The Girls of St. Olave's Part 20

He gathered up his dinner basket and the can of beer, and stalked away, and a silence fell upon the little group of workmen as they watched him.

CHAPTER XIX.

A SUCCESSFUL RAID.

Jim Adams stuck to his threat. He ceased to be an abstainer, and life changed at once for himself and for all those with whom he came in contact.

He was morose with his mates, and withdrew from their company as much as possible. He shared the supper beer with Jane, but he constantly spoke sharply to her and especially resented the least inattention to Harry's wants, so that it seemed as if the two had changed places, and now it was Jim who found fault and Jane who, aided by that secret object in her mind, took it quietly and made the best of things.

To Harry, Jim was never cross, but the child felt a difference, and missed the companionship Jim had given him, for now Jim either called in at the public-house on his way home from work, or, returning early, went out immediately after supper, and he ceased to take an interest in the Mission Service or in Harry's singing.

Jim was bitterly disappointed with himself. He had been trying to be good like his little sister Nellie, to be good enough to meet her in Heaven, and now he had been tricked into doing what he had no intention of doing, and the old liking had come back with the old taste. He had emptied the rest of that can of beer with real relish, for in his anger he had carried it away to finish it with his dinner, and in that finishing of it, he had gone under to the old temptation.

He had fought and failed. If, in his anger at the base trickery of his mates, he had dashed the can of beer on the ground, he would not have despised himself, he could have forgiven himself; but he knew perfectly well that, even as the unexpected liquid poured down his throat, and he realised what it was, he had made up his mind to finish it, come what might.

He said to himself moodily that men and the devil had combined against him, and what was the use of fighting any more?

He only hoped that Tom would not guess. He knew Tom would be disappointed in him, and he avoided seeing him if he was able.

Besides, he knew all Tom could say to him, but he did not mean to try to be a teetotaller again.

And Tom did guess. But he said nothing, for with his wise, kind eyes he saw that the time had not come, only, as he went to and from his work, many an earnest prayer went up from Tom's heart that Jim might try again, not this time in his own strength, but in the strength of that One who had died to redeem him from all iniquity; that he might one day say, "I will go forth in the strength of the Lord G.o.d."

So Tom came and went to Jim's home as regularly as ever on a Sat.u.r.day, and took Harry out with him. Though he seldom found Jim in, and the very sight of Jane and the sound of her voice, brought back the shiver to his heart that had come to it when he knew she had seen and spoken to Pattie, yet he persevered in coming for the child. If things were not going too well with Jim, little Harry needed the more love and guardianship, for was not this a little life that must one day grow to good or to evil?

He was thankful that Jane never mentioned Pattie, but he little guessed that her thoughts were ever hovering round the idea of vengeance for his wrongs, like a moth about a candle.

One Monday evening, Jane returned from her work in Old Keston, full of wrath and dismay.

She had received a week's notice from her lady, and no reason, adequate in Jane's mind, had been given for the change. This made her furious, for though washing jobs were plentiful, one that suited her as well as this was rare, and she would also lose her vantage ground of keeping an eye on Pattie and finding a chance of paying her out.

Only one Monday remained to her, but rack her brains as she would, no way of working her will occurred to her. Yet if she once lost sight of Pattie, small chance of doing anything would remain.

The last Monday came, and all day Jane kept a sharp look-out on Pattie's premises; but Pattie had eyes as well as Jane Adams, and she took very good care that Mondays never took her down the garden within reach of Jane's tongue. Yet the very proximity of Tom's sister on Mondays brought him before Pattie's mind and made her remember that phrase which had seemed like music to her, "going thin and a-fretting for a worthless thing like you."

Yes! she was but a worthless thing--only Tom had not thought so. He had loved her. Sam Willard liked her, but if she had not gone out with him on Sunday evening after church, he would have asked somebody else to go, and laughed and talked nonsense and enjoyed himself just the same, scarcely heeding the difference of his companion. Sam was never free on Sat.u.r.day evening as Tom used to be. She wondered what Tom did with his Sat.u.r.days now. She would like, unseen herself, to see Tom for just a moment. She wondered if he ever thought of her now. It was almost worth risking meeting Jane to know that!

Watch as she would, however, Jane saw nothing of Pattie till about four o'clock that Monday afternoon, and then she saw her bustle out into the garden, and begin vigorously brushing and dusting a child's wheel chair. It was but a few minutes' work and Pattie took the chair inside again, but a few moments later she reappeared at her bed-room window, and throwing the sash up she brought a hat and a brush to the sill and brushed the hat vigorously. Clearly Pattie and the child were going out for a walk! At any rate, if she could but meet them on her way to the station, Jane thought she could annoy Pattie pretty considerably.

