IN a small, dull back room, in one of the alleys of London, sat a very poor woman.
She had drawn her chair close to the fireplace, where some potato peelings and cinders were smoking, as though she expected to obtain warmth from them. A sack was thrown across her shoulders, for her clothing was ragged enough to let in the cold damp air that blew from the cracked and broken panes of glass behind her. From time to time she buried her head in her hands and groaned aloud, as if she were in pain, causing two little children, who were crouching on the other side of the grate, to start and clasp each other's hands with terrified looks.
They had scarcely moved or spoken for more than an hour, when the elder said timidly, "Mother, are you very ill?”
The woman gave the child no answer, and again the little group was silent, save for the groans she did not try to keep back, and for the whistling of the wind.
The only other articles in the room were a large horse-cloth up one corner, upon which the family slept, a man's ragged coat, that hung upon a nail behind the door, a few cracked and broken pieces of earthenware on a shelf, and a three-legged stool.
The eldest child was a boy of between nine and ten years old, a sharp intelligent little fellow, with brown eyes and a round pale face; the other was a little girl of five years old, and such a tiny, delicate little thing, that she looked as if a strong puff of wind would blow her away. They did not seem thoroughly neglected; their scanty garments were put on with care, their faces were not begrimed with dirt, and there were no rags or tatters visible though their clothes were very poor and gave you the idea of having been carefully worn for a long time. Who cared for these little ones? We shall see.
After a few minutes more had passed, Mrs. Rogers, for that was the woman's name, turned to the children, and said in a sharp voice, as if answering the question put a little while before, “Ill? I should think I am, but I'll bear it no longer. Off with you for East, the parish doctor; tell him to come quick. Look sharp, Ben, or it will be the worse for you. You Kit, keep where you are." And again she buried her face in her hands.
Ben jumped up. He knew too well what would happen if he were not brisk, and throwing a rag of something over his shoulders, prepared to start into the rain.
The little one had risen, but at the woman's last words sunk down again, with a pitiful look at Ben.
"Never mind," he whispered, "I shall go quicker alone; and it is so wet. Who knows but what I may find something for you? Keep quite quiet while I'm gone; I'll soon be back.”
"Be off," said the woman, and he was gone.
After the door was closed, she added, "Mind I'm not going to have any of them ways, Kit, as if you couldn’t be left with me a few minutes alone. What do you think I'm going to do with you, eh? I'll tell you what I will do, I'll shut Ben up where you can't get him.”
After this most dreadful threat, and well the woman knew its effect, she moaned again with pain, and for some time could think of nothing else.
The little one had grown whiter than before with fear. Her large gray eyes filled with tears, but they never moved from the door, whilst her baby mind was wondering how she could keep her darling Ben from being shut up.
Before a great while the door opened, and in walked the doctor, with Ben at his heels. He was a bluff, stern man, and immediately came to the point.
"Put out your tongue," he said. "Let me feel your pulse-Ah! What's the matter with you?" And before the woman had said a dozen words he added, "I see! Send these children out to play," quite forgetting that the rain was falling heavily.
When the little ones were gone (and the place they retired to was a little wood-shed just outside the back-door), the doctor spoke again to the woman.
"You are very ill; you have the small-pox; and in an hour's time you will be removed from here. I will leave you this bottle of medicine to take some of in the meantime." And with one or two more directions he took his leave. As soon as he was gone she broke out into a torrent of words:-
"Taken to an ‘orspital, indeed, to be killed outright; oh! dear, I am bad, but I can't die; no, that I can't, and I'm sure I shall. Oh! my poor head; and those dreadful children, what 'ul they and Dick do when he comes home and finds me gone? Why, he'll be glad; he would have been a quiet fellow if I'd of let him. Oh dear, if I might only get well, I think I'd be different."And in a loud, but not an angry voice, she called the children-"Ben-Kit.”
She had thrown herself on the rug, and as they entered she held up her hands.
"Don't come near me I've got the small-pox, and am going away. Very glad, ar'nt you? Oh, don't pretend you are sorry" (as Kit began to cry); "you are very glad I can't shut Ben up. I may come back again, and then if you've been naughty I shall do it. I can't talk much, so listen. The woman up stairs owes me sixpence, and Mrs. Bly up the next street owes me a shilling. Never mind what for, it will keep you from starving, if you can get it, and I don't want you to starve, mind; it would not answer my purpose. Be off now! You Ben, you see to Kit; don't let her die while I'm gone, mind. Good bye." And she turned away from them, impatiently.
"Good bye, mother; may we kiss you?”
"No, you may'nt; and don't call me mother. It will drive me wild.”
