The End Of The Rainbow Part 16

"Good day, Mrs. Adam," from a sharp-faced neat woman, sitting at the doorway of the barricaded house, knitting rapidly.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" said Madame ingratiatingly.

"Lovely," responded the woman. "It's a great thing we had so much rain, we need a lot down here, we're that dry."

Madame chose to take the sarcasm as a joke, and laughed blithely.

But the woman did not smile. "She's had to work too hard, poor soul,"

whispered the visitor when they had pa.s.sed. "She's clean and thrifty but she has to wash to support a crippled boy and a consumptive girl.

No wonder she's sour."

They pa.s.sed two or three more sorry-looking houses and finally paused before the gate of the home of Madame's little pupil. The bare gra.s.sless yard was filled with old boxes and rubbish. A big lumbering lad of about fourteen sprawled over the doorstep playing with a string.

He looked up with vacant eyes, and clutched at the visitors' skirts, muttering and jabbering in idiot glee.

Madame put her hand tenderly on his small, ill-shaped head.

"Poor Eddie," she whispered, "poor boy."

She fumbled in her big black satchel and brought out a gay candy stick.

He grabbed it with strange cries of joy. The sounds brought a ragged little ghost of a woman to the door, carrying a tiny bundle on her arm.

"Well, well, is that you, Madame?" she cried, smiling a broad toothless smile. "I thought it was you, an' Minnie she says, I believe that's my teacher, Ma."

Madame climbed the steep steps, Helen following. The room was dirty and untidy. A rusty stove and table, three chairs and an ill-smelling cupboard in the corner, with some gaudy gla.s.s dishes upon it, were the only furniture.

"And how are you, Mrs. Perkins? This is the new teacher, Miss Murray.

When Minnie pa.s.ses out of my room, she'll he under this lady's care.

And how is my little girl this afternoon?"

Madame pa.s.sed to the door of the tiny bedroom. The bed filled the whole s.p.a.ce with just room enough to stand left between it and the wall. A little girl was lying on it, her hollow cheeks pink, her eyes bright. The sun poured in at the bare window and the room was hot and breathless. The swarming flies covered her face and arms. She brushed them away fretfully, and stretched out her hot hands for the flowers.

"Oh, teacher," she cried, trying to strangle her cough, "I watched and I watched for you all day and I was scared you wasn't comin'."

Mrs. Doasyouwouldbedoneby sat down on the edge of the dirty bed and put her cool hand on the little girl's burning forehead.

Helen placed herself rather gingerly on a proffered chair, and looked at the wee bundle in the woman's arms.

"Why, it's a baby," she whispered in awe. The mother's faded face lit up with pride. She held the little sc.r.a.p of humanity towards the visitor. "'E's a grite little rascal, 'e is," she exclaimed fondly.

"As smart as a weasel, an' 'im only a fo'tnight old last Sunday."

Helen was positively afraid to touch the little bundle, but the look of utter exhaustion on the woman's face overcame her repugnance. She held out her arms and the mother dropped the baby into them and sank upon a chair with a sigh of relief.

"Only a little over two weeks," gasped Helen, looking at the wee wrinkled face peeping from the bundle.

The mother's face beamed with joy and pride. She thought that the visitor's astonishment was for the wonderful baby, all unconscious of herself.

"Yes'm, just but a fo'tnight, and a little over. Oh 'e's a grite little tyke, 'e is. Ain't 'e, now?"

"Has Doctor Blair been to see Minnie?" asked Madame softly.

"Yes'm. Old Angus 'e was 'ere on Monday, and 'e sent 'im. 'E says it's 'er lungs." She looked at her visitors with child-like simplicity. "Is it very bad for Minnie to 'ave anything wrong with 'er lungs do you think, Mrs. Adam?"

Madame's gentle face was eloquent with pity. "Doctor Blair is a good, kind doctor," she said evasively. "He'll do his best for her. You do everything for her that he asks."

"Yes'm. Old Angus 'e was trying to tell me wot to do, but I ain't much of a 'and at sickness. Minnie she gets up and gets wot she wants but I tell 'er she ought to lie abed."

