Little Miss Joy Part 19

Colley stumbled out of the carriage with Toby in his arms when the station was reached, and so they parted.

In a few minutes more Jack found himself in Yarmouth, and was making his way towards the row. His only thought was of his mother and little Miss Joy. He looked up the familiar row, and then darted through it till he came to the little milliner's shop. The widow's caps still showed in the window, and there was a straw bonnet trimmed, and some artificial flowers, lying on a very dusty bit of black velvet. The window that used to be so bright looked dim, and the bra.s.s ledge before it dull and stained. Altogether there was a dejected appearance about the place. The door was open, and Jack entered cautiously.

His aunt was sitting behind the counter waiting for customers, who were slow to come; for the business had very much declined since Mr. Skinner had taken the command and Mrs. Harrison had left the house.

Mrs. Skinner looked very different from the Miss Pinckney of scarcely a year ago. She had a dirty, faded look, and her face was pinched and miserable. When she saw a sailor boy standing by the counter, she rose and said--

"What for you? Have you brought a message from any one?"

"No, Aunt Pinckney. Don't you know me? Where's my mother?"

Mrs. Skinner was for a moment speechless. Then she raised her shrill voice--

"Joe! Joe! come here; the young thief is come back."

Mr. Skinner, who was apparently smoking in the back parlour and taking life easily, now appeared.

"What are you making such a row about? screeching like a poll-parrot!"

Days of courtship and days of matrimony are apt to differ, in cases like that of Mr. and Mrs. Skinner!

Then, having delivered himself of this polite question, Mr. Skinner caught sight of Jack.

"You! oh! it's you, is it? Well, the police have been looking for you, and I'll just give you in charge."

Jack, utterly bewildered, was for the moment speechless. Then he said--

"Hands off! What do you mean? Where's my mother?"

"She is not here; so you needn't think any of her crying and fuss will avail. I'll give you in charge unless you confess."

"Confess what?" said Jack, wriggling away from Mr. Skinner's grip.

"Hands off, I say! I am not going to run away. What am I to confess?"

"Take him into the back parlour, Joe. You'll have the neighbours coming in: take him out of the shop."

"Hold your tongue!" was the rejoinder. "I shall do as I choose."

"Let me go and call Mr. Boyd," Jack said. "He will tell me where my mother is. Let him be a witness of what you say, and what charge you have against me."

Jack now looked across the row for the first time, and saw a young man standing at the door of the little stuffy shop, which, unlike its opposite neighbour, had grown smarter, and had a lot of ships' lanterns hanging over the door, and showy aneroids and compa.s.ses in the window.

"Where's Mr. Boyd? Where's little Joy's Uncle Bobo?"

"Gone! He has sold the business; he is gone right away."

"Gone! And where's Joy--little Miss Joy? I tell you I will know. And where is my mother?"

"Look here, youngster! This matter must be cleared up. You'll not be let off so easy; but if you confess, well--we shan't be hard on you."

"Confess _what_?" Jack shouted now. He was getting very angry, and repeated, "Confess _what_?"

"Oh, that's all very fine! Perhaps you've forgotten you ran away and broke your poor mother's heart, and took my little cash-box with you with four pounds odd money in it," said his aunt.

"It's convenient to forget. You'd better not try to fool _me_," said Mr. Skinner. "Your aunt's key of that drawer was in her little key-basket. You slily took it out, and when the house was quiet, opened the drawer and put the box in your pocket I see!"

Jack's face grew crimson. He felt very much inclined to fly at Mr.

Skinner's throat, and pummel him well with his strong young fist. But the vision of his mother and little Miss Joy rose before him, and with a desperate effort he controlled himself.

"Prove what you say, and don't call me a thief till you have proved me one."

"Well, it's my duty--my painful duty," said Mr. Skinner, "to lock you up till I have fetched a policeman, and communicated with your mother."

"You needn't _lock_ me up," said Jack proudly. "If I say I'll stay here, I'll stay. Indeed, I will stay till you have made it all clear.

Your little cash-box! Aunt Pinckney----"

"No, no, not Aunt Pinckney; I am Mrs. Skinner now."

The tone was so sad that Jack's boyish heart was touched.

"Do you think I could steal a penny of yours, aunt, when you had kept me and mother all those years? Will you send for her? and I will stay till she comes."

But Mr. Skinner pushed Jack into the kitchen behind the parlour.

He had just turned the key in the lock, when a voice was heard in the shop--Bet's voice.

"I have brought you some fresh eggs, and half a pound of b.u.t.ter, Aunt Skinner," she said. "Aunt Maggie sent them with her love. What is amiss, Aunt?"

"Child," Mrs. Skinner said, "Jack is come home. Your uncle has locked him up in the kitchen. Hush! here he is."

"Well, what are you prying about here for?" Mr. Skinner said. "Oh, eggs! My dear, poach me a couple for supper; I'm fond of poached eggs."

But Bet stood on one foot speechless by the counter, where she had put the basket.

"What do you say Jack stole?"

"My little cash-box, the night he ran away; but I don't want to be hard on the boy--my only sister's child. I'll forgive him if he'll confess."

Bet stood pondering for another moment, and then she said--

"I've got another errand to do. I'll come back for the basket."

And Bet was off, as if on the wings of the wind--off to the Denes and the little lonely red-brick house, which was shut up and had a board on a pole in the front garden, with "To Let. Inquire for the key at Mr.

Skinner's, Market Row," painted in white letters on it.

Bet looked right and left; there was no one in sight, and she went round to the back, and found, to her great joy, an old trowel with half the handle broken, which she seized eagerly. She went down on her hands and knees, and dug and burrowed with her fingers in the soft, sandy soil. Her heart beat wildly with hope and fear; her hat fell back, and her tawny hair fell over her shoulders. The light of the April evening was waning; she had not a moment to lose.

"It was here--it was here--it must have been just here," she cried.