaincomfort in the soft lustre shed around her. She seemed still young; herface, rendered haggard by long and bitter privation, showed traces ofpast beauty, and her eyes, full of feverish trouble, were large, dark, and still lustrous. Her mouth alone--that sensitive betrayer of thelife's good and bad actions--revealed that all had not been well withher; its lines were hard and vicious, and the resentful curve of theupper lip spoke of foolish pride, not unmixed with reckless sensuality. She sat for a moment or two motionless; then, with exceeding care andtenderness, she began to unfold her thin, torn shawl by gentle degrees, looking down with anxious solicitude at the object concealed within. Only a baby--and withal a baby so tiny and white and frail that itseemed as though it must melt like a snowflake beneath the lightesttouch. As its wrappings were loosened it opened a pair of large, solemn blue eyes, and gazed at the woman's face with a strange, pitifulwistfulness. It lay quiet, without moan, a pinched, pale miniature ofsuffering humanity--an infant with sorrow's mark painfully impressedupon its drawn, small features. Presently it stretched forth a puny handand feebly caressed its protectress, and this, too, with the faintestglimmer of a smile. The woman responded to its affection with a sort ofrapture; she caught it fondly to her breast and covered it with kisses, rocking it to and fro with broken words of endearment. "My littledarling!" she whispered, softly. "My little pet! Yes, yes, I know! Sotired, so cold and hungry! Never mind, baby, never mind! We will resthere a little; then we will sing a song presently, and get some moneyto take us home. Sleep awhile longer, deary! There! now we are warm andcosey again. "

So saying, she rearranged her shawl in closer and tighter folds, soas to protect the child more thoroughly. While she was engaged in thisoperation a lady in deep mourning passed close by her, and, advancingto the very steps of the altar, knelt down, hiding her face with herclasped hands. The tired wayfarer's attention was attracted by this; shegazed with a sort of dull wonder at the kneeling figure robed in richrustling silk and crape, and gradually her eyes wandered upward, upward, till they rested on the gravely sweet and serenely smilingmarble image of the Virgin and Child. She looked and lookedagain--surprised--incredulous; then suddenly rose to her feet and madeher way to the altar railing. There she paused, staring vaguely at abasket of flowers, white and odorous, that had been left there by somereverent worshipper. She glanced doubtfully at the swinging silverlamps, the twinkling candles; she was conscious, too, of a subtle, strange fragrance in the air, as though a basket full of spring violetsand daffodils had just been carried by; then, as her wandering gaze cameback to the solitary woman in black, who still knelt motionless nearher, a sort of choking sensation came into her throat and a stingingmoisture struggled in her eyes. She strove to turn this hystericalsensation to a low laugh of disdain. 

"Lord, Lord!" she muttered beneath her breath, "what sort of place isthis, where they pray to a woman and a baby?"

At that moment the woman in black rose; she was young, with aproud, fair, but weary face. Her eyes lighted on her soiled andpoverty-stricken sister, and she paused with a pitying look. The streetwanderer made use of the opportunity thus offered, and in an urgentwhisper implored charity. The lady drew out a purse, then hesitated, looking wistfully at the bundle in the shawl. 

"You have a child there?" she asked, in gentle accents. "May I see it?"

"Yes, lady, " and the wrapper was turned down sufficiently to disclosethe tiny white face, now more infinitely touching than ever in thepathos of sleep. 

"I lost my little one a week ago, " said the lady, simply, as she lookedat it. "He was all I had. " Her voice trembled; she opened her purse, andplaced a half-crown in the hand of her astonished supplicant. "You arehappier than I am; perhaps you will pray for me. I am very lonely!"

Then dropping her long crape veil so that it completely hid herfeatures, she bent her head and moved softly away. The woman watched hertill her graceful figure was completely lost in the gloom of the greatchurch, and then turned again vaguely to the altar. 

