Little Folks (December 1884) Part 1

Little Folks (December 1884).

by Various.

A LITTLE TOO CLEVER.

_By the Author of "Pen's Perplexities," "Margaret's Enemy," "Maid Marjory," &c._

CHAPTER XX.--MRS. MACDOUGALL FINDS DUNCAN.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

A whole week elapsed, in which Mrs. MacDougall received no tidings of the children. Every day she trudged to the market-town and back, not able to bear the suspense without doing something. Every day she received the same answer, and turned away with a weary sigh. The men who answered her questions noticed her change from day to day, and shrank from giving her the same hopeless replies time after time. They were puzzled and astonished, but still confident that the children would ultimately be found. In their own minds they believed the children had fallen in with some wandering gipsies or other vagrants, and were being closely guarded. They knew well enough that there were plenty of ways of stealing children, and keeping them out of sight in barges, colliers, or gipsies' vans, and that the time that had elapsed made the probability of finding the children much less; but this they kept to themselves.

Mrs. MacDougall, however, was not so easily blinded. She knew the dangers that were waiting to engulf them. She called to mind having read, some years ago in the newspapers, of a little fair, delicate boy, who was stolen away and never found. She remembered distinctly enough the agonised appeal of his parents that every man and woman would join in the search for the child by keeping their eyes open wherever they went.

She had been deeply interested, and wondered how such a thing could happen. She remembered that, in spite of all, little Charlie (that was the child's name), had never been discovered, and that his fate had remained shrouded in mystery, the supposition being that the child had been stolen by cruel, wicked people, and perhaps died of fright.

Could such a fate have overtaken her children? A hundred times a day she cried to G.o.d that He would save them from a life of sin and degradation, even if by death, and there is no doubt that the mother's prayers had the reward of keeping them out of the dangers she feared for them.

The Sabbath came round. Mrs. MacDougall put on her best clothes, dressed her mother and Robbie, and went off to the kirk as usual.

"The Lord will not ill-requite me for keeping His day holy," she said solemnly, when her mother suggested that news might come in her absence.

"The Lord knows I am in His kirk, and He will no seek me in the cottage."

Her simple faith was destined to receive its verification. Early the next morning a messenger arrived, bringing news. He spread out an official doc.u.ment on the table, and began with much unnecessary and tiresome questioning.

"If ye're wanting to send me crazy, you may just take your own time, but if not, will ye tell me right out are they found?" she asked sharply.

"Well, yes, they are," the man replied.

"Then tell me how, and where."

"The boy is in Edinburgh, ill of the fever, but well cared for in a children's hospital. The girl is in London, in a place she won't be running away from in a hurry."

"You mean a prison, surely?" Mrs. MacDougall gasped. "Say the right word, man, and don't put your own gloss on things. It doesn't make them any the better."

"It isn't a prison exactly," the man replied, "except that she can't get free from it without the permission of them that put her there. She got in with some people who are now in custody, and as she will be an important witness, she will be, perhaps, detained there until the case comes before the magistrates; but she is safe and sound, according to our information."

"And can I no rescue her from that place?" Mrs. MacDougall asked.

"That depends upon many things," the officer answered cautiously. "I could not undertake to say."

In a very short time Mrs. MacDougall was ready for her journey. "Ye will nae gang outside the gate whiles I'm gone," she said to Robbie, "an'

bless your heart for a good child, I know you will not disobey me." Then to her mother she added, "I will just ask our good neighbour Jarrett to look in an' see ye all right, an' that your wants are supplied." Then she bade them adieu, and departed.

They walked as far as Dunster, calling at the farm on their way, then hired a vehicle to convey them to Killochrie, the nearest place to which the trains ran--not by the circuitous route that Elsie and Duncan had found their way there, but by a direct road.

That night Mrs. MacDougall was in Edinburgh, and was mightily amazed and confused with the grandeur and bustle of the place, which she had never seen before. How her children could have found their way here, and still more, how they could ever have been discovered and identified in such a teeming, bustling, bewildering city, she could not imagine. She had yet to see London, to which Edinburgh could not compare for teeming mult.i.tudes, labyrinths of streets, and all the gigantic bustle and confusion of a vast city.

