The Girls of St. Olave's Part 15

He strode off with Harry still in his arms, well pleased with his new possession, and turned his steps towards home. But as he drew nearer to his own door, his speed slackened. What sort of a welcome would Jane give him--and the child?

He had the sense to put him down and let him walk into his new home, and so, hand in hand, the big uncle and the little nephew presented themselves before Jane.

She looked at the pair for a moment in silence, and then burst into a loud, ironical laugh.

"I always knew you were a cheat, Jim Adams! You talked enough about your sister's _boy_ and you've brought a baby in petticoats."

"I'm not a baby--I'm going in four," said Harry gravely, "that's a baby in there," pointing to the cradle. He crossed the room and looked curiously down at the baby, and the baby, pleased with the kind little face, laughed and threw out its arms.

"Can't I have him out to play with? He likes me," cried Harry, "look, Uncle Jim, he's pulling my finger."

Jim lifted out his baby and sat down, and Harry stood beside him, lost in admiration.

"Well, this _is_ a nice set-out," said Jane crossly, as she looked at the happy little trio, "the first thing you do, Jim Adams, is to get that boy some breeches. _I'm_ not going to wash a lot of petticoats."

She stooped and lifted Harry's frock--the little black frock that Nellie had prepared weeks ago, ready for this very time, knowing that there would be no one to buy mourning for her child.

Jane examined the petticoats, and her face relaxed a little.

"Humph!" she said, "they're not such bad petticoats! They'll do for baby finely. You can sell the frock, if you like, Jim Adams, _that's_ no good to me, and it will help towards the breeches."

"Indeed I won't," answered Jim fiercely, "if I part with the frock, I'll _give_ it away. Who made your pretty frock, Harry, boy?"

Harry looked down at himself proudly.

"My mother made that," he said, "that's my bestest frock. She made it ages ago, but she wouldn't never let me wear it."

Jim's eyes filled and he turned hastily to the window that Jane might not perceive it.

"Don't you part with that frock, Jane," he said.

Jane snorted.

"Tea's ready!" she said ungraciously.

The meal was about half through when she started a new subject.

"Where's the brat's bed?" said she.

"His bed?" repeated Jim, helplessly.

"His bed," she reiterated, "I suppose you thought he'd share the baby's cradle!"

Jim kept what he had thought to himself.

"You must go and get one somewhere," decreed his wife.

Jim rose obediently and went downstairs. In about half an hour he returned with his arms full of irons, blankets and bedding.

"Here, Harry, boy," he said, "uncle's got a jolly little bed for you!"

"Where did you get that?" demanded Jane.

CHAPTER XV.

THE LAST HOPE.

Little Harry Lyon found the circ.u.mstances of his fresh life so entirely different from his old existence, that he seemed a greater stranger to himself than the most strange of those who peopled his new world.

To begin with, he was, to use his aunt's own term, "breeched" the next day, and his petticoats became the big baby's property, while his precious best frock was poked unceremoniously into a box under his aunt's bed.

He looked after it with longing eyes. He had waited so long to wear it and it seemed too bad to have it taken away when he had only worn it so few times, and it was made with a pocket, the first he had ever had. As he saw the box slammed down, he remembered with a pang that in the pocket was his little bestest white handkerchief with lace on it and in the corner of the handkerchief, tied in an easy knot, was a penny that Denys had given him.

He had never dared to ask her again for even a ha'penny, but one day she had given him a bright penny that shone like gold and he had treasured it with utmost joy, more because he had not asked for it, than for its value as a penny.

The edge of the box which held his treasures stuck out from under the bed, and he watched it for a long time, resolving in his little mind that one day he would manage somehow to get his own again.

The confinement of his new life irked him as much as his breeches, for he had been used to wandering about the Landslip and the Whitecliff beach at his own pleasure, and now there were but two rooms to wander in, or at best a short and narrow street, beyond whose limits he was forbidden to go, and it was filled with rough and noisy children who pushed him and pinched him and who roared vociferously whenever they saw him, after they discovered that his name was Lyon.

He had always made friends with all the sailors and visitors at Whitecliff, but here the men and women hurried about their business and never even glanced at the golden-headed little chap, and there were no boats to be pulled up and pushed out, and no tide, and no sands, and no--no _anything_.

Harry stood at the top of the dull street looking forlornly about him, when he came to that conclusion, and when he realised it, he burst into a sudden fit of heart-broken crying.

There were no loving arms now in which to sob out his woes, and he turned his little back upon the world and covering his face with his hands, leaned his head against a big brick wall and wept, and wept, and wept for his mother.

"Oh, mummy--mummy--mummy--"

"Why, Harry!" said his Uncle Jim's voice, "whatever's the matter with you? You shouldn't be crying--you're a big boy now. Have the boys been hitting you?"

Harry did not turn or heed him.

"Oh, mummy--mummy--mummy," he wailed.

"Harry!" said Jim again, "here's a penny for you--let's go and buy some sweeties."

But Harry was past that.

"Oh, mummy--mummy--my mummy--I want my mummy."

There was no mistaking the heart-broken cry this time, and Jim looked helplessly at Tom Green who stood beside him.

"It's the old story," said Tom gently, "'They have taken away my Lord and I know not where they have laid him.'" Then he stooped down to the level of the little weeping child and drew him into his arms and turned the tear-stained little face to rest on his shoulder.

"Harry!" he said gently, "dear mummy has gone to live in a beautiful Home with Jesus and she's so happy and she doesn't cough any more or feel tired any more. Oh, she's so happy. And she is with Jesus. She used to tell you about Him, didn't she?"