ANTICIPATING THE BANK HOLIDAY
"STOP! I say, wait for me, Melina!"
It was the afternoon following Good Friday, and Melina, who had been to
do some errands for her grandmother, was on her way home. She glanced
around at the sound of a familiar voice addressing her and saw William
Jones, who was hurrying to overtake her. A moment later he reached her
side.
"So you and your grandmother were at the town hall last night," he
remarked, as they walked on together; "the pictures were fine, weren't
they?"
"Oh yes!" Melina answered, "indeed they were! I liked them—all of them.
I saw you in the hall, but I didn't know you noticed us. Gran would go
with me."
"And you didn't want her, I suppose?" he suggested.
"Well, no," she admitted; "I would much rather have gone alone."
The boy nodded understandingly. "What are you going to do on Monday?"
he inquired.
"Nothing particular."
"Mother and father and I are going for an excursion to the seaside; we
generally do on the Easter bank holiday."
"How nice!"
"This year we're going to Hawmouth. If the weather's fine, and it
promises to be, we shall have a rare good time, I expect. We shall take
our dinner with us and have it on the beach, and our tea we shall have
at a tea-shop, and get home to supper."
This seemed a delightful programme to Melina. "I've never been to the
seaside," she said, with a faint regretful sigh.
"Never been to the seaside!" her companion echoed, in deepest
amazement. "And Hawstock is only twelve miles from Hawmouth too!—only
about a quarter of an hour's journey by train!"
"I know. I've often wondered if I could walk as far as that and back
again in a day, but I'm afraid I couldn't."
"No, of course you couldn't; you mustn't think of trying."
"I don't now; but you can't imagine how I long for a sight of the sea.
I've seen pictures of it in the picture shops in the town, and oh, it
must be grand!"
William Jones nodded. "I wish you were going with us on Monday," he
said, looking at her thoughtfully. "I wish—" He paused abruptly, and
walked on in silence for a few minutes; then he began again: "I say,
Melina, don't you wonder what's become of your father?"
"Yes, that I do! Gran won't tell me—perhaps she doesn't know herself."
"Perhaps not. Father says that he believes that he went abroad—to
Canada. Maybe he's making a fortune, and one of these days he'll be
coming home."
"Oh, I do hope he will!—that is, if he's a nice man like your father,
William. But if he's making a fortune, don't you think he'd send home
some money for me? He must know I'm a great expense to Gran."
"I suppose that's what Mrs. Berryman says—that you're a great expense
to her; but I don't believe you are. Why, she spends hardly anything on
you; it's very mean of her to be so screwy, especially when she could
do so much better for you if she liked."
William Jones, who was quoting the opinion of his mother, looked quite
indignant as he spoke. Melina made no response; she was recollecting
the hoard of money she had discovered that Mrs. Berryman possessed.
"You see, your grandmother can't be really poor," the boy continued;
"if she was, she couldn't lend money, that's certain."
"What do you mean?" the little girl inquired in response. "I don't
believe Gran would lend money to anyone. I—well, I don't think she's
kind enough to do that."
"Do you mean to say that you don't know—" William Jones broke off
suddenly, then exclaimed: "Well, I never! You don't mean to say that
she's kept it a secret from you?"
"Kept what a secret from me?" questioned Melina, thoroughly puzzled;
"what is it I don't know?"
"That your grandmother's a money-lender. That's her business—to lend
money. The idea of her keeping you in the dark about it! That shows she
knows she's doing wrong."
"Is it wrong to lend money, then?" Melina asked. Her face was
expressive of astonishment and incredulity. She thought that her
grandmother valued money too much to lend it; but, supposing she did
lend it, where was the harm?
"It's wrong if too much is charged for it," William Jones explained,
amazed at his companion's ignorance. "Ah, I see you don't understand!
It's like this—but don't you let on to Mrs. Berryman that I've been
talking to you about her affairs. Promise me that."
The little girl gave the required promise without hesitation, and the
boy continued:
"When your grandmother lends money, it's to very poor people, and for
small amounts, and when they pay it back she makes them give her a
great deal more than they borrowed—double sometimes. Now that isn't
right, is it?"
"No, indeed," Melina returned, "of course it's not!"
"It's what is called usury," William Jones said, "and the person who
does it is a usurer—a wicked person who only cares for making money and
robs the poor."
"Oh!" cried Melina, very shocked. She was thinking of the
wretched-looking creatures who so frequently called to see Mrs.
Berryman, and were interviewed by the old woman in the parlour. She
could not doubt but that her companion had spoken the truth.
"Mother says to rob folks of their money, as your grandmother does,
is as bad as being a regular pickpocket," William Jones continued; "I
heard her talking about it to father only yesterday, and he agreed with
her. Really, Melina, your grandmother's a dreadful old woman, and it's
no wonder, is it, that people—respectable people, I mean—don't care to
have anything to do with her?"
"No," Melina responded, with a choke in her voice. Her face was white
and set.
"Perhaps I ought not to have told you that Mrs. Berryman is a
money-lender," the boy said, rather uneasily; "don't you trouble about
it, you can't help it."
"No," Melina agreed, "but it's so—so shameful! I understand now why
everyone's been so against me—it's been on account of Gran! Oh, now I
know this, I don't think I can ever go to see the Browns again! Oh,
suppose they should find out—"
"You may depend they know all about your grandmother," William Jones
interposed, "or at any rate Mrs. Brown does. For certain Mr. Blackmore
has told her."
"The little gentleman!" The hot colour rose to Melina's cheeks, then
died away, leaving her paler than before. "Does he know?" she asked in
a tremulous voice.
Her companion nodded. "Mother told him," he asserted; "he was very
sorry to hear it, and—"
"But he is coming to see Gran!" Melina broke