The little girl had fallen into a doze, under the soothing touch of her teacher's hand. Madame took off the veil from her hat and spread it over the child's face as a protection from the flies. She came back into the kitchen. The idiot boy came in and rolled about the floor muttering and whining.

"And how's Mr. Perkins?" asked Madame. "Is he keeping well?" It was her gentle way of asking if he was keeping sober. The woman's tired face lit up.

"Yes, ma'am. 'E is that. 'E's been keepin' fine since three weeks come Sunday. That was the night Old Angus took 'im to the Harmy an'

got 'im saved. An' 'e's ben keepin' nicely saved ever since. We've been 'avin' b.u.t.ter," she added proudly. "Ever since 'e got 'imself converted. But we 'ad to 'ave the doctor for pore Minnie." Her thin little face quivered. "If Minnie'd only get better now, we'd be gettin' a good start, an' we'd all be 'appy."

"Mr. Perkins has work now, hasn't he?" said Madame comfortingly.

"Yes'm. It's not steady, but Old Angus 'e's goin' to get 'im another job. It's ben rather 'ard on my man," she added apologetically, "just a comin' out from the hold country. It's 'ard gettin' work at first.

An' I wan't much use with 'im a comin'," she added, touching the bundle reverently.

"So this is the only Canadian baby you have," said Madame.

"Yes'm." The mother forgot her troubles and smiled and fawned on the bundle in delight.

"He's Johny Canuck, isn't he?" asked Madame, with a feeble attempt at gaiety.

"Oh, no, ma'am," cried the mother hastily. "'E's William 'Enery, after 'is paw. We ain't got 'im christened yet. But jist as soon's I can get 'im a dress the pawson,--'e's a foine man,--'e says 'e'll come an'

do 'im, an' if my man jist keeps nicely saved, we'll be gettin' a dress. But it's been 'ard on my man. Eddie there 'e's not much 'elp, poor lad. But 'e goes out on the railroad track an' picks me up a bit o' coal. An' Old Angus 'e's been that good. Oh, we'd never a' got on without Old Angus. But if my Minnie 'adn't took sick--"

She wiped a tear on the baby's dirty dress. It was the quiet, dispa.s.sionate tear of a woman long accustomed to hardship. "I'll be all right when I get a bit stronger an' can work," she added hopefully.

The visitors rose to go. Madame held the woman's hand a long time, trying to explain, as though to a little child, how the sick girl must be treated. The case seemed so pitiful she was at a loss what to say.

"I'm afraid I can't get back for a few days, Mrs. Perkins," she said.

"I'll come and see Minnie to-morrow," said Helen Murray suddenly. The morrow was her precious Sat.u.r.day that brought a rest from the week's hard work, but the words seemed forced from her. The look of childish fear in the woman's face made some sort of promise necessary for her own peace of mind.

The woman looked up at her gratefully as she took the baby.

"It's awful good o' you, Miss," she cried, "and indeed I'll be thet grateful, if you'd just come and tell me the best thing to do for Minnie. I'm not much of a 'and in sickness." She looked at the two visitors wistfully. "It does a body good jist to 'ave a word with somebody that's sorry for you," she added.

Helen went away, her heart sore and sick with the woman's pain.

The idiot boy followed them to the gate, grinning and muttering. His mother called him from the doorway, and he shambled towards her.

Glancing back, Helen saw his long, ungainly body folded in her little thin arms, while she patted him tenderly on the back.

As they stepped out on the rickety side-walk, a tall girl of about sixteen came and stood staring at them from the doorway of the next house. She had a bold, handsome face and her hair and untidy dress were arranged in an extravagant imitation of the latest fashion.

"Good day, Gladys," said Madame kindly, but the girl answered with only a curt nod. When the visitors had pa.s.sed, she called shrilly to some one in the house behind her.

"Maw! Hurry out an' see the parade! Willow Lane's gettin' awful high-toned!" There was a loud cackle of laughter and Madame's shoulders shook with suppressed merriment. "That's Gladys Hurd," she said, shaking her head. "Poor Gladys, I'm afraid she's not a very good girl. She's not got a very good mother."

As they were turning off Willow Lane, the rattle of a buggy behind them made Madame turn.