Little Miss Joy Part 8

"That's just what _I_ think," Bertha said; "and she _is_ like you, for you are good, and I am sure you are never cross."

"Oh!" little Miss Joy said, "that's a mistake. I am naughty when I hate Miss Pinckney, and when I am impudent to Susan. She _says_ I am impudent, and Miss Pinckney has called me a 'saucy little baggage' very often. That's why I don't go into Miss Pinckney's shop to see dear Goody Patience and Jack.

"Ah!" Joy added with a sigh, "there is no Jack to see now; he is gone, and I do miss him so. He used to be so good to me;" and her eyes grew dim, and the corners of her rosy lips turned down ominously. "But I must go to Uncle Bobo now; he must be tired of waiting, and he'll get fidgety."

"Very well," Bet said; "I don't want you to get a scolding."

"A scolding!" Joy said, recovering herself from the momentary depression which the thought of Jack's loss had caused. "Uncle Bobo never scolded me in his life."

Then Joy stepped cautiously down the narrow stairs, and turning said--

"Good-bye, Bet; good-bye."

"Good-bye," poor Bet said, as, standing at the back-door, she watched her friend skipping off across the road to the seat where Uncle Bobo sat, with his round back--very round--and his short legs tucked up, one wide-toed boot upon the other, to give support.

"I wish she'd kissed _me_," poor Bet thought, as she saw Joy throw her arms round the old man's neck, and kiss all that was visible of his rosy cheek beneath his large wide-awake. "I'd like her to kiss me like that;" and poor Bet followed the two figures with lingering, longing eyes till they were out of sight.

Other eyes were following them also. Mrs. Skinner was standing by the window of her parlour, peering over the short white muslin blind at Uncle Bobo and Joy. What was she thinking about? For her thin lips were parted as if she were speaking to some one, and her long fingers worked convulsively with the strings of her black alpaca ap.r.o.n.

Presently the door opened softly, and Bet came creeping in. She never knew what reception she might get, and she had the miserable cowed manner of a beaten dog.

"Grandmother!"

Mrs. Skinner started, and said sharply--

"Well, what do you want?"

"Isn't she pretty? Isn't she a darling?"

"Stuff and nonsense! I don't care about beauty; it's only skin deep; and I dare say she's a pert little hussy. Don't go and bring her here again, I don't want her."

CHAPTER VII.

_DARK DOINGS._

When Mr. Skinner had escorted Miss Pinckney home after their walk, he seated himself at supper with the air of one who was thoroughly at home and at his ease.

"He knows on which side his bread is b.u.t.tered," Uncle Bobo's Susan said, as she had watched Miss Pinckney walking up the row with her tall, ungainly suitor.

For Uncle Bobo was right. Mr. Skinner had every intention of coming to the point; though, I need not say, it was not his custom to go straight to the point.

Mr. Skinner always preferred a circuitous route.

When they were seated at supper Mr. Skinner said--

"You have had no tidings of your runaway, I presume, Mrs. Harrison?"

This question was asked as Mr. Skinner looked at Jack's mother with that oblique glance Jack had boldly called a "squint."

Patience shook her head. She could not bring herself to talk of her boy to Mr. Skinner.

"Ah," he said, "what a home he has left, and what a friend! When I think of Miss Pinckney's generosity and n.o.bility of temper, I grieve that they were expended on so unworthy an object."

The colour rose to Mrs. Harrison's cheeks.

"You will be so kind, Mr. Skinner," she said, "not to talk about my boy. It is not a matter I care to speak of to any one."

"True, true!" was the reply. "'Least said, soonest mended.' But I suppose I may be permitted to offer my humble tribute of admiration to my dear, kind friend, who always gives me a welcome to her hospitable board."

Here Mr. Skinner stretched out his long, thin fingers, and laid them gently on Miss Pinckney's, who was in the act of handing him another triangular cut from the pork pie, which had been the _piece de resistance_ of the supper-table.

"Oh! dear me, Mr. Skinner," Miss Pinckney exclaimed, "I don't look for grat.i.tude--never! So I am not disappointed. Grat.i.tude isn't a plant that grows in these parts. It doesn't flourish. The air doesn't suit it, I suppose."

This was said with a glance at poor Patience, who was well accustomed to such side-hits.

"It is a plant that has a deep root in my heart," said Mr. Skinner, "and I hope the flower is not unpleasing, and that the fruit will be satisfying."

This was a great flight of poetical rhetoric, and Miss Pinckney bridled and simpered like a girl of sixteen.

"You are kindly welcome surely to anything I have to give, Mr. Skinner, now and at _all_ times. Those that don't care for what I provide, well, they may seek their fortune elsewhere, and the sooner the better."

Patience Harrison had long been disciplined to self-control, or she could never have borne the "quips" and "quirks" of her sister.

Thus she kept silence, determined not to wrangle with Miss Pinckney in the presence of witnesses; above all, not in the presence of the man whom she distrusted.

So she quietly cleared away the supper when the meal was concluded, and retired to the back premises to wash up the dishes, and put everything in order for the night.

It was about ten o'clock when Mr. Skinner--having sipped his gla.s.s of hot gin and water bid his hostess an affectionate adieu, and turned his steps homewards.

When he reached his own gate he exchanged a quiet greeting with two men, who were evidently waiting for him.

Then all three went softly round to the back of the house, and entered it by the door through which Bet and little Miss Joy had gone in that afternoon.

Mr. Skinner opened the door with a latch-key, and all three men pa.s.sed silently into the little room with the big table, covered with the green cloth--the table which little Joy had said looked too big for the room.

"Well," one of the men said, "'Fortune favours the brave.' I am in for luck to-night. What have you got to drink? I dare say there's a bottle of rum in the cupboard, eh?"

"Well," Mr. Skinner said, "I don't drink anything myself. So, no doubt, what you left is to be had."

"Ah, ha! ah, ha!" laughed the other man. "You don't drink at your own expense; is that it? The old lady in the row finds you in toddy."

"Shut up!" said the elder of the two men; "don't talk all night, but let us to business."

Then two packs of cards were produced with the black bottle, and very soon the game began.

Ah me! that ruinous game, which so many, I fear, play, and thereby lose all sense of honour and right. Who shall say how long is the list of broken hearts for which gambling is responsible?