Alone in London Part 2

"Come," he said, in a tone of remonstrance, "this'll never do, you know.

Business is business, and must be minded. You pretty nearly frightened me into fits; anybody could have knocked me down with a straw when I see the shutters up. How is she?"

"She's very well, thank you, my boy," answered Oliver, meekly.

"Mother not turned up, I guess?" said Tony.

"No; she comes on Friday," he replied.

Tony winked, and put his tongue into his cheek; but he gave utterance to no remark until after the shutters were in their place. Then he surveyed himself as well as he could, with an air of satisfaction. His face and hands were clean, and his skin looked very white through the holes in his tattered clothes; even his feet, except for an unavoidable under surface of dust, were unsoiled. His jacket and trousers appeared somewhat more torn than the evening before; but they bore every mark of having been washed also.

"Washed myself early in the morning, afore the bobbies were much about,"

remarked Tony, "in the fountains at Charing Cross; but I hadn't time to get my rags done, so I did 'em down under the bridge, when the tide were going down; but I could only give 'em a bit of a swill and a ring out.

Anyhow, I'm a bit cleaner this morning than last night, master."

"To be sure, to be sure," answered Oliver. "Come in, my boy, and I'll give you a bit of breakfast with her and me."

"You haven't got sich a thing as a daily paper, have you?" asked Tony, in a patronizing tone.

"Not to-day's paper, I'm afraid," he said.

"I'm afraid not," continued Tony; "overslept yourself, eh? Not as I can read myself; but there are folks going by as can, and might p'raps buy one here as well as anywhere else. Shall I run and get 'em for you, now I'm on my legs?"

Oliver looked questioningly at the boy, who returned a frank, honest gaze, and said, "Honour bright!" as he held out his hand for the money.

There was some doubt in the old man's mind after Tony had disappeared as to whether he had not done a very foolish thing; but he soon forgot it when he returned to the breakfast-table; and long before he himself could have reached the place and returned, Tony was back again with his right number of papers.

Before many minutes Tony was sitting upon an old box at a little distance from the table, where Oliver sat with his grandchild. A basin of coffee and a large hunch of bread rested upon his knees, and Beppo was sniffing round him with a doubtful air. Dolly was shy in this strange company, and ate her breakfast with a sedate gravity which filled both her companions with astonishment and admiration. When the meal was finished, old Oliver took his daughter's letter from his waistcoat pocket and read it aloud to Tony, who listened with undivided interest.

"Then she's your own little 'un," he said, with a sigh of disappointment.

"You'll never give her up to me, if you get tired of her,--nor to the p'lice neither," he added, with a brightening face.

"No, no, no!" answered Oliver, emphatically. "Besides, her mother's coming on Friday. I wouldn't give her up for all the world, bless her!"

"And he's 'listed!" said Tony, in a tone of envy. "They wouldn't take me yet a while, if I offered to go. But who's that she speaks of?--'for Christ's sake, if I am worthy to use his name.' Who is he?"

"Don't you know?" asked Oliver.

"No, never heard tell of him before," he answered. "Is he any friend o'

yours?" [A]

[Footnote A: It may be necessary to a.s.sure some readers that this ignorance is not exaggerated. The City Mission Reports, and similar records, show that such cases are too frequent.]

"Ay!" said Oliver; "he's my only friend, my best friend. And he's my master, besides."

"And she thinks he'd be angry if you turned the little girl away?"

pursued Tony.

"Yes, yes; he'd be very angry," said old Oliver, thoughtfully; "it 'ud grieve him to his heart. Why, he's always loved little children, and never had them turned away from himself, whatever he was doing. If she hadn't been my own little girl, I daren't have turned her out of my doors. No, no, dear Lord, thee knows as I'd have taken care of her, for thy sake."

He spoke absently, in a low voice, as though talking to some person whom Tony could not see, and the boy was silent a minute or two, thinking busily.

"How long have you worked for that master o' yours?" he asked, at last.

"Not very long," replied Oliver, regretfully. "I used to fancy I was working for him years and years ago; but, dear me! it was poor sort o'work; and now I can't do very much. Only he knows how old I am, and he doesn't care so that I love him, which I do, Tony."

"I should think so!" said the boy, falling again into busy thought, from which he aroused himself by getting up from his box, and rubbing his fingers through his wet and tangled hair.

"He takes to children and little 'uns?" he said, in a questioning tone.

"Ay, dearly!" answered old Oliver.

"I reckon he'd scarcely take me for a man yet," said Tony, at the same time drawing himself up to his full height; "though I don't know as I should care to work for him. I'd rather have a crossing, and be my own master. But if I get hard up, do you think he'd take to me, if you spoke a word for me?"

"Are you sure you don't know anything about him?" asked Oliver.