"Pray for her!" she thought. "I! As if I could pray!" And she smiledbitterly. Again she looked at the statue in the shrine; it had nomeaning at all for her. She had never heard of Christianity save throughthe medium of a tract, whose consoling title had been "Stop! You areGoing to Hell!" Religion of every sort was mocked at by those among whomher lot was cast, the name of Christ was only used as a convenience toswear by, and therefore this mysterious, smiling, gently inviting marblefigure was incomprehensible to her mind. 

"As if I could pray!" she repeated, with a sort of derision. Then shelooked at the broad silver coin in her hand and the sleeping baby in herarms. With a sudden impulse she dropped on her knees. 

"Whoever you are, " she muttered, addressing the statue above her, "itseems you've got a child of your own; perhaps you'll help me to takecare of this one. It isn't mine; I wish it was! Anyway, I love it morethan its own mother does. I dare say you won't listen to the likes ofme, but if there was God anywhere about I'd ask Him to bless thatgood soul that's lost her baby. I bless her with all my heart, but myblessing ain't good for much. Ah!" and she surveyed anew the Virgin'sserene white countenance, "you just look as if you understood me; butI don't believe you do. Never mind, I've said all I wanted to say thistime. "

Her strange petition, or rather discourse, concluded, she rose andwalked away. The great doors of the church swung heavily behind her asshe stepped out and stood once more in the muddy street. It was rainingsteadily--a fine, cold, penetrating rain. But the coin she held was atalisman against outer discomforts, and she continued to walk on tillshe came to a clean-looking dairy, where for a couple of pence she wasable to replenish the infant's long ago emptied feeding bottle; but shepurchased nothing for herself. She had starved all day, and was now toofaint to eat. Soon she entered an omnibus, and was driven to CharingCross, and alighting at the great station, brilliant with its electriclight, she paced up and down outside it, accosting several of thepassers-by and imploring their pity. One man gave her a penny; another, young and handsome, with a flushed, intemperate face, and a look of hisfast-fading boyhood still about him, put his hand in his pocket and drewout all the loose coppers it contained, amounting to three pennies andan odd farthing, and, dropping them into her outstretched palm, said, half gaily, half boldly: "You ought to do better than that with thosebig eyes of yours!" She drew back and shuddered; he broke into a coarselaugh, and went his way. Standing where he had left her, she seemed fora time lost in wretched reflections; the fretful, wailing cry of thechild she carried roused her, and hushing it softly, she murmured, "Yes, yes, darling, it is too wet and cold for you; we had better go. " Andacting suddenly on her resolve, she hailed another omnibus, this timebound for Tottenham Court Road, and was, after some dreary jolting, setdown at her final destination--a dirty alley in the worst part of SevenDials. Entering it, she was hailed with a shout of derisive laughterfrom some rough-looking men and women, who were standing grouped round alow gin-shop at the corner. 

"Here's Liz!" cried one. "Here's Liz and the bloomin' kid!"

"Now, old gel, fork out! How much 'ave you got, Liz? Treat us to a dropall round!"

Liz waked past them steadily; the conspicuous curve of her upper lipcame into full play, and her eyes flashed disdainfully, but she saidnothing. Her silence exasperated a tangle-haired, cat-faced girl ofseventeen years, who, more than half drunk, sat on the ground, claspingher knees with both arms and rocking herself lazily to and fro. 

"Mother Mawks!" cried she, "Mother Mawks! You're wanted! Here's Liz comeback with your babby!"

As if her words had been a powerful incantation to summon forth an evilspirit, a door in one of the miserable houses was thrown open, and astout woman, nearly naked to the waist, with a swollen, blotched, andmost hideous countenance, rushed out furiously, and darting at Liz, shook her violently by the arm. 