In another hour the woman was gone, and as the little children sat on the floor the youngest began to cry.
"Don't do that, Kit; there's a dear," said Ben, soothingly putting his arms round her, "we shall be ever so happy together. Why, we shall have the place all to ourselves; no one to scold us or beat us till father comes home, and he doesn't often come. Oh Kit, we'll have fine times if you cheer up.”
"But we sal starve, Ben.”
"Oh, no, we won't. I know how we can get some bread. I heard a woman ask mother to lend her half a loaf yesterday; I'll go and ask her for it to-day; besides, I shall try and earn you some money, Kit. You forget how big I am growing!”
This sounded so grand that Kit began to cheer up. "I wonder if mother 'Il soon come back," she said.
"I don't think so," answered Ben; "when folks go to them 'orspitals, they keeps them there a long while; any how they gets good things to eat, chickings and eggs-such things as you and I never tasted, Kit. But see, I did find something when I was out. I looked about very sharp, and I saw this 'tator roll off a truck a man was pushing along, so I picked it up; now if we can only make the fire get up, we'll roast it for our supper, Kit.”
"Was that stealing, Ben?”
“Oh no I didn't take it off the truck, I only picked it up; besides, I couldn’t make the Doctor wait while I ran back. Now we'll see what there is on the top shelf, where mother keeps the things," said he, climbing on the stool; "of course they are ours now.”
"Oh, Ben! How dare 'oo," said Kit, looking towards the door, as if she expected the sick woman to enter.
They had been forbidden on pain of a flogging to touch anything there. Once when very hungry they had disobeyed, and the remembrance of the punishment they both received caused the little girl, to tremble so much, that Ben was obliged to jump down and kiss her; and tell her that he heard a woman say, when their mother was carried away, that she would not be home for a month at least.
"Then se'll forget to lock 'oo up, Ben.”
"I hope so," he answered. "I don't care for myself, but I don't like you to be left alone, Mousie." (It was a name the woman up stairs had given her because she was such a quiet little thing.) "Perhaps if things go straight and I can earn her a few ha'pence, she won't do it. Oh, Kit," he said, brightening up, "I've such a thought, I'll tell it you when we're in bed.”
She clapped her little thin hands, and began to think it would be very nice to be left alone together there.
"Now I'll look at the shelf again, and hand the things down to you. What's this? Two tallow candles! Hurray I Just think how grand it'll be for you and me to sit each side of the fire and stick this on the mantle-piece while we eat herrins," said he, throwing two down; "and here's a bit of soap; why, we'll clean up the place; and a bundle of fire-wood and matches. I wonder what's in these two parcels? Some tea and sugar, I declare; and up the corner is mother's black shawl and apron, that's all. Well, we shall get on now," said he, jumping down and hugging Kit.
After a little talking, they decided to clean the room up first, for they had not inherited Mrs. Rogers' love of dirt. These little ones had often tried to tidy themselves a bit, and had borrowed a scrap of soap and bowl of water from time to time of a woman named Perrin, who lived in one of the upper rooms, and who had a little blind boy and a baby. This woman was as kind to the children as her poverty would let her be. She pitied their lonely, neglected state, and would often put a stitch in their clothes for them, or give them a morsel of food. Now they ran up stairs and tapped at her door. She had seen Mrs. Rogers taken away, and was just thinking of giving the children a look.
"Please, Mrs. Perrin, would you be so kind as to lend me your scrub brush?" said Ben.
"What do you want that for?" she said kindly.
"I mean to try and scrub the floor," he answered. "I believe I can, if you'll please lend it me; I have found a bit of soap.”
"You're too small," said the woman; "your little arms have not got the strength. Wait a bit, I'll come down and help you; perhaps if it's once done ye'll keep it clean; ye're careful children.”
So Mrs. Perrin brought down her pail, scrubbed the floor, cleaned the windows, and swept up the grate.
"It's a dreadful bad night," she said to the little ones, who were perched on one of the shelves watching her operations; "I don't like to think of ye without a fire, and a cold March wind blowing, for all it's April. if you'll come along o' me, Ben, I'll give you a lump of coal for to-night; so you can eat your supper comfortable like.”
And the kind-hearted woman sent down by the little boy enough coal to make them a good fire. She also told them that she was going to give her children a wash, and that if they liked to come up, she would do them altogether, whilst-their room was drying.
The little ones lost no time in accepting the invitation, and before ten minutes had passed, they were all standing in a row before brisk Mrs. Perrin, while she went from one to another with her flannel, covering their heads and faces with soap, and paying little heed when, every now and then, one cried out, "Oh! the soap is in my eyes," so anxious was she to get them clean.
