Thereby Hangs a Tale Part 29

"They're paying seven and six, Sam, for those wretched rooms, and the woman's a horrid creature."

"Yes, she is that," said Sam, nodding.

"And the poor young lady's frightened to death of the man, who insulted her once. He is a dreadful-looking fellow."

"Wuss, ever so much," said Sam, nodding at his pipe-bowl.

"And I--I--"

"Told 'em about our being about to be empty; that's about what you did,"

said Sam.

"Yes, Sam."

"Well, you're a nice one. Of course you've put the rent up?"

"No, I haven't, Sam," said Mrs Jenkles. "I've--"

"Asked only the same. Why, our rooms is a palace to theirs--not as I ever see a palace to know."

"They're smaller, Sam," said Mrs Jenkles.

"Precious little," said Sam. "Well, you've offered 'em at six bob, eh?

Well, you are a nice one; and doing their work, too!"

"No, Sam, dear, I told them they could have them for five s.h.i.+llings a week."

"Five!" shouted Sam.

"Yes, dear," said Mrs Jenkles, pitifully; "don't be cross, dear. They said they wouldn't take them."

"That's a comfort," said Sam.

"But," exclaimed Mrs Jenkles, hurriedly, "I persuaded them to come. I told them that they would be saving half a crown a week, and that in twelve weeks they would have paid off the thirty s.h.i.+llings you lent them, and they're coming."

"And how many more weeks will it take to pay off the money you lent them?" said Sam, facing round sharply.

"Only three, dear; it was only seven and sixpence, Sam."

"You'll ruin me," said Sam. "You know as we're as poor as can be," he went on, with his eyes averted from her.

"No, Sam, we're not; for we've a comfortable home, and we always save a little."

"And you go and make jellies and give away."

"How did you know that?" said Mrs Jenkles, sharply.

"Ah! you women can't go on long in your wicked ways without being found out," said Sam. "I heerd on it."

"The poor child was dying, same as our poor little d.i.c.k was, Sam, and-- and--"

Sam turned his head farther away.

"And now you invite poor people to come, as 'll never be able to pay their bit o' rent; an' the end on it all 'll be the workus."

"Oh, Sam; pray, pray, don't! Do I deserve all this?" and the poor woman burst out sobbing.

"G.o.d bless you! no, old lady," cried Sam, pulling her on to his knee, and giving her a sounding kiss, as she laid her head upon his shoulder.

"It 'll all come right in the long run; see if it don't. Life aint worth having if you can't do, a bit o' good in it."

"Then you really aint cross with me, Sam?"

"Not a bit," said Sam. "Look at me. Sally, my old gal, it's my belief as them angels as takes the toll at the gate up above in the s.h.i.+ny way 'll let you go through free."

"Sam!" cried Mrs Jenkles, trying to lay her hand on his mouth.

"And look here, old lady," he continued, stroking her face; "when that does come off, which I hope it won't be for scores o' years to come, you keep werry, werry tight hold o' my hand, and then, perhaps, I shall stand a chance of getting into heaven too."

End of Volume One.

Volume 2, Chapter I.

LOVE MINOR.

Little Polly wiped her eyes after her happy thoughts; for the shower had pa.s.sed, and the gleam of suns.h.i.+ne augmented till her face grew dimpled, and she went on st.i.tching busily. It was very evident that she had some consolation--some pleasant unguent for the irritation caused by Aunt Lloyd; for at the end of half an hour she was singing away at some old Welsh ditty, in a sweet, bird-like voice, filling up, when she forgot the words, with a melodious little hum, which was only checked on the appearance of her tyrant, that lady mating occasional incursions.

Sometimes Aunt Lloyd required table linen; then she came to unlock the press where the dessert was laid out, and hand it to the footman, counting the fruit on the dishes as she did so.

"Now, Robert, what are you looking at there?" she said, sharply, as she caught the man's eyes straying in the direction of Polly. "Mind your work, if you please."

Polly did not get snubbed, for she had been bending diligently over her st.i.tching, which, as soon as the tray of dessert had gone, came in for a close inspection; but, as it was very neatly done, there was no complaint.

"Hold out your hands, child," said Mrs Lloyd, suddenly; and she examined the finger roughened by the hard material and contact with the needle. "Ah, that stuffs too stiff; it shall be washed first. Mend those."

The linen was doubled up, put away, and some soft material placed in the girl's hands, over which she had been diligently at work one hour, when Mrs Lloyd returned for coffee from her stores, with which she again departed, muttering about "Such a set to bring down!" and Polly's musical little voice began once more.

Let's see: the dictionary says that an enchanter is one who calls down by chanting or singing--one who practises sorcery by song. Polly, then, must have been an enchantress, for her little ditty about the love of some deserted maid had the effect of bringing cousin Humphrey Lloyd through the shrubbery to the open window of the housekeeper's room; and just in the midst of one of the sweetest of the little trills there was a rustle amongst the laurels, and a deep voice whispered "Polly!"

"Oh, my!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Polly, dropping her work, and starting farther from the window. "What will aunt say?"

Now, her instructions had been stringent; and knowing that it would be like high treason to speak to Humphrey, she determined that she would not, just as an industrious young needle, which had been warned not to get rusty by a.s.sociating with common bits of steel, might have gone on busily through its work like the one Polly held in her hand.

But supposing that, instead of a common piece of steel, a magnet that had been rubbed with the loadstone of love should come in its way, what could the poor needle do?

Even as did little Polly--vow that aunt would be so cross; and then feel herself drawn, drawn closer and closer to the iron-barred window, till her little hands were caught in two strong, muscular fists, which pressed them so hard that they almost hurt.

"Oh! you mustn't, mustn't come!" sobbed Polly. "If aunt found it out she would almost kill me!"

"No, no, little one," said Humphrey; "why should she?"