A Little World Part 37

"Poor little man!" whispered Mrs Jared to her husband; "what did he do that he should have such a wife?"

Not that Tim was untidy, for he was as carefully dressed as his garments would allow. Clean shaved too was Tim; but there was a desolate look in his face that sorely troubled Mrs Jared, who more than once hinted to her husband that she hoped the poor man would not do anything dreadful, and then felt almost hurt at the apparent indifference of Jared, who, hardened by his own troubles, could not bring his mind to bear upon those of others.

Jared was right, though, when he said that there was no fear, for Tim's was genuine unselfish sorrow, that in all earnestness he had bent his back to carry--bearing himself humbly, now that the first wild paroxysms of his grief were past.

The children were in bed, and Tim, as they left the room, had kissed most tenderly and blessed each one, as it came to say "Good-night."

"Ah! Mr Pellet, sir," he half moaned, "you're a rich man, sir--a rich man, sir. G.o.d has been very good to you, sir. All strong and well--all strong and well!"

Jared winced as he tried to read his paper, but could not turn his eyes from one spot--a police report of a servant who had stolen money from her employer's box, and he made no reply.

And now Tim stood in his old att.i.tude by the chimney-piece.

"It's coming to-night," whispered Mrs Jared to Patty, and she, poor girl, had run out of the room to sob for a few minutes, and then returned, red-eyed and flushed, to sit down to her work.

"I hope I haven't troubled you very much," said Tim, gently. "I've been in many times, but I've not been myself, you know, and could not trust what was here to speak. It wasn't me, Mrs Pellet, ma'am," he continued, turning himself from Jared, so that it should only be a tender-hearted mother who read his quivering lips and tears; "it wasn't me, but a poor broken-down wretch, who could not be man enough to fight against his troubles. You always said I ought to have been a woman, ma'am; and you were right--quite right. But I am better now, ma'am, and I shall be at work next week. Poor people can't afford to be sorrowful, ma'am. Your rich folk can be in mourning every day, outside and inside, ma'am; we poor people can only do that once a week. I couldn't sit on the board this week for thinking, ma'am. Come sorrow, one must fight it out--come hard times the same. But one's as much as such a man as me can bear."

Mrs Jared sighed, and worked on busily at some little domestic repair done with needle and thread.

"Had you not better sit down, Mr Ruggles?" she said.

"No, ma'am," said Tim; "it is time I was gone."

Then the room was once more very still, so that Jared almost started as Tim spoke again very slowly, for his thoughts were back at the organ-loft, and the question was troubling him once more, "What shall I do?"

"Week to-morrow since we buried her, ma'am--like my own child, ma'am, and not a soul to say good-bye to her but me--no father--no mother. Ah!

it was cruel, cruel! and how those whom G.o.d has given children can leave them in strange hands to pine away and die, is more than I can understand. I would not own that she was so ill, ma'am, not to a soul.

I told myself it wasn't so; and all the time it was. 'Grim death won't come and take that gentle, loving-hearted girl away, Tim,' I said, 'when there's your rough worthless old carcase close at hand.' But that's what he does, ma'am; he's idle though he's busy, is death; and to save blunting that scythe of his, he goes on mowing down the sweet, gentle, bright-coloured tender flowers, and leaves the dry, harsh, old stalks like me to be snapped off by the wind.

"But I knew it was coming, ma'am, faster and faster; and yet I couldn't help thinking as there might be a change for the better. To have seen her, you might have hoped she was getting well, for she seemed to be easier towards the last, and for two or three days the pain was as good as gone, 'cept when her cough troubled her, and nothing wouldn't stop that a bit. Never complained neither, she didn't, but kept up dressed and about to the very last. I couldn't help knowing that she was bad; but I didn't think it was quite so bad; it's a sort of thing that you can't seem to believe, ma'am. It won't come home to you until it's too late, and then--then--then--"

Tim's voice grew very husky here, and, as he broke off, his hand covered his eyes once more.

"I'm very weak, ma'am," he said at last, apologetically. "It's not like most men, I know, to take on so about that child; but, you see, my poor first wife loved her, and she seemed to be quite left to me to take care of; and now that she's gone it don't seem to me that I did my duty by her."

Here Mrs Jared and Patty murmured strongly in dissent, and Jared cleared his throat with a loud hem, blowing his nose, too, violently the moment after.