"Where's my shullin'?" she yelled, "where's my gin? Out with it! Outwith my shullin' an' fourpence! None of yer sneakin' ways with me; abargain's a bargain all the world over! Yer're making a fortin' with mybabby--yer know y' are; pays yer a good deal better than yer old trade!Don't say it don't--yer know it do. Yer'll not find such a sickly kidanywheres, an' it's the sickly kids wot pays an' moves the 'arts ofthe kyind ladies an' good gentlemen"--this with an imitative whine thatexcited the laughter and applause of her hearers. "Yer've got it cheap, I kin tell yer, an' if yer don't pay up reg'lar, there's others that'lltake the chance, an' thankful too!"

She stopped for lack of breath, and Liz spoke quietly:

"It's all right, Mother Mawks, " she said, with an attempt at a smile;"here's your shilling, here's the four pennies for the gin. I don't oweyou anything for the child now. " She stopped and hesitated, lookingdown tenderly at the frail creature in her arms; then added, almostpleadingly, "It's asleep now. May I take it with me to-night?"

Mother Mawks, who had been testing the coins Liz had given her by bitingthem ferociously with her large yellow teeth, broke into a loud laugh. 

"Take it with yer! I like that! Wot imperence! Take it with yer!" Then, with her huge red arms akimbo, she added, with a grin, "Tell yer wot, if yer likes to pay me 'arf a crown, yer can 'ave it to cuddle, an'welcome!"

Another shout of approving merriment burst from the drink-soddenspectators of the little scene, and the girl crouched on the groundremoved her encircling hands from her knees to clap them loudly, as sheexclaimed:

"Well done, Mother Mawks! One doesn't let out kids at night for nothing!'T ought to be more expensive than daytime!"

The face of Liz had grown white and rigid. 

"You know I can't give you that money, " she said, slowly. "I have nottasted bit or drop all day. I must live, though it doesn't seem worthwhile. The child"--and her voice softened involuntarily--"is fastasleep; it's a pity to wake it, that's all. It will cry and fret allnight, and--and I will make it warm and comfortable if you'd let me. "She raised her eyes hopefully and anxiously. "Will you?"

Mother Mawks was evidently a lady of an excitable disposition. Thesimple request seemed to drive her nearly frantic. She raised her voiceto an absolute scream, thrusting her dirty hands through her stilldirtier hair as the proper accompanying gesture to her vituperativeoratory. 

"Will I! Will I!" she screeched. "Will I let out my hown babby for thenight for nuthin'? Will I? No, I won't! I'll see yer blowed into themiddle of next week fust! Lor' 'a' mussey! 'ow 'igh an' mighty we aregittin', to be sure! The babby'll be quiet with you, Miss Liz, willit, hindeed! An' it will cry an' fret with its hown mother, willit, hindeed!" And at every sentence she approached Liz more nearly, increasing in fury as she advanced. "Yer low hussy! D'ye think I'd letye 'ave my babby for a hour unless yer paid for 'it? As it is, yerpays far too little. I'm an honest woman as works for my livin' an' wotdrinks reasonable, better than you by a long sight, with yer stuck-upairs! A pretty drab you are! Gi' me the babby; ye 'a'n't no business tokeep it a minit longer. " And she made a grab at Liz's sheltering shawl. 

"Oh, don't hurt it!" pleaded Liz, tremblingly. "Such a littlething--don't hurt it!"

Mother Mawks stared so wildly that her blood-shot eyes seemed protrudingfrom her head. 

"'Urt it! Hain't I a right to do wot I likes with my hown babby? 'Urtit! Well, I never! Look 'ere!"--and she turned round on the assembledneighbours--"hain't she a reg'lar one? She don't care for the law, notshe! She's keepin' back a child from its hown mother!" And with that shemade a fierce attack on the shawl, and succeeded in dragging the infantfrom Liz's reluctant arms. Wakened thus roughly from its slumbers, thepoor mite set up a feeble wailing; its mother, enraged at the sound, shook it violently till it gasped for breath. 

"Drat the little beast!" she cried. "Why don't it choke an' 'ave donewith it!"

And, without heeding the terrified remonstrances of Liz, she flung thechild roughly, as though it were a ball, through the open door of herlodgings, where it fell on a heap of dirty clothes, and lay motionless;its wailing had ceased. 