"Ah! but it's a right wicked place," she exclaimed in horror, as she pa.s.sed by some of the foul-smelling closes, or courts, as we call them, where dishevelled hag-like old women sat on door-steps, and filthy, squalid children played in the gutter, where ill-favoured young people of both s.e.xes hung idly about the entrances, chaffing or quarrelling with each other. "Ye police people must be a poor set out, an' ye can no do away with such dens as these!" Mrs. MacDougall cried in righteous indignation. "And the country folk are all for sending their girls into the towns to get high wages and such gear. I would not have one of mine come to such a Babylon as this!"

But Mrs. MacDougall had not time for more observations, for they were soon at the hospital where sick children were received. They were at once admitted. A kind-looking woman came forward, and asked if it was necessary to see the child.

"Are ye no aware, ma'am, that he is my ain bairn?" Mrs. MacDougall began; but her companion interrupted her.

"Our business is to identify the little laddie," he said, with a tone of authority.

"Then I warn you to be careful," the woman replied. "He is just in a critical condition, and must not be spoken to."

"Ye mean well to say his life is in danger?" Mrs. MacDougall asked quickly.

"I cannot deny it," the matron replied; "but you must not despair.

Children make wonderful recoveries," she added, kindly.

She led them to the door of the ward, where a nurse came forward to conduct them to the proper bed.

"It is my ain little bairnie," Mrs. MacDougall whispered; "but sairly altered, sairly changed."

"He couldn't have been worse than he's been," the nurse said, drawing them a little way from the bed. "The delirium was just dreadful to see!

But that's past, and we only want him to rally. He's about exhausted now, and must be kept quiet. I would not like him to open his eyes and find you by his side. By my will you would not have been admitted."

"Then I'll go directly," Mrs. MacDougall said, quickly. "I will no beg you to be kind to my bairn, for I can trust your face; but I will pray for you to be rewarded for every act o' kindness done to a poor lost little one. When can I come again?"

"To-morrow's the right day. You can come then," the nurse replied.

"I'll be near at hand, an' they'll let me know if a bad change comes,"

Mrs. MacDougall said hurriedly. "I'll get the nearest lodging to be had."

When the clothes of the child had been duly identified, the officer and Mrs. MacDougall departed. "I shall no leave this place to-night," Mrs.

MacDougall said, firmly. "The la.s.s is safe and sound, and Duncan may be dying. I must be near by."

So a decent lodging was found, in which Mrs. MacDougall took up her quarters, having first taken her address to the matron, who promised her that she should be sent for if immediate danger developed itself. The officer was somewhat puzzled by Mrs. MacDougall's determination; but as his instructions were to proceed with the identification of both children, he determined to go on to London at once, armed with the most minute description Mrs. MacDougall could give him of the missing child.

It is needless to say that the description tallied perfectly. As, however, the examination of John and Lucy Murdoch, known to us by the name of Donaldson, was expected to take place in a day or two, the officer remained in London, waiting to obtain Elsie's full discharge, which could not be hoped for until after this important event.

Mrs. MacDougall was acquainted with her perfect safety, and as Duncan remained on the brink of the grave, she did not, for the present, attempt to leave Edinburgh.

CHAPTER XXI.--BEFORE THE MAGISTRATE.

On a certain morning, not long after her first appearance before the magistrate, Elsie was once more brought into court. She had hailed the appearance of her old acquaintance with something approaching delight, for any change was a welcome one from the hard, dreary, monotonous life she had been leading in the wards of the workhouse.

"Do you know anything about Duncan?" she asked, eagerly. "Did they really take him to the hospital? she didn't turn him into the streets, did she? Oh! I have been so frightened about it. They said they didn't know anything about it in there. You know, don't you?"

"Yes, I know," the man said, gravely.

Elsie looked up in his face questioningly. It was very grave. "Is he--is he--dead?" she gasped.