"I can't think that I did," said Tim, "but I did try; and if I'd interfered more when Mrs Ruggles--wonderful woman, you know, ma'am--when Mrs Ruggles corrected, I'm sadly afraid that it would have been worse when I was away. I went twice--three times--four times to Bedford Row, and told them how bad the child was getting, and they said they would communicate, and that was all there; for--G.o.d forgive me if I wrong any man!--I believe him as owned my poor little darling wanted to hear that she was--"

Tim broke down and sobbed like a child for a moment, but he dashed away the tears and continued--

"I wasn't satisfied with the doctor, because he shook his head and looked serious; and when I got another doctor, who smiled and chatted, and said pleasant things, I felt angry with myself because I had not gone to him sooner.

"What's the good of earning money and trying to save up a few pounds, if there is not going to be health and strength, ma'am? But it was of no use, to any one but the doctor, ma'am, his coming; and the poor child got to be weaker and weaker; and though she liked to go, and I would have carried her all the way till she could have sat down on a seat in the Park, where she could have leaned her head against me, and watched the people go by, the doctor said to me she must not go out, for the days were getting too short and cold.

"So I made her a little sofy on my board, where she could lie and see me work, and thread fresh needles for me, and hold my twist, and wax, and scissors, and hand me fresh b.u.t.tons. Then too she used to like to have a few flowers; but she would sooner go without them than me to leave her while I went to fetch them. But she used to get a good many; for Turfey d.i.c.k, who goes round with the chickweed, used often to bring us a bunch from out of the country, and--and G.o.d bless him for it!--he never took a penny, for he said he loved little ones, and wanted to bring her a bird.

"She did not seem to mind at all; but she must have known what was coming, and could not bear me out of her sight for a moment. While now it was, ma'am, that she showed what she felt towards some one else-- shrinking and shutting those little soft eyes every time some one came nigh.

"I don't believe in people's hearts breaking, ma'am," continued Tim, picking at the band of his hat; "but I could have held my head down and cried bitterly any time when she was so ill, and yet so still and uncomplaining.

"Night after night I lay down on the board so as to sleep by her, for it seemed to please the poor darling. 'Let me hold your hand,' she'd say; and when I gave it to her, she'd hold it tightly, and lay it on her pillow, and put her little hot cheek upon it till I took it away to get her cough medicine, and then held her up in my arms to take it. I don't make a fuss, ma'am, about what I did--it only came natural; and I couldn't have slept and known that her little lips were hot and dry for want of drink; while when I held her up like that, she'd nestle close to me, and creep her little thin arms under my weskit, and ask, in her pretty gentle way, whether she might stay so, because she could sleep there.

"And there she would sleep, only starting up now and then to look in my face, as if to see whether she was safe. Then she'd lay her head down again, and whisper to me that something kept pulling her away, and try to tell me about what she had been dreaming. But her poor little feverish head was all wrong, and her words broken and muddled like.

"'Somebody's calling--somebody's calling,' she kept on whispering to me the last day. 'There!' she'd say, with a start, 'didn't you hear somebody call "Pine, Pine!"' and then she would call eagerly, 'Yes, yes!' and turn to me and whisper, 'Was that my mamma?'

"What could I do, ma'am?--what could I do but bend my head down over the poor darling, and not let her see the hot tears come rolling down my cheeks. It was then that I felt most how I had been cheating myself and holding myself up with false hopes, and all the time that what she said was true; for though I was holding her tightly to me--tightly as she clung, it was all of no use, for something was drawing her slowly and surely away.

"I tried more than once to smile and say something cheery to her, but she only looked strange at me, and said, 'Don't, please;' and then, soon after, she said, in a sort of dreamy way, 'Tell me what it's like, and whether I shall see my mamma there!'

"'What what's like, my pet?' I says, shivering the while to hear her talk so.

"'What heaven's like, and all about going there!'

"What could I tell her?--what could I say, a poor ignorant man like me?

I felt frightened-like, ma'am, to hear her so regularly talking about something drawing her away. I know now that it was from the dreamy troubled state of her head; while she always talked so about her mamma, and never said a word about him. I taught her to say that, you know, ma'am, for I hoped some day she would have been fetched into her proper speer, to be well off; and that's why I did my best to improve her mind, and taught her catechism, and so on. And so she is well off, and better than she could ever have been here, and fetched into her proper speer, she is; for if ever there was a little angel here, it was my poor darling. But I couldn't, bear to part with her, and it was not in that way I meant."

Time after time Tim glanced wistfully from face to face, as if to see what effect his words had; and then he altered and re-arranged the mourning-band around his hat, smoothing it, brushing it with his gloves, and at last setting it upon the table.