"Oh, baby, baby!" exclaimed Liz, in accents of poignant distress. "Oh, you have killed it, I am sure! Oh, you are cruel, cruel! Oh, baby, baby!"

And she broke into a tempestuous passion of sobs and tears. Thebystanders looked on in unmoved silence. Mother Mawks gathered her torngarments round her with a gesture of defiance, and sniffed the air asthough she said, "Any one who wants to meddle with me will get the worstof it. " There was a brief pause; suddenly a man staggered out of thegin-shop, smearing the back of his hand across his mouth as he came--amassively built, ill-favoured brute, with a shock of uncombed red hairand small ferret-like eyes. He stared stupidly at the weeping Liz, thenat Mother Mawks, finally from one to the other of the loafers who stoodby. "Wot's the row?" he demanded, quickly. "Wot's up? 'Ave it out fair!Joe Mawks 'll stand by and see fair game. Fire away, my hearties! fire, fire away!" And, with a chuckling idiot laugh, he dived into thepocket of his torn corduroy trousers and produced a pipe. Filling thisleisurely from a greasy pouch, with such unsteady fingers that thetobacco dropped all over him, he lighted it, repeating, with increasedthickness of utterance, "Wot's the row! 'Ave it out fair!"

"It's about your babby, Joe!" cried the girl before mentioned, jumpingup from her seat on the ground with such force that her hair cametumbling all about her in a dark, dank mist, through which her thin, eager face spitefully peered. "Liz has gone crazy! She wants your babbyto cuddle!" And she screamed with sudden laughter. "Eh, eh, fancy! Wantsa babby to cuddle!"

The stupefied Joe blinked drowsily and sucked the stem of his pipe withapparent relish. Then, as if he had been engaged in deep meditation onthe subject, he removed his smoky consoler from his mouth, and said, "W'y not? Wants a babby to cuddle? All right! Let 'er 'ave it--w'y not?"

At these words Liz looked up hopefully through her tears, but MotherMawks darted forward in raving indignation. 

"Yer great drunken fool!" she yelled to her besotted spouse, "aren't yerashamed of yerself? Wot! let out babby for a whole night for nuthin'?It's lucky I've my wits about me, an' I say Liz sha'n't 'ave it! There, now!"

The man looked at her, and a dogged resolution darkened his repulsivecountenance. He raised his big fist, clinched it, and hit straight out, giving his infuriated wife a black eye in much less than a minute. "An'I say she shall 'ave it. Where are ye now?"

In answer to the query Mother Mawks might have said that she was "allthere, " for she returned her husband's blow with interest and force, and in a couple of seconds the happy pair were engaged in a "stand-up"fight, to the intense admiration and excitement of all the inhabitantsof the little alley. Every one in the place thronged to watch thecombatants, and to hear the blasphemous oaths and curses with which thebattle was accompanied. 

In the midst of the affray a wizened, bent old man, who had been sittingat his door sorting rags in a basket, and apparently taking no heed ofthe clamour around him, made a sign to Liz. 

"Take the kid now, " he whispered. "Nobody'll notice. I'll see they don'tcry arter ye. "

Liz thanked him mutely by a look, and rushing to the house where thechild still lay, seemingly inanimate, on the floor among the soiledclothes, she caught it up eagerly, and hurried away to her own poorgarret in a tumble-down tenement at the farthest end of the alley. Theinfant had been stunned by its fall, but under her tender care, androcked in the warmth of her caressing arms, it soon recovered, thoughwhen its blue eyes opened they were full of a bewildered pain, such asmay be seen in the eyes of a shot bird. 