"Not I; how should I?" answered Tony. "Why, you don't s'pose as I know all the great folks in London, though I've seen sights and sights of 'em riding about in their carriages. I told you I weren't much bigger nor her there when mother died, and I've picked up my living up and down the streets anyhow, and other lads have helped me on, till I can help 'em on now. It don't cost much to keep a boy on the streets. There's nothink to pay for coals, or rent, or beds, or furniture, or anythink; only your victuals, and a rag now and then. All I want's a broom and a crossing, and then shouldn't I get along just? But I don't know how to get 'em."

"Perhaps the Lord Jesus would give them to you, if you'd ask him," said Oliver, earnestly.

"Who's he?" inquired Tony, with an eager face.

"Him--Christ. It's his other name," answered the old man.

"Ah! I see," he said, nodding. "Well, if I can't get 'em myself, I'll think about it. He'll want me to work for him, you know. Where does he live?"

"I'll tell you all about him, if you'll come to see me," replied Oliver.

"Well," said the boy, "I'll just look in after Friday, and see if the little 'un's mother's come back. Goodbye,--good-bye, little miss."

He could take Dolly's hand into his own this morning, and he looked down curiously at it,--a small, rosy, dimpled hand, such as he had never seen before so closely. A lump rose in his throat, and his eyelids smarted with tears again. It was such a little thing, such a pretty little thing, he said to himself, covering it fondly with his other hand. There was no fear that Tony would forget to come back to old Oliver's house.

"Thank you for my breakfast," he said, with a choking voice; "only if I do come to see you, it'll be to see her again--not for anythink as I can get."

CHAPTER V.

FORSAKEN AGAIN.

The next three days were a season of unmixed happiness to old Oliver. The little child was so merry, yet withal so gentle and sweet-tempered, that she kept him in a state of unwearied delight, without any alloy of anxiety or trouble. She trotted at his side with short, running footsteps, when he went out early in the morning to fetch his daily stock of newspapers. She watched him set his room tidy, and made believe to help him by dusting the legs and seats of his two chairs. She stood with folded hands and serious face, looking on as he was busy with his cooking. When she was not thus engaged she played contentedly with Beppo, prattling to him in such a manner, that Oliver often forgot what he was about while listening to her. She played with him, too, frolicsome little games of hide-and-seek, in which he grew as eager as herself; and sometimes she stole his spectacles, or handkerchief, or anything she could lay her mischievous fingers upon to hide away in some unthought-of spot; while her shrewd, cunning little face put on an expression of profound gravity as old Oliver sought everywhere for them.

As Friday evening drew near, the old man's gladness took a shade of anxiety. His daughter was coming home to him, and his heart was full of unutterable joy and grat.i.tude; but he did not know exactly how they should go on in the future. He was averse to change; yet this little house, with its single room, to which he had moved when she forsook him, was too scanty in its accommodation. He had made up a rude sort of bed for himself under the counter in the shop, and was quite ready to give up his own to Susan and his little love, as he called Dolly; but would Susan let him have his own way in this, and many other things? He provided a sumptuous tea, and added a fresh salad to it from the greengrocer's next door; but though he and Dolly waited and watched till long after the child's bed-time, taking occasional s.n.a.t.c.hes of bread and b.u.t.ter, still Susan did not arrive. At length a postman entered the little shop with a noise which made Oliver's heart beat violently, and tossed a letter down upon the counter. He carried it to the door, where there was still light enough to read it, and saw that it was in Susan's handwriting.

"MY DEAR AND DEAREST FATHER,

"My heart is almost broke, betwixt one thing and another. His regiment is to set sail immediate, and the colonel's lady has offered me very handsome wages to go out with her as lady's maid, her own having disappointed her at the last moment; which I could do very well, knowing the dressmaking. He said, 'Do come, Susan, and I'll never get drunk again, so help me G.o.d; and if you don't, I shall go to the bad altogether; for I do love you, Susan.' I said, 'Oh my child!' And the colonel's lady said, 'She's safe with her grandfather; and if he's a good man, as you say he is, he'll take the best of care of her. I'll give you three pounds to send him from here, and we'll send more from Calcutta.' So they overpersuaded me, and there isn't even time to come back to London, for we are going in a few hours. You'll take care of my little dear, I know, you and aunt Charlotte. I've sent a little box of clothes for her by the railway, and what more she wants aunt Charlotte will see to, I'm sure, and do her mending, and see to her manners till I come home. Oh! if I could only hear you say 'Susan, my dear, I forgive you, and love you almost as much as ever,' I'd go with a lighter heart, and be almost glad to leave Dolly to be a comfort to you. She will be a comfort to you, though she is so little, I'm sure. Tell her mammy says she must be a good girl always till mammy comes back. A hundred thousand kisses for my dear father and my little girl. We shall come home as soon as ever we can; but I don't rightly know where India is. I think it's my bounden duty to go with him, as things have turned out. Pray G.o.d take care of us all.

"Your loving, sorrowful daughter,