In due time each had been rinsed in her tub, and had their hair neatly combed. Kit was the last, and Ben stood by with admiring eyes whilst Mrs. Perrin combed her pretty flaxen curls round her fingers.
"It's a shame," she said, "not to keep her hair nice. See how pretty she looks!”
And she did look pretty, for the little face, generally so pale, was rosy with the rubbing it had undergone; her large gray eyes were fixed contentedly on Ben, at seeing him so happy, and her hair hung in soft fair curls round her face.
"That she does," said Ben, delightedly, "try and always keep you so, Mousie; but I do wish I'd a better frock for you.”
It seemed a vain wish, and the little faded brown one, which hardly hung together, was just going to be put on, when Mrs. Perrin stopped and wiped away a tear.
"Wait a bit," she said, "there's the little one bought my Liza just afore she died, you may as well have that; it can't do no good to lay it by. Baby won't want it; for it wouldn't suit a boy. Your father won't pawn it, I fancy; and your mother, God only knows whether she'll come back.”
So she tried the little blue frock on, to Ben's unbounded joy, which he showed by jumping the baby till it screamed, and begging blind Tommy to look at Kit, telling him he never saw anything half so pretty in his life before.
"I never saw nothing at all," said Tommy, peevishly, "I dunno what you mean;" but he passed his thin fingers over the child and added, "I wish you'd let me come and sit down stairs with you sometimes; it's ever so dull here with nothing to do.”
"That we will," answered Ben, proud at being able to give permission. "Come to-morrow, Tommy; we've got herrins and tea for dinner, and you shall have some with us.”
"Poor little things," said the woman, "look on the bright side as long as you can, ye’ll have hard times afore you've done.”
At this moment there was a loud rap at the door, which nearly caused the children to jump out of their skins. Mrs. Perrin went to see who it was, and mine back in the course of a few minutes to say that folks had been sent by those who attend to the public health to take away any bedding the woman Rogers had used, and to put in its place a hard second-hand mattress and colored blanket. So the old horse-cloth and sacking were removed, and for the first time that they could remember, the children laid on a bed. Laid down, thankfully and very happy, clasped in each other's arms, while kind Mrs. Perrin carried off their dirty clothes to wash, "along with Tommy's and baby's.”
"Poor little things," she said to her husband, a weakly, spare little man, who could only earn from ten to twelve shillings a-week, "I felt as if I must give 'em a fair start; its precious little I can attend to 'em next week, when the shoe-binding work begins; and God grant, if I am taken away, some one will see after my blind boy, for we are neither of us long livers, Tom.”
The next morning the children found many a little hole run up, and button or string put on that was wanting; yes! though the poor woman at up till late to do it. If blessings and prayers could repay her, surely she was well repaid before many months were passed!
"Ben, what was that nice fing you was going to tell me?" said little Kit, as she lay curled up close to Ben, with her arm round his neck.
"I'll tell you," he said, "but ar'nt there lots of nice things to-day; it seems as if we should never be unhappy again. Well this is what I think I shall do. You know that sixpence and the shilling mother spoke of. I shall get some of it if I can, and then I shall either buy a broom to sweep a crossing, or some matches or Echos to sell.”
"And go right away from me," said Kit, in a dreary tone.
"No, no, that's the fun; you'll come too. I'll find a place where you can sit and watch me, and keep the money that I get.
This was the height of her happiness that day, for the little boy had often been separated from her before Mrs. Rogers left them. Her whole heart seemed bound up in Ben; and was it strange that Kit should cling to the only one who had really loved and cared for her? True, she was seldom cruelly treated, but the little sensitive child had been dreadfully neglected, and had it not been for the unwearied love and care of a boy of nine years old, must have pined away and died. But many a time he had stinted himself to bring her some morsel he thought she could fancy; for he was sharp and quick for his years, and when with boys a little better off than himself, would get something eatable in exchange for help given to them, and occasionally he would get employed in carrying a parcel or holding a horse, and so earn a copper. Sometimes when this happened, he would go to the confectioner's and buy a bun or sponge-cake for his little darling, and bring it home with a beating heart to be eaten in secret, but more often there was need for a penny loaf, or a half-pound of potatoes; then he would sit by and watch her eat, taking the tiniest bites, to quiet her, as she held the food to his lips, never making a meal till she was satisfied.
Once Mrs. Rogers had found them so, and upon learning from Ben that he had earned the money, she beat him severely, and ordered him to bring her anything he could get. But it made no difference; he feared far more to see Kit grow thin and die, than he did his mother's cruelty.