"My pet! my poor little darling!" she murmured over and over again, kissing its wee white face and soft hands; "I wish I was yourmother--Lord knows I do! As it is, you're all I've got to care for. Andyou do love me, baby, don't you? just a little, little bit!" And as sherenewed her fondling embraces, the tiny, sad-visaged creature uttereda low, crooning sound of baby satisfaction in response to herendearments--a sound more sweet to her ears than the most exquisitemusic, and which brought a smile to her mouth and a pathos to her darkeyes, rendering her face for the moment almost beautiful. Holding thechild closely to her breast, she looked cautiously out of her narrowwindow, and perceived that the connubial fight was over. From the shoutsof laughter and plaudits that reached her ears, Joe Mawks had evidentlywon the day; his wife had disappeared from the field. She saw the littlecrowd dispersing, most of those who composed it entered the gin-shop, and very soon the alley was comparatively quiet and deserted. By-and-byeshe heard her name called in a low voice: "Liz! Liz!"

She looked down and saw the old man who had promised her his protectionin case Mother Mawks should persecute her. "Is that you, Jim? Comeupstairs; it's better than talking out there. " He obeyed, and stoodbefore her in the wretched room, looking curiously both at her and thebaby. A wiry, wolfish-faced being was Jim Duds, as he was familiarlycalled, though his own name was the aristocratic and singularlyinappropriate one of James Douglas. He was more like an animal than ahuman creature, with his straggling gray hair, bushy beard, and sharpteeth protruding like fangs from beneath his upper lip. His professionwas that of an area thief, and he considered it a sufficientlyrespectable calling. 

"Mother Mawks has got it this time, " he said, with a grin which was morelike a snarl. "Joe's blood was up, and he pounded her nigh into a jelly. She'll leave ye quiet now; so long as ye pay the hire reg'lar ye'll haveJoe on yer side. If so be as there's a bad day, ye'd better not comehome at all. "

"I know, " said Liz; "but she's always had the money for the child, andsurely it wasn't much to ask her to let me keep it warm on such a coldnight as this. "

Jim Duds looked meditative. "Wot makes yer care for that babby so much?"he asked. "'T ain't yourn. "

Liz sighed. 

"No, " she said, sadly. "That's true. But it seems something to hold onto, like. See what my life has been!" She stopped, and a wave of colourflushed her pallid features. "From a little girl, nothing but thestreets--the long, cruel streets! and I just a bit of dirt on thepavement--no more; flung here, flung there, and at last swept into thegutter. All dark--all useless!" She laughed a little. "Fancy, Jim! I'venever seen the country!"

"Nor I, " said Jim, biting a piece of straw reflectively. "It must bepowerful fine, with naught but green trees an' posies a-blowin' an' agrowin' everywheres. There ain't many kitching areas there, though, I'mtold. "

Liz went on, scarcely heeding him: "The baby seems to me like what thecountry must be--all harmless and sweet and quiet; when I hold it so, myheart gets peaceful somehow--I don't know why. "

Again Jim looked speculative. He waved his bitten straw expressively. 

"Ye've had 'sperience, Liz. Hain't ye met no man like wot ye could carefur?"

Liz trembled, and her eyes grew wild. . 

"Men!" she cried, with bitterest scorn--"no men have come my way, onlybrutes!"

Jim stared, but was silent; he had no fit answer ready. Presently Lizspoke again, more softly:

"Jim, do you know I went into a great church to-day?"

"Worse luck!" said Jim, sententiously. "Church ain't no use nohow as faras I can see. "

"There was a figure there, Jim, " went on Liz, earnestly, "of a Womanholding up a Baby, and people knelt down before it. What do you s'poseit was?"

"Can't say!" replied the puzzled Jim. "Are ye sure 't was a church? Mostlike 't was a mooseum. "

"No, no!" said Liz. "'T was a church for certain; there were folkspraying in it. "

"Ah, well, " growled Jim, gruffly, "much good it may do 'em! I'm not ofthe prayin' sort. A woman an' a babby, did ye say? Don't ye getsuch cranky notions into yer head, Liz! Women an' babbies are commonenough--too common, by a long chalk; an' as for prayin' to 'em--" Jim'sutter contempt and incredulity were too great for further expression, and he turned away, wishing her a curt "Good-night!"

