Post Haste Part 17

Miss Stivergill repented of the speech instantly on seeing the tears start into Tottie's large eyes as she replied quickly--"Indeed I would, m'm. Oh! you've no notion 'ow kind father is w'en 'e's not in liquor."

"There, there. Of course he is. I didn't mean to say he wasn't, little Bones. It's a curious fact that many drun--, I mean people given to drink, _are_ kind and amiable. It's a disease. Go now, and get your things on, and do you likewise, Lilly. My cab is at the door. Be quick."

In a few minutes the whole party descended to the street. Miss Stivergill locked the door with her own hand, and put the key in her pocket. As she turned round, Tottie's tawdry bonnet had fallen off in her efforts to raise the baby towards the outstretched hands of her mistress, while the cabman stood looking on with amiable interest.

Catching up the bonnet, Miss Stivergill placed it on the child's head, back to the front, twisted the strings round her head and face--anyhow-- lifted her and her charge into the cab, and followed them.

"Where to, ma'am?" said the amiable cabman.

"Charing Cross,--you idiot."

"Yes, ma'am," replied the man, with a broad grin, touching his hat and bestowing a wink on a pa.s.sing policeman as he mounted the box.

On their way to the station the good lady put out her head and shouted "Stop!"

The maligned man obeyed.

"Stay here, Lilly, with the baby.--Jump out, little Bones. Come with me."

She took the child's bonnet off and flung it under the cab, then grasped Tottie's hand and led her into a shop.

"A hat," demanded the lady of the shopwoman.

"What kind of hat, ma'am?"

"Any kind," replied Miss Stivergill, "suitable for this child--only see that it's not a doll's hat. Let it fit her."

The shopwoman produced a head-dress, which Tottie afterwards described as a billyc.o.c.k 'at with a feather in it. The purchaser paid for it, thrust it firmly on the child's head, and returned to the cab.

A few minutes by rail conveyed them to a charmingly country-like suburb, with neat villas dotting the landscape, and a few picturesque old red brick cottages scattered about here and there.

Such a drive to such a scene, reader, may seem very commonplace to you, but what tongue can tell, or pen describe, what it was to Tottie Bones?

That pretty little human flower had been born in the heart of London--in one of the dirtiest and most unsavoury parts of that heart. Being the child of a dissolute man and a hard-working woman, who could not afford to go out excursioning, she had never seen a green field in her life.

She had never seen the Thames, or the Parks. There are many such unfortunates in the vast city. Of flowers--with the exception of cauliflowers--she knew nothing, save from what little she saw of them in broken pots in the dirty windows of her poor neighbourhood, and on the barrows and baskets of the people who hawked them about the city. There was a legend among the neighbours of Archangel Court that once upon a time--in some remote period of antiquity--a sunbeam had been in the habit of overtopping the forest of chimneys and penetrating the court below in the middle of each summer, but a large brick warehouse had been erected somewhere to the southward, and had effectually cut off the supply, so that suns.h.i.+ne was known to the very juvenile population only through the reflecting power of roofs and chimney-cans and gable windows. In regard to scents, it need scarcely be said that Tottie had had considerable experience of that cla.s.s which it is impossible to term sweet.

Judge then, if you can, what must have been the feelings of this little town-sparrow when she suddenly rushed, at the rate of forty miles an hour, into the heavenly influences of fields and flowers, hedgerows, and trees, farm-yards and village spires, horse-ponds, country inns, sheep, cattle, hay-carts, piggeries, and poultry.

Her eyes, always large and liquid, became great crystal globes of astonishment, as, forgetful of herself, and _almost_ of baby, she sat with parted lips and heaving breast, gazing in rapt ecstasy from the carriage window.

Miss Stivergill and Miss Lillycrop, being sympathetic souls, gazed with almost equal interest on the child's animated face.

"She only wants wings and was.h.i.+ng to make her an angel," whispered the former to the latter.

But if the sights she saw on the journey inflated Tottie's soul with joy, the glories of Rosebud Cottage almost exploded her. It was a marvellous cottage. Rosebushes surrounded it, ivy smothered it, leaving just enough of room for the windows to peep out, and a few of the old red bricks to show in harmony with the green. Creepers in great variety embraced it, and a picturesque clump of trees on a knoll behind sheltered it from the east wind. There was a farm-yard, which did not belong to itself, but was so close to it that a stranger could scarcely have told whether it formed part of the Rosebud domain or that of the neighbouring cottage. The day, too, was exceptionally fine. It was one of those still, calm, sunny, cloudless days, which induce healthy people sometimes to wish that earth might be their permanent home.