She had meant to have a few words with her lady about her dismissal, but her lady had taken the opportunity to go out calling and left the maid to pay Mrs. Adams, and Jane scarcely regretted it, so anxious was she to be off before Pattie's walk should be over.

However, though she looked up and down every road she pa.s.sed on her way to the station, she saw no sign of Pattie, and the station bell warning her of her train, she hurried on She did not want to lose it and wait an hour.

She found the booking office in an uproar. In the centre of the crowd of people gathered for this train, the greatest favourite in the day for Mixham Junction, a terrible dog-fight was going on between a big Irish terrier and a small black terrier, and the small dog was getting the worst of it.

In vain the lady who owned the small dog, begged and besought the onlookers to rescue her pet; n.o.body seemed to own the Irish terrier, and the majority of the pa.s.sengers, being working men, carried neither sticks nor umbrellas, and n.o.body appeared to be inclined to interfere otherwise with so formidable-looking an antagonist. Into the midst of this hubbub came Jane, and the first thing her eyes fell upon was a frightened child, in a little wheel chair in a corner under the window, who was sobbing loudly with absolute terror.

Pattie's little charge!

Jane recognised the child and the chair in an instant, and looked round for Pattie. As she did so the Mixham Junction train thundered in, adding tenfold to the noise and confusion, the dog-fight lost its interest in a moment for the onlookers, and they streamed out on to the platform, mingling and struggling with the pa.s.sengers who were alighting.

One glance showed Jane that Pattie was not in sight. Her opportunity of vengeance had come to her. She recognised it, triumphed in it, all in the flash of a moment, and bending over little terrified, crying Maud, she unfastened her strap with a touch, lifted her out, and saying aloud,

"Never mind, dear, it's all over now," she stepped swiftly across the platform and entered a third cla.s.s carriage.

"Right!" shouted a porter, banging the door behind her. There was a moment's pause--a moment for reflection--a moment to go back, but Jane did not take it. She had paid Pattie out at last.

The carriage was full of people, and they looked at the sobbing child, some with curiosity, some with annoyance, but Jane was equal to the occasion.

She settled the child on her lap, wiped her wet eyes and set her hat straight, and then she faced a kind-looking lady who sat opposite.

"There's been two dogs fighting in there and it's frightened her," she said. "Never mind, my dear, it's all over now."

"I don't want to go in the train, I want to go home," cried Maud, struggling to get off this strange woman's knee, "I want to go home. I want my mother," she sobbed.

"Hush, hush, my dear!" said Jane authoritatively, giving her an admonitory little shake. Then she looked apologetically at the kind lady again.

"She don't like leaving her mother--but there's a new baby sister at her home," she said glibly, "so she's coming home with me for a bit.

But she's been spoilt and she don't like the idea of a new baby at all, and she ain't used to her auntie yet, and then there was the dogs on top of it all! Hush, my dear, hush, you're disturbing the ladies and gentlemen."

She was relieved when the whole carriage load turned out at the next station: she and Maud were left alone, and she had time to collect her thoughts.

Her triumph was complete! She had paid Pattie out thoroughly and she was satisfied. The opportunity for her vengeance had come to her and she had seized it without fear and without regret. How clever it was of her to have thought of that fiction about her sister and the new baby! It would do for Jim too, admirably, and he would never find out.

She doubted if he even knew where in the outskirts of Old Keston her sister lived. He might even not know her married name! He would accept the story as she gave it, especially now that he was beginning to drink again. Well! he could drink as much as he liked, so long as he brought her her money and Harry's money regularly!

In a day or two she would take the child back to Old Keston, ostensibly to see its mother and the new baby, but in reality she would take it in the dark to its own gate, and leave it to make its own presence known.

In the meantime Pattie would be dismissed without a character, with a mult.i.tude of blame upon her head, if indeed she escaped so easily.

They might think Pattie had stolen the child, and clap her into prison till she was found!

That would be vengeance indeed!

CHAPTER XX.

REAPING THE WHIRLWIND.

"It is worse than death," sobbed Mrs. Brougham, and they all felt that it was so.

They were gathered at home at last, in the small hours of the night, for there was nothing more that they could do till morning came to wake the world again--that wide desolate world of houses and roads, of byways and slums; that world in which, _somewhere_, was their little Maud.

Pale, wide-eyed and silent, they all tried to eat the supper which Pattie, pale and wide-eyed too, set before them, for they thought of the day that would soon dawn, when they would need their strength to begin the search again, and though it seemed horrible to be seeking rest in their comfortable beds while their little sister's fate was unsolved, yet for that same reason, slowly and lingeringly they all said good-night and crept upstairs.