Happy Pollyooly Part 13

But for the whole week before Pollyooly's trip to Devon Millicent had not been to the cla.s.s. Pollyooly enquired and Madame Correlli enquired the reason for her absence, but none of the other pupils could tell them. It was now ten days since Pollyooly had seen her, and she was feeling anxious indeed about her.

Then, after the cla.s.s was over, as she was leading the Lump down St.

Martin's Lane on their way to the embankment he projected an arm and broke his placid and perpetual silence with one of his rare, but pregnant grunts. Pollyooly looked where he pointed, saw Millicent on the island in the middle of the roadway, and called to her.

Millicent turned her head and looked at them with somewhat dazed eyes.

Her face did not as usual light up at the sight of the Lump. She crossed the road to them feebly.

"How are you? Why haven't you come to the cla.s.ses for so long?" said Pollyooly.

"Mother's dead," said Millicent dully; and her big eyes which had been so dull, shone suddenly bright with tears.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" said Pollyooly pitifully; and as she gazed anxiously at Millicent's seared and miserable face, her eyes grew moist with tears of sympathy.

Millicent stooped and kissed the Lump listlessly, almost mechanically.

"And what are you going to do?" said Pollyooly with grave anxiety.

She understood fully the seriousness of Millicent's plight.

"I'm going to the workhouse," said Millicent dully.

Pollyooly clutched her arm. It was impossible for her to turn pale for she was always of a clear, camelia-like pallor; but that pallor grew a little dead as she cried in a tone of horror:

"Oh, no! You can't go to the workhouse! You mustn't!"

Millicent looked at her with the lack-l.u.s.tre eyes of the vanquished, and said in the same dull, toneless voice:

"I've got to. There's nowhere else for me to go to."

The tears in Pollyooly's eyes brimmed over in her dismay and horror at this dreadful fate of her friend; and she, the dauntless, Spartan heroine of a hundred fights with the small boys of Alsatia, was fairly crying.

"You mustn't go! You mustn't!" she cried.

"I didn't want to. I was trying not to," said Millicent slowly.

"After mother's funeral yesterday Mrs. Baker, that's our landlady, said the relieving officer was coming round this morning to take me to the workhouse; and I ran away."

"Yes: that was the right thing to do," said Pollyooly in firm approval.

"Yes: I got up very early--just when it was light," said Millicent; and her voice grew a little firmer. "And I packed my clothes"--she gave the little bundle she was carrying a shake--"and then I sneaked down-stairs and out of the house. And oh, the trouble the front door gave me! You wouldn't believe! First it wouldn't open; and then when it did, it made noise enough to wake the whole house."

Pollyooly nodded with an air of ripe experience.

"I made sure they'd wake up and catch me and stop me. But they didn't; and I got out and ran hard out of the street. Then I walked about and then I sat on the embankment trying to think what to do and where to go. And two coppers wanted to know what I was doing all alone on my own."

"They would," said Pollyooly in a tone of deep hostility to the police force of London.

"Well, I said I was going to my aunt in Southwark. I had an aunt in Southwark once--only she's dead. But I couldn't think of anywhere to go--there didn't seem to be anywhere. So I thought I'd better go back to Mrs. Baker's and let them take me to the workhouse. At any rate she'll give me something to eat."

Pollyooly's tears had dried as she listened to her friend's tale; she wore an alert and able air which went but ill with her delicate beauty.

She said quickly:

"Haven't you had anything to eat either?"

Millicent shook her head and said somewhat faintly:

"Not since supper last night. And I didn't eat much then--I wasn't hungry--not after the funeral."

"You wouldn't be," said Pollyooly sympathetically.

"And I hadn't any money. The funeral took all the money," Millicent added.

"Then the first thing to do is to get a bun," said Pollyooly in a tone of relief at seeing her way to do something. "Then you can come and have dinner with us."

"Thank you," said Millicent.

Her lips worked, as a hungry child's will, at the thought of food; and a faint colour came into her white cheeks.

Pollyooly started across the road with the Lump, and Millicent took his other hand.

On the other side of the road Pollyooly said firmly:

"You can't go to the workhouse. You mustn't. But we'll wait till we get home before we talk about that. But there must be some way for you not to go to it. We didn't."

They led the Lump down to the Strand; and at the first confectioner's shop Pollyooly bought Millicent a bun. The hungry child ate the first two mouthfuls ravenously; then she paused to break off a piece and give it to the Lump.

"No, no!" said Pollyooly quickly. "You eat it all yourself. You want it. He'll have his dinner as soon as he gets home."

"Oh, let me give him just a little piece," said Millicent.

"No: you're to eat it all," said Pollyooly firmly.

Most children of three would have burst into a roar on hearing this cruel prohibition. The placidity of the Lump was proof even against so severe a blow. He merely went on his way with a saddened air.

Millicent ate the rest of the bun with eager thankfulness, brightening a little as the food heartened her.

They went down Villiers Street to the safe stretch of the embankment; and then Pollyooly, her brow knitted in a thoughtful frown, began to talk of Millicent's plight. The workhouse was so burning a subject that she could not wait to discuss it at home.

"You can't go to the workhouse; you can't really," she said. "If you could stay with us for a little while, you might find something to do.

But it's for Mr. Ruffin to say whether you can stay with us. We live in his chambers, you know. I'm his housekeeper."

"Oh, if I could!" said Millicent wistfully.

"He might let you. He's very kind," said Pollyooly hopefully. "And if he did, I wonder what kind of a job you could get. What kind of work can you do?"

"I can do housework," said Millicent eagerly. "I always did our room--all of it. And I cooked all our meals. Mother went out such a lot, you know."

"It's something," said Pollyooly soberly. "But I expect you've got a lot to learn. You see I learnt a lot at Muttle Deeping. Aunt Hannah had a whole house there--before she lost all her savings in a gold mine and came to London. And she had everything like the gentry have--pictures, and plate, and bra.s.s candle-sticks--only not so much of them; and I learnt to clean them all. But I expect you'd learn too quickly enough."

"I'm sure I'd try," said Millicent.