Mattie:-A Stray Volume I Part 5

"To let you know I tried--that's all. I thought that all you might think that I'd stuck to it, you see. But I did try my hardest to get it back--because the young gent let me off when the bobbies would have walked me to quod. Lor bless you, sir, I'm not a reg'lar!"

"A what?"

"A reg'lar thief, sir. They've been trying hard to make me--Mother Watts and old Simes, and the rest--but it don't do. I was locked up once afore mother died, and mother was sorry--awful sorry, for _her_--you should have just heard her go on, when I come out agin. Oh! no, I'm not a reg'lar--I sings about the street for ha'pence, and goes to fairs, and begs--and so on, but I don't take things werry often. I'm a stray, sir!"

"Ah!--G.o.d help you!" murmured the old gentleman.

"I never had no father--and mother's dead now. I'm 'bliged to s.h.i.+ft for myself. And oh! I just was hard up when I tooked the brooch."

"And what became of it?"

"Old Simes stuck to it, sir. I went to him on the werry night after I had seen Master Hinchford, and he said he'd sold it for tenpence, but he'd try and get it back for me, which he never did, sir--never."

"No--I suppose not," was the dry response.

"And the next day I caught the fever, and got in the workus, somehow; and when I came back to Kent Street, last week that was, old Simes had seen nothin' more of the brooch, and Mother Watts had forgot all about it--so she said!" was the disparaging comment.

"And you came hither to tell us all this?"

"Yes--I thought you'd like to know I _did_ try, and that they were too deep for me. My eye! they just are deep, those two!"

"Why didn't you stay in the workhouse?"

"Can't bide the workus, sir--they drop upon you too much. It's the wust place going, sir, and no one takes to it."

"You're an odd girl."

Mr. Hinchford leaned his back against the door-post, and surveyed the ragged and forlorn girl on the lower stair. He was perplexed with this child, and her wistful eyes--keen and glittering as steel--made him feel uncomfortable. Here was a mystery--a something unaccountable, and he could not probe to its depths, or tell which was false and which was genuine in the character of this motherless girl before him. He had prided himself all his life in being a judge of character--a man of observation, who saw the flaw in the diamond--the real face behind the paint, varnish, and pasteboard. He had judged his own brother in times past--he had mixed much with the world, and gleaned much from hard experience thereof, and yet a child like this disturbed him. He fancied that he could read a struggle for something better and more pure in Mattie's life, and that Fate was against her and drawing her back to the shadows from which she, as if by a n.o.ble instinct, was endeavouring to emerge.

He felt curious concerning her.

"What do you intend to do now?"

"Lor, sir, I don't know. It depends upon what turns up."

"You will not thieve any more?"

"Not if I can help it--but if I can't help it, sir, I must go to school at Simes's. He teaches lots of gals to get a living!"

Mr. Hinchford shuddered. There was a pause, during which the head of Master Hinchford peered through the door to note how affairs were progressing. The father detected the movement, and when the head was hastily withdrawn, he drew the door still closer, and retained a grip of the handle for precaution's sake.

"You don't know what your next step will be? You'll try to live honestly, you say?"

"I'll try the ingun dodge. You get's through a heap of inguns at a ha'penny a lot, if the perlice will ony let you be."

"And your stock in trade?"

"What's that?"

"How will you begin? Where are the onions to come from?"

"I shall sing for them to-morrow--my woice is comin' round a bit, Mother Watts says."

Mr. Hinchford pulled at his long white moustache--the girl's confidence and coolness induced him to linger there--something in his own heart led him to continue the conversation. He was a philosopher, a student of human nature, and this was a singular specimen before him.

"What could you live and keep honest upon?"

"Tuppence a day in summer--fourpence in winter. Summer a gal can sleep anywhere--there's some prime places in the Borough Market, and lots o'

railway arches, Dockhead way; but it nips you awful hard when the frost's on."

"Well--here's sixpence to set up in business with, Mattie--and as long as you can show me an honest front, and can come here every Sat.u.r.day night and say, 'I've been honest all the week,' why, I'll stand the same amount."

Mattie's eyes sparkled at this rise in life.

"I'll borrow a basket, and buy some inguns to-morrow. P'raps _you_ buy inguns sometimes, and old--Mr. Wesden down-stairs, too. Yes, sir, it's the connexion that budges one up!" she said, with the gravity of an old woman.

"I see. I'll speak to Mr. Wesden about his custom, Mattie. You can go now."

"Thankee, sir."

She rose to her feet, went a few steps down-stairs, paused, and looked back.

"What is it, Mattie?"

"I hope the young gen'leman isn't a fretting much about his _broach_."

"Here, young gentleman," called the father, "do you hear that?"

Master Hinchford laughed from within.

"Oh, no!--I don't fret."

"P'raps some day I shall have saved up enuf to pay him back. That's a _rum_ idea, isn't it, sir?"

"Not a bad one, Mattie. Think it over."

"Yes, sir."

Mattie departed, and Mr. Hinchford returned to the sitting-room. Master Hinchford, buried in books, was sitting at the centre table.

"Are you going at figures to-night?"

"Just for a little while, I think."

"You'll ruin your eyes--I've said so fifty times."

"Better have weak eyes than weak brains, sir."

"Not the general idea, lad."