"It seems to do me good telling you all about it, Mrs Pellet, ma'am; but for all that, the words seem to run and run; only I know that you all here used to like and take kindly to the little ill-used thing--for she was ill-used!" he exclaimed, pa.s.sionately. "But anybody must have taken to and loved her; and do you know," said Tim, solemnly, "that that's why I think she was took away--because she was too good for the life below here. You don't lose no little ones, ma'am, because they are happy and well off, and well treated. Nothing comes drawing of yours away, like it did my poor pet, as I can always hear whispering to me; and when I wake of a night for a few moments, I always seem to feel her little hot hand nestling in my breast, and feeling after mine to put under her burning cheek."

Mrs Jared shivered, and looked as if about to run up-stairs and see whether her own little ones were all safe.

"But she was wanted," said Tim, sadly, "and I shall never forgive myself--never, never!" and sinking back in the chair behind him, Tim Ruggles gave free vent to his sorrow, bowing his head almost to his knees, covering his face with his hands to conceal its working and the tears. His sobs seemed to tear their way from his breast, as, heedless now of all but his overwhelming grief, he rocked himself to and fro in the bitterness of his anguish.

For some time nothing was heard but sobs in that common room. Mrs Jared and Patty crept closer together to weep in unison, Mrs Jared making it appear--though a piece of base dissimulation--that she was only comforting Patty; while Jared rose to rest a hand upon his visitor's shoulder, telling himself that his was not the only trouble in the world.

Tim wept on pa.s.sionately, for the grief which had been thrust down and dammed back for days past, now burst forth with a violence that could not be stayed, as, still blaming himself for his weakness and lapse of duty towards the child, he groaned in the anguish of his spirit.

"I shall never forgive myself," cried Tim at last, leaping from his chair, "never! I lay down beside her for a bit that night, with her cheek upon my hand, and dropped off; but she moaned in her sleep, and it woke me directly. I gave her some drink, when, 'Please take me,' she whispered, and her little voice sounded, oh! so cracked, and harsh, and strange. So I took her in my arms--so light she was!--and then, having been watching night after night, I felt drowsy again. I propped myself with my back to the wall in the corner of the board, with that little hand nestled, as it had been scores of times, close against my breast.

Her little arms were round me, and then I rocked her to and fro gently till she began to moan again quite softly, as she had often done of late in her sleep; and then, instead of keeping awake, I dropped off again, and slept for hours, till the light came peeping in through the sides of the blinds.

"Pale and cold and scaring looked the light that morning; and as I woke, cramped, tired, and stiff, a horrible thought flashed through me, tearing me so that for a long time I dared not move nor look down. I seemed to have known all that had taken place, and to have felt it all, just as if I had been awake all night. I didn't dream it, you know, ma'am, so I can't explain myself; but I knew well enough that while I had slept, the something that had been drawing the poor darling away for so long had come at last and borne her off.

"I knew it all well enough in an instant of time--that what I held so tightly in my arms as I sat there was not little Pine, but only her shape, and fast growing colder, colder, and colder--oh! so fast. And yet I could not move.

"There was no moaning now--no sigh--no rattling in her poor little chest--no twitching restless moving of her poor little hands--no starting wildly from a half sleep to kiss me--but one terrible stillness; and I'd have given all I had only to have heard once more the dreadful painful cough that was gone now for ever.

"I shall never forgive myself," cried Tim, with a fresh burst of emotion. "Only to think of it!--only to think that I could not keep awake to watch over her to the last!" and Tim buried his face once more in his hands.

Poor weary watcher that he was! he could not see the loving hand that had pressed down his burning eyelids, but accused himself angrily--the watcher alone through weary night after weary night--the watcher who had fought with all-conquering sleep till it could be resisted no more, and he was spared the sight of the last faint struggle!

"Yes," said Tim, after a pause, "a week to-morrow since we buried her, ma'am, and I'm going to begin work again on Monday. You said that I ought to have been a woman, ma'am; so you won't be so very hard upon me for what you have seen to-night. I'm better now, for that was there and wanting to come; and," he said, piteously, "you're the only friends I have in the world, and I wanted to tell you all my trouble, but couldn't before to-night."

No sooner had Tim left the house with Jared--heartsore himself, and glad of such companionship--to walk part of the way home with him, than Mrs Jared rushed up-stairs to kiss and cry over every one of her numerous progeny, as she satisfied herself that they were all safe. And sadly were the poor children disturbed by the process, for the light was cast upon their eyes, and Patty was consulted as to whether this one did not look pale, and that one flushed, which last was undoubtedly the case, for it had to be fished from beneath the bed-clothes, its unintelligibly mumbled words being taken for threatenings of delirium and fever.

Mrs Jared descended at last, and Jared vowed that she got up six times that night to go into the various bedrooms--and she herself owned to three--while Jared lay telling himself he ought to make a confidant of his wife, and tell her all; but he shrank from the task, as he said, "Poor thing! no; she has enough to bear as it is."