"Good-night!" said Liz, softly; and long after he had left her shestill sat silent, thinking, thinking, with the baby asleep in her arms, listening to the rain as it dripped, dripped heavily, like clods fallingon a coffin lid. She was not a good woman--far from it. Her very motivein hiring the infant at so much a day was entirely inexcusable; it wassimply to gain money upon false pretences--by exciting more pity thanwould otherwise have been bestowed on her had she begged for herselfalone, without a child in her arms. At first she had carried the babyabout to serve as a mere trick of her trade, but the warm feel of itslittle helpless body against her bosom day after day had softened herheart toward its innocence and pitiful weakness, and at last she hadgrown to love it with a strange, intense passion--so much that she wouldwillingly have sacrificed her life for its sake. She knew that itsown parents cared nothing for it, except for the money it brought themthrough her hands; and often wild plans would form in her poor tiredbrain--plans of running away with it altogether from the roaring, devouring city, to some sweet, humble country village, there to obtainwork and devote herself to making this little child happy. Poor Liz!Poor, bewildered, heart-broken Liz! Ignorant London heathen as she was, there was one fragrant flower blossoming in the desert of her soiledand wasted existence--the flower of a pure and guileless love for oneof those "little ones, " of whom it hath been said by an all-pityingDivinity unknown to her, "Suffer them to come unto Me, and forbid themnot: for of such is the kingdom of heaven. "

The dreary winter days crept on apace, and, as they drew near Christmas, dwellers in the streets leading off the Strand grew accustomed ofnights to hear the plaintive voice of a woman, singing in a peculiarlythrilling and pathetic manner some of the old songs and ballads familiarand dear to the heart of every Englishman--"The Banks of Allan Water, ""The Bailiff's Daughter, " "Sally in our Alley, " "The Last Rose ofSummer. " All these well-loved ditties she sang one after the other, and, though her notes were neither fresh nor powerful, they were true andoften tender, more particularly in the hackneyed, but still captivating, melody of "Home, Sweet Home. " Windows were opened, and pennies freelyshowered on the street vocalist, who was accompanied in all herwanderings by a fragile infant, which she seemed to carry with especialcare and tenderness. Sometimes, too, in the bleak afternoons, she wouldbe seen wending her way through mud and mire, setting her weary faceagainst the bitter east wind, and patiently singing on; and motherlywomen, coming from the gay shops and stores, where they had beenpurchasing Christmas toys for their own children, would often stop tolook at the baby's pinched, white features with pity, and would say, while giving their spare pennies, "Poor little thing! Is it not veryill?" And Liz, her heart freezing with sudden terror, would exclaim, hurriedly, "Oh, no, no! It is always pale; it is just a little bit weak, that's all!" And the kindly questioners, touched by the large despairof her dark eyes, would pass on and say no more. And Christmas came--thebirthday of the Child Christ--a feast the sacred meaning of which wasunknown to Liz; she only recognized it as a sort of large and somewhatdull bank-holiday, when all London devoted itself to church-goingand the eating of roast beef and plum-pudding. The whole thing wasincomprehensible to her mind, but even her sad countenance was brighterthan usual on Christmas eve, and she felt almost gay, for had she not, by means of a little extra starvation on her own part, been able tobuy a wondrous gold-and-crimson worsted bird suspended from an elasticstring, a bird which bobbed up and down to command in the most livelyand artistic manner? And had not her hired baby actually laughed at theclumsy toy--laughed an elfish and weird laugh, the first it had everindulged in? And Liz had laughed too, for pure gladness in the child'smirth, and the worsted bird became a sort of uncouth charm to make themboth merry. 

