Mattie:-A Stray Volume I Part 19

It was a strange picture, with an odd couple in the foreground; Harriet Wesden, Sidney Hinchford, or afflicted Ann Packet, coming in suddenly, would have been puzzled what to make of it. The burlesque side to the scene did not strike Mr. Hinchford till long afterwards; the slight figure of the girl on the chair before him, the rapid manner in which she expounded her theory, her animation, sudden gestures, and, above all, his own intense interest in the theme, and forgetfulness of the confidence he placed in her by his own absorbent _pose_. He had put his pipe aside, and, open-mouthed and round-eyed, was drinking in every word, clutching his knees with his hands, meanwhile.

"Mr. Sidney isn't thoughtless. He's careful, and he has a reason for everything, and he will keep her from harm all her life. She'll be the best and brightest of wives to him, if they should ever marry, which I do hope and pray they will, sir, soon. I'm sure there are no two who would make a happier couple, and oh!--to see them happy," clapping her hands together, "what would _I_ give!"

"You haven't lost your interest in us, then, Mattie?"

"When I forget the prayers that Mrs. Wesden taught me, or the first words of yours that set me thinking that I might grow good, or all the kindness which everybody in this house has shown for me, then I shall lose that, sir--not before!"

"You're an uncommon girl, Mattie."

"No, sir."

"You show an uncommon phase--great grat.i.tude for little kindnesses. I'm glad to see this interest in Harriet and my boy--perhaps they might do worse than make a match of it. But--but," suddenly returning to the subject which engrossed him, "hasn't it struck you--just a little, mind, nothing to speak of--that Harriet Wesden is a trifle vain?"

"Wouldn't you be proud of your good looks, if you had any?" was the sharp rejoinder.

"Um," coughed he, "I daresay I might."

"I should be always staring at myself in the gla.s.s if I had her complexion, her golden hair, her lovely blue eyes. I should be proud to think that my pretty face had made my happiness by bringing the thoughts of such a son as yours to me."

"Ah! I didn't see it in that light," said he, tugging at his stock again, "and I--I daresay everything will turn out for the best. We will not dwell upon this any more, but let things take their course, and not spoil them by interference, or by talking about them, Mattie."

"Don't fear me," said Mattie, rising.

"I don't think it is our place," he added, a.s.sociating himself with Mattie, to render his hints less personal, "to be curious about it, and seek to pry into what is going on in the hearts of these young people.

Do you think now, Mattie, that she's inclined to be fond of--of my Sid?"

"I don't say she'd own it just now--but I think she is. Why shouldn't she be?"

"Ah!--why, indeed. There's not a boy like him in the whole parish."

"No, sir."

"And Harriet Wesden will be a lucky girl."

"Ah! that she will!"

"And--and now good night, Mattie, and the less we repeat of this gossip the better."

"Certainly--things had better take their course without _our_ interference."

"Yes," was the dry answer.

Mattie seized her tray, and prepared to depart. At the door, with her burden _en avance_ she paused, went back to the table, replaced her tray, and returned to Mr. Hinchford's side.

"Something happened to-night! The dear girl has been disturbed--I hope Mr. Sidney has not been in a hurry, and----"

"Hus.h.!.+ I don't think he's asleep. Good night--good night."

"When _she_ was a year younger, it was hard work to keep back what was in her heart from me; but she's growing older in her ways, and better able to understand that I'm only a poor servant, after all. I don't complain," said Mattie, "she's always kind and good to me, but she's my mistress's daughter, rather than the sister--or something like the sister--that used to be. And I do so like to know everything, sir!"

"So it seems," remarked Mr. Hinchford.

"Everything that concerns her, I mean--because I might be of help when she least expected it. And so Mr. Sidney has told her all about it to-night?"

"I never said so," cried the embarra.s.sed old gentleman.

"Well, I only guess at it," answered Mattie; "I shall soon come to the rights of it, if I keep a good look out."

She caught up her tray again and marched to the door to ponder anew. Mr.

Hinchford writhed on his chair--would this loquacious diminutive help never go down-stairs and leave him in peace? She asked no more questions, however.

"And to think that what I fancied would happen is all coming round like a story-book, just as I hoped it would be for her sake--for his sake--years and years ago! How nicely things come round, sir, don't they?"

"Don't they!" he re-echoed.

Mattie departed, and the old gentleman blew at invisibility in the air once more.

"How that girl does talk!--it is her one fault--loquacity. If she can only find a listener, she's happy. And yet, when I come to consider it, that girl's always happy--for she's thankful and content. And things are coming nicely round, she says--well, I hope so!"

CHAPTER VIII.

SIDNEY STATES HIS INTENTIONS.

Mr. Wesden, if not the first person up in the house, was at least the first person who superintended business in the morning. For years that little shop had been opened punctually at six A.M. When the boy had not arrived to take down the shutters, Mr. Wesden lowered them himself.

Tradesfolk over the way, early mechanics sallying forth to work from the back streets adjacent, the policeman on duty, the milkboy, and the woman with the watercresses, knew when it was six o'clock in Great Suffolk Street by the opening of Mr. Wesden's shop.

Mr. Wesden prided himself upon this punctuality, and not even to Mattie would he entrust the duties of commencing the labours of the day, despite the inflexibility of his back after a night's "_rest_."

Sidney Hinchford, who knew Mr. Wesden's habits, therefore found no difficulty in meeting with that gentleman at five minutes past the early hour mentioned.

"Good morning, Mr. Wesden."

"Good morning, Sidney."

Mr. Wesden was sitting behind his counter, in business position, ready for customers; the morning papers had not come in from the agent--he had given up of late years fetching them from the office himself--and there was not much to distract him from full attention to all that Sidney had to communicate.

"I thought I should find you handy for a serious bit of talk, sir."

Mr. Wesden looked at him, and his face a.s.sumed a degree of extra gravity. Sidney Hinchford had got into debt with his tailor, and wished to borrow a few pounds "on the quiet."

"I suppose Harriet told you last night what happened?"

"Not all that happened, I fancy."