"Oh, bybie!" exclaimed Tottie Bones, when, having clambered to the top of the knoll, she sat down on a tree-root and gazed on the cottage and the farm-yard, where hens were scratching in the interest of active chickens, and cows were standing in blank felicity, and pigs were revelling in dirt and suns.h.i.+ne--"Oh, bybie! it's 'eaven upon earth, ain't it, darling?"

The darling evidently agreed with her for once, for, lying on his back in the long gra.s.s, he seized two handfuls of wild-flowers, kicked up his fat legs, and laughed aloud.

"That's right, darling. Ain't it fun? And _such_ flowers too--oh! all for nothing, only got to pull 'em. Yes, roll away, darling, you can't dirty yourself 'ere. Come, I shall 'ave a roll too." With which remark Tottie plunged into the gra.s.s, seized the baby and tumbled him and herself about to such an extent that the billyc.o.c.k hat was much deteriorated and the feather damaged beyond recovery.

Inside The Rosebud the other two members of the party were also enjoying themselves, though not exactly in like manner. They revelled in tea and in the feast of reason.

"Where, and when, and why did you find that child?" asked Miss Stivergill.

Her friend related what she knew of Tottie's history.

"Strange!" remarked Miss Stivergill, but beyond that remark she gave no indication of the state of her mind.

"It is indeed strange," returned her friend, "but it is just another instance of the power of G.o.d's Word to rescue and preserve souls, even in the most unfavourable circ.u.mstances. Tottie's mother is Christian, and all the energies of her vigorous nature are concentrated on two points--the training of her child in the fear of G.o.d, and the saving of her husband from drink. She is a woman of strong faith, and is quite convinced that her prayers will be answered, because, she says, `He who has promised is faithful,' but I fear much that she will not live to see it."

"Why so?" demanded the other sharply.

"Because she has a bad affection of the lungs. If she were under more favourable circ.u.mstances she might recover."

"Pooh! nonsense. People constantly recover from what is called bad affection of the lungs. Can nothing be done for her?"

"Nothing," replied Miss Lillycrop; "she will not leave her husband or her home. If she dies--"

"Well, what then?"

"Little Tottie must be rescued, you know, and I have set my heart on doing it."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," said Miss Stivergill firmly.

Miss Lillycrop looked surprised.

"No, you shan't rescue her," continued the good lady, with still firmer emphasis; "you've got all London at your feet, and there's plenty more where that one came from. Come, Lilly, you mustn't be greedy. You may have the baby if you like, but you must leave little Bones to me."

Miss Lillycrop was making feeble resistance to this proposal when the subject of dispute suddenly appeared at the door with glaring eyes and a horrified expression of face. Baby was in her arms as usual, and both he and his nurse were drenched, besides being covered from head to foot with mud.

It needed little explanation to tell that in crossing a ditch on a single plank Tottie had stumbled and gone headlong into the water with baby in her arms. Fortunately neither was hurt, though both had been terribly frightened.

Miss Stivergill was equal to the occasion. Ordering two tubs half-full of warm water into the back kitchen, she stripped the unfortunates and put them therein, to the intense joy of baby, whose delight in a warm bath was only equalled by his pleasure in doing mischief. At first Miss Stivergill thought of burning the children's garments, and fitting them out afresh, but on the suggestion of her friend that their appearing at home with new clothes might create suspicion, and cause unpleasant inquiries, she refrained. When thoroughly cleaned, Tottie and baby were wrapped up in shawls and set down to a hearty tea in the parlour.

While this was being devoured, the two friends conversed of many things.

Among others, Miss Stivergill touched on the subject of her progenitors, and made some confidential references to her mother, which her friend received with becoming sympathy.

"Yes, my dear," said Miss Stivergill, in a tone of unwonted tenderness.

"I don't mind telling you all about her, for you're a good soul, with a feeling heart. Her loss was a terrible loss to me, though it was great gain to her. Before her death we were separated for a time--only a short time,--but it proved to be a blessed separation, for the letters she wrote me sparkled with love and wit and playfulness, as though they had been set with pearls and rubies and diamonds. I shall show you my treasures before going to bed. I keep them in that box on the sideboard, to be always handy. It is not large, but its contents are more precious to me than thousands of gold and silver."

She paused; and then, observing that Tottie was staring at her, she advised her to make the most of her opportunity, and eat as much as possible.

"If you please, m'm, I can't eat any more," said Tottie.

"Can't eat more, child?--try," urged the hospitable lady.

Tottie heaved a deep sigh and said that she couldn't eat another morsel if she were to try ever so much. As baby appeared to be in the same happy condition, and could with difficulty keep his eyes open, both children were sent to bed under the care of a maid, and Miss Stivergill, taking down her treasure-box, proceeded to read part of its contents to her bosom friend.