The Girls of St. Olave's Part 19

She went straight to the dining-room. Her mother and Denys were sitting peacefully at tea.

"Are father or Conway home?" she asked abruptly.

"No, they expect to be late," answered Mrs. Brougham serenely.

"Have you been up to the station, Denys?"

"No," said Denys, glancing up wonderingly.

"Nor Pattie?"

"No! whatever is the matter, Gertrude?"

"Somebody has taken Maud!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

A BASE TRICK.

Jim Adams could not make out what had changed his wife, but changed she was.

It might have been a dream that she had threatened vengeance on Pattie, for she now never mentioned her, and she treated Tom with a politeness and a thoughtfulness that made Jim believe she repented her interview with Pattie, and wished Tom to forget it. She might even have herself forgotten what she had said about paying Pattie out. She had undoubtedly had a few gla.s.ses the night Tom came in to see Harry, and that was enough to account for uncontrolled words, and forgetfulness of them.

Jane had also ceased to grumble at Harry's presence, and she cooked Jim appetising suppers as of old and she even spoke pleasantly to Harry. Jim fondly imagined that she was becoming as devoted to the bright, engaging little fellow as he was himself, and he could not know that in his absence hard words and frequent blows became the child's portion whenever his aunt happened to be annoyed with him or anybody else.

Jim little guessed the real reasons that lurked beneath Jane's changed and pleasant behaviour. The truth was that her thirst for vengeance and her desire for strong drink were growing together, and with them--for it was allied to both of them--cunning grew.

On that evening when Jim had summarily marched her into her bed-room, she had been enraged beyond words, and had the two men not taken their immediate departure, there is no saying what might have happened.

But while she waited for Jim's return she had time for reflection.

Aided by the inspiriting action of the supper beer, she had thought over the situation, and before the inspiriting effect had gone off, and the lowering, muddling effect had come on, she came to the conclusion that she would be making a great mistake if she allowed Tom or Jim to know her intentions against Pattie. What was the use of all her plans and determination, if they interfered and spoilt it all?

They must think it was only an empty threat, and by and by they would forget it.

That settled the matter of the desire for vengeance, and she forthwith brooded over it in silence, till it became part of her very existence.

The thirst for strong drink touched her relations towards Harry.

She was finding the extra money that Jim gave her for the child most useful. She scarcely missed his food, for he ate but little, and his share was usually what would otherwise have been wasted. Jane was not of a thrifty turn of mind, but the money was hard, solid cash, and gave her a free hand for spending on that in which her soul most delighted.

It was therefore necessary to make the child at least apparently comfortable, or Jim might take it into his head to board him out. Any woman among her neighbours would have taken the boy for less than Jane had demanded for his keep.

With these reasons to help the most powerful influences of her life, Jane kept an oiled tongue and an even temper, and like the calm before the storm, it made things pleasanter for those around her.

Little Harry quickly discovered that it was safer to play in the street when Aunt Jane was alone, but that there was no need for fear if Uncle Jim or Uncle Tom were at home. He was a cheerful little soul too, and began to enjoy such pleasures as came into his new life and to forget the old. Sat.u.r.day, Sunday and Monday were his joy-days, for on Sat.u.r.day Uncle Tom always came and took him out for some excursion or treat, or if it were wet, to his own home.

On Sunday Uncle Jim sent him to a Mission Sunday School, morning and afternoon, and sometimes, greatest treat of all, in the evening Uncle Jim would take him to the Mission Service. That Mission Service had a home-like feeling to little Harry, for it reminded him of the Sailor's Rest where he had so often gone with his mother at Whitecliff, before her cough got worse.

He loved the singing there, and at Sunday School. He had a voice like a little bird, sweet and true and clear, and sometimes when Aunt Jane was out on Sunday evening, Uncle Jim would let him sing to him, and even Aunt Jane would let him sing the baby to sleep of a night.

There was one hymn that he learned at Sunday School that he was never tired of singing. It had a chorus, and he always fancied that it was the baby's favourite, too--

I am so glad that Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me; I am so glad that Jesus loves me, Jesus loves even me.

On Mondays Harry went to the Mixham Nursery. Harry thought it a charming place. There were no big rough boys or girls--only little people like himself, and the tables were little and the seats were little, and there were toys, and somebody besides himself to make a grand play and pretend to be soldiers, or engine-drivers or horses.

There was a kind-faced woman there, who put pretty clean pinafores on all the children when they came in the morning, and there was always something nice for dinner.

There was a room for the babies upstairs, which Harry considered a most suitable arrangement, and he saw his baby cousin carried up there with great content. He wished Aunt Jane would go out was.h.i.+ng every day till Sat.u.r.day!

Dinner-time was twelve o'clock, and Harry, having learned to tell the time, and having taken a great fancy to the seat at the end of the long, low table, always took his place at least five minutes before twelve, to ensure its possession, and such is the force of example and the love of the best available seat, that on Mondays there was no need for the matron to say, "Come to dinner, children," for a row of little eager faces lined the table, and a row of little hands were folded reverently upon it, waiting for her to ask a blessing.

And after dinner came the only drawback which Harry found in the Nursery life.

He and all the other children had to take a good long nap.

On one side of the room was a sort of pen, with mattresses and blankets, and into this the children were tucked, the room was darkened, talking was forbidden and in a very few minutes they were all asleep, and silence and peace reigned.

"It keeps them good-tempered, and it rests the nurses," the smiling matron used to say.

Eight o'clock seemed to come much earlier on Monday night than on any other, and with the hour came Aunt Jane for the baby, and Harry's bliss was over till Sat.u.r.day should dawn again, but after all it was not long from Monday night to Sat.u.r.day morning, only Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday!

These pleasant summer days were bringing to Jim, too, a smooth and easy-going existence--just the existence that suited his easy-going temperament. And then, partly through the very smoothness of these days, partly on account of his great satisfaction in his own strength in keeping a resolve, there arose in Jim's life a little cloud, no bigger than a man's hand.

He had been a total abstainer such a long time now. He had so often resisted Jane's repeated invitations to share the supper beer, that she had ceased to offer it. The old liking for strong drink did not a.s.sail him now. He even mentioned with a superior little laugh to his mates, that there had been a time when he had liked his gla.s.s a trifle overmuch, but now he had given it up for good and all.

And the very next day they played a trick on him.

He was extremely fond of cold coffee, and generally brought a can of it with him for his dinner, and one very hot morning he set it down on a great stone in a shady corner of the workshop to keep it cool.

And when dinner-time came, being thirsty, the first thing he did was to take a long pull at his can. He had swallowed half its contents at one draught, before he realised what had happened.

The mystified, horrified expression on his face as he set the can down, was almost ludicrous; to his mates who were all in the secret, it was irresistibly funny.

There was a roar of delighted laughter, and Jim's eyes blazed with anger as he glared at the can he still grasped in his hand.

Yes! It was his own can, and they had taken away his coffee and filled it with beer! He had been basely tricked. He stood there realising it, while the roars of laughter were sobering down into words.

"Ha! Ha! old teetotaller! That's the best fun we ever had!"

"Jolly good coffee! isn't it, Jim? If you could only have seen your own face!"

"Never mind, old chap! You can be a teetotaller again to-morrow."

"I won't!" said Jim angrily, "I did try. Now I don't care what happens."