That Little Beggar Part 11

"Come, come," she said, "this is not the way I expect my child to behave."

"Nor any other little gentleman either," put in Briggs, with asperity.

There was an expectant pause, but no answer from the little beggar buried beneath the bed-clothes.

Granny looked at me with a puzzled expression.

"Well, Chris, we have no time to waste with naughty little boys," I said, "so we are going downstairs. But I am surprised that you should treat your Granny so; I thought you loved her."

There was still no reply, and we turned to go.

But ere we reached the door the shamefaced but slightly defiant little beggar cried out:

"I _do_ love my Granny!"

At the sound she turned back with a radiant smile, and saw with delight two little arms stretched out to her appealingly, and two large tears trickling down a penitent little face.

"There, there! we will say no more," she exclaimed, forgivingly; "for you are sorry, my pet, are you not?"

"Very, very sorry," said the little beggar with contrition; "and very hot, dreffully hot; and I won't ask the nasty doctor nothing ever again."

"Not the 'nasty' doctor; the nice, kind doctor who has made little Chris well again," she corrected gently. "And you are going to be a good little boy now, darling?"

"A very good boy; as good as Uncle G.o.dfrey," Chris said brightening up, as he saw that he was to be blamed no more.

"That's my pet," she said, covering him up and tucking in the bed-clothes.

"I'm so glad," she continued to me as we went downstairs, "that he came round, and was good in the end. But I knew he would. Sulkiness is not one of his faults; no, no, n.o.body could say that.

"I suppose," she went on a little uneasily, "G.o.dfrey would tell me that I ought to have been more severe with the child. 'You've let the little beggar off too easily, mother,'--that's what he would say. But between ourselves, my dear, I sometimes think that officers in the army are accustomed to such obedience, such implicit obedience, that they are at times inclined to carry their love of discipline too far. Don't you agree with me? Not that G.o.dfrey is a martinet! Oh, no! he is far from that; such a favourite, so beloved by the men under his command. But you understand what I mean, do you not?

"However," she concluded, with a certain relief, and as a salve to her conscience in the shape of her son G.o.dfrey's opinion, "now I think of it, I did tell the poor darling that if he had not been ill I should have felt obliged to punish him. Of course, so I did. That will serve as a warning to him in the future; won't it, my dear?"

CHAPTER VI.

A PASTE-MAN AND A PAINT-BOX.

"I can't, my pet; I can't tell you a story to-day," said, or rather whispered, Granny huskily. "I have such a bad cold I can hardly speak."

Chris looked at her solemnly with wide-open eyes.

"Are you very ill, my Granny?" he inquired very seriously, and sinking his voice to the sympathizing whisper which seemed to him to befit the occasion.

"Not very ill, darling," she whispered again with an effort; "only a very bad cold.

"I am quite losing my voice," she added to me, shaking her head. "Most trying, my dear."

"How drefful!" exclaimed Chris with sympathy, and still speaking in a whisper. "What a drefful thing!"

"I have a good piece of news for you, my Chris," she whispered, with another effort. "Someone is coming home--to-day--this very afternoon--that you and I shall be--very, very--glad to see. Who do you think it is?"

Chris considered a moment, then suddenly looked enlightened.

"I know, I know!" he cried, jumping about and clapping his hands, in the excess of his joy forgetting to whisper, and putting to their full use his well-developed little lungs. "I know!" he repeated. "It's my Uncle G.o.dfrey. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!"

Granny nodded, and held up a telegram. "I've just had this," she said, with an attempt to regain her natural tone, which ended in an almost inaudible whisper, and her voice going away completely. "Few nights ...

way to London.... Isn't ... treat ... pet?" she whispered brokenly. "Must be ... quiet ... tired."

"Yes," I put in, taking upon myself to act as interpreter; "Granny is very tired, Chris; so if you stay here, you must be quiet."

"Did I make a noise and tire my Granny, and was I a naughty boy?" he asked penitently, becoming very subdued in voice and manner.

Granny smiled at him tenderly, and shook her head.

"No, dear," I said; "you have not been naughty. We did not mean that."

Thus rea.s.sured, the little beggar looked relieved; then, with a glance of deepest sympathy at his Granny, he ran out of the room as if struck by a sudden thought.

In a few moments he returned, carrying something carefully wrapped up in his pinafore. Then, going up to her, he drew out a piece of paste bearing some rude resemblance to a man, and laid it with triumph on her lap.

"My Granny," he whispered proudly, "see what I have brought you. Cook gave it to me for my tea, and I'm going to give it to you, and you may eat it all up; every bit. P'r'aps it will make you feel happy, as you have a cold."

Granny opened her eyes slowly and languidly, but seeing the paste figure, she sat straight up in her chair, with an expression of the strongest disapprobation.

She opened her mouth and endeavoured to speak, but this time without success; she could not make herself heard. She rose, therefore, and going to the writing-desk, took a sheet of note-paper, and, in a neat, old-fas.h.i.+oned, Italian hand, wrote the following reply, which she placed in my hand, signing to me to read aloud:

"My darling, this is a most unwholesome and indigestible thing. It would not make either my Chris or his Granny happy to eat it, but would probably make them both ill. I am much surprised that Mrs. James should have given it to you; she should have known better. You may, instead, have some of the sponge-cake we had at lunch, but I cannot permit my pet to eat this paste, nor can I eat it myself. But he will understand how much Granny appreciates his kind thought."

Chris listened to this long message attentively and without interruption, for there was a solemnity about the proceeding that much impressed him. When I had finished reading it, he regarded the object of Granny's displeasure with suspicion, mingled with awe; then remarked in a solemn and stage whisper, and in the manner of one bringing a grave charge against his poor, misguided friend:

"Cook called it 'Master Chris's little friend'. That's what she called it, my Granny."

"Tut, tut!" said Granny, as she heard this charge made against Cook.

By her expression, it was plain to see that she would have liked to say more had she been in full possession of her voice. Failing that, however, she was obliged to content herself with "Tut, tut!" and a gentle frown.

"Come, Chris," I said laughing, "we'll leave Granny in peace now and go and play in the library, or I will tell you a story. Take your 'friend', the man of paste, with you, and see if Jack would like to eat him."

"What shall we do?" asked Chris, slipping his hand into mine as we left the drawing-room.

"Would you like a story?" I asked.

"No, thank you; I don't want a story now, I think," he answered, with some caprice. He thought a moment or two, then exclaimed: "I know! we'll paint. I'll get the new paint-box Granny has given me, and a picture-paper, and we'll make lovely pictures."

"Very well," I said, not dissatisfied with this arrangement, which I hoped would only require on my part advice from time to time, or admiration, as required.