But after Christmas had come and gone, and the melancholy days, thelast beating of the failing pulse of the Old Year, throbbed slowlyand heavily away, the baby took upon its wan visage a strangeexpression--the solemn expression of worn-out and suffering age. Itsblue eyes grew more solemnly speculative and dreamy, and after a whileit seemed to lose all taste for the petty things of this world and thelow desires of mere humanity. It lay very quiet in Liz's arms; it nevercried, and was no longer fretful, and it seemed to listen with a sort ofmild approval to the tones of her voice as they rang out in the drearystreets, through which, by day and night, she patiently wandered. By-and-by the worsted bird, too, fell out of favour; it jumped andglittered in vain; the baby surveyed it with an unmoved air of superiorwisdom, just as if it had suddenly found out what real birds werelike, and was not to be deceived into accepting so poor an imitationof nature. Liz grew uneasy, but she had no one in whom to confide herfears. She had been very regular in her payments to Mother Mawks, andthat irate lady, kept in order by her bull-dog of a husband, had beenof late very contented to let her have the child without furtherinterference. Liz knew well enough that no one in the miserable alleywhere she dwelt would care whether the baby were ill or not. They wouldtell her, "The more sickly the better for your trade. " Besides, she wasjealous; she could not endure the idea of any one tending it or touchingit but herself. Children were often ailing, she thought, and if left tothemselves without doctor's stuff they recovered sometimes more quicklythan they had sickened. Thus soothing her inward tremors as best shemight, she took more care than ever of her frail charge, stintingherself than she might nourish it, though the baby seemed to care lessand less for mundane necessities, and only submitted to be fed, as itwere, under patient and silent protest. 

And so the sands in Time's hour-glass ran slowly but surely away, and itwas New-Year's eve. Liz had wandered about all day, singing her littlerepertoire of ballads in the teeth of a cruel, snow-laden wind--so cruelthat people otherwise charitably disposed had shut close their doors andwindows, and had not even heard her voice. Thus the last span of theOld Year had proved most unprofitable and dreary; she had gained no morethan sixpence; how could she return with only that humble amount to faceMother Mawks and her vituperative fury? Her throat ached; she wasvery tired, and, as the night darkened from pale to deep and starlessshadows, she strolled mechanically from the Strand to the Embankment, and after walking some little distance she sat down in a corner close toCleopatra's Needle--that mocking obelisk that has looked upon the decayof empires, itself impassive, and that still appears to say, "Pass on, ye puny generations! I, a mere carven block of stone, shall outlive youall!" For the first time in all her experience the child in her armsseemed a heavy burden. She put aside her shawl and surveyed it tenderly;it was fast asleep, a small, peaceful smile on its thin, quiet face. Thoroughly worn out herself, she leaned her head against the damp stonewall behind her, and clasping the infant tightly to her breast, shealso slept--the heavy, dreamless sleep of utter fatigue and physicalexhaustion. The solemn night moved on, a night of black vapours; thepageant of the Old Year's deathbed was unbrightened by so much as asingle star. None of the hurrying passers-by perceived the weary womanwhere she slept in that obscure corner, and for a long while she restedthere undisturbed. Suddenly a vivid glare of light dazzled her eyes; shestarted to her feet half asleep, but still instinctively retaining theinfant in her close embrace. A dark form, buttoned to the throat andholding a brilliant bull's-eye lantern, stood before her. 

"Come now, " said this personage, "this won't do! Move on!"

Liz smiled faintly and apologetically. 

"All right!" she answered, striving to speak cheerfully, and raising hereyes to the policeman's good-natured countenance. "I didn't mean tofall asleep here. I don't know how I came to do it. I must go home, ofcourse. "

"Of course, " said the policeman, somewhat mollified by her evidenthumility, and touched in spite of himself by the pathos of her eyes. Then turning his lamp more fully upon her, he continued, "Is that a babyyou've got there?"

"Yes, " said Liz, half proudly, half tenderly. "Poor little dear! it'sbeen ailing sadly--but I think it's better now than it was. "

And, encouraged by his friendly tone, she opened the folds of her shawlto show him her one treasure. The bulls-eye came into still closerrequisition as the kindly guardian of the peace peered inquiringly atthe tiny bundle. He had scarcely looked when he started back with anexclamation:

"God bless my soul!" he cried, "it's dead!"

"Dead!" shrieked Liz; "oh, no, no! Not dead! Don't say so, oh, don't, don't say so! Oh, you can't mean it! Oh, for God's love, say you didn'tmean it! It can't be dead, not really dead!--no, no, indeed! Oh, baby, baby! You are not dead, my pet my angel, not dead, oh no!"

And breathless, frantic with fear, she felt the little thing's hands andfeet and face, kissed it wildly, and called it by a thousand endearingnames, in vain--in vain! Its tiny body was already stiff and rigid; ithad been a corpse more than two hours. 

The policeman coughed, and brushed his thick gauntlet glove across hiseyes. He was an emissary of the law, but he had a heart. He thought ofhis bright-eyed wife at home, and of the soft-cheeked, cuddling littlecreature that clung to her bosom and crowed with rapture whenever hecame near. 

"Look here, " he said, very gently, laying one hand on the woman'sshoulder as she crouched shivering against the wall, and staringpiteously at the motionless waxen form in her arms; "it's no usefretting about it. " He paused; there was an uncomfortable lump in histhroat, and he had to cough again to get it down. "The poor littlecreature's gone--there's no help for it. The next world's a better placethan this, you know! There, there, don't take on so about it"--this asLiz shuddered and sighed; a sigh of such complete despair that it wentstraight to his honest soul, and showed him how futile were his effortsat consolation. But he had his duty to attend to, and he went on infirmer tones: "Now, like a good woman, you just move off from here andgo home. If I leave you here by yourself a bit, will you promise me togo straight home? I mustn't find you here when I come back on this beat, d' ye understand?" Liz nodded. "That's right!" he resumed, cheerily. "I'll give you just ten minutes; you just go straight home. "

And with a "Good-night, " uttered in accents meant to be comforting, heturned away and paced on, his measured tread echoing on the silence atfirst loudly, then fainter and fainter, till it altogether died away, ashis bulky figure disappeared in the distance. Left to herself, Liz rosefrom her crouching posture; rocking the dead child in her arms, shesmiled. 

"Go straight home!" she murmured, half aloud. "Home, sweet home! Yes, baby; yes, my darling, we will go home together!"

And creeping cautiously along in the shadows, she reached a flight ofthe broad stone steps leading down to the river. She descended them, oneby one; the black water lapped against them heavily, heavily; the tidewas full up. She paused; a sonorous, deep-toned iron voice rang throughthe air with reverberating, solemn melody. It was the great bell of St. Paul's tolling midnight--the Old Year was dead. 

"Straight home!" she repeated, with a beautiful, expectant look in herwild, weary eyes. "My little darling! Yes, we are both tired; we will gohome! Home, sweet home! We will go!"

Kissing the cold face of the baby corpse she held, she threw herselfforward; there followed a sullen, deep splash--a slight struggle--andall was over! The water lapped against the steps heavily, heavily, asbefore; the policeman passed once more, and saw to his satisfaction thatthe coast was clear; through the dark veil of the sky one star lookedout and twinkled for a brief instant, then disappeared again. A clashand clamour of bells startled the brooding night, here and there awindow was opened, and figures appeared in balconies to listen. Theywere ringing in the New Year--the festival of hope, the birthday of theworld! But what were New Years to her, who, with white, upturned face, and arms that embraced an infant in the tenacious grip of death, wentdrifting, drifting solemnly down the dark river, unseen, unpitied by allthose who awoke to new hopes and aspirations on that first morningof another life-probation! Liz had gone; gone to make her peace withGod--perhaps through the aid of her "hired" baby, the little sinlesssoul she had so fondly cherished; gone to that sweetest "home" we dreamof and pray for, where the lost and bewildered wanderers of this earthshall find true welcome and rest from grief and exile; gone to thatfair, far glory-world where reigns the divine Master, whose words stillring above the tumult of ages: "See that ye despise not one of theselittle ones; for I say unto you, that their angels do always behold theface of My Father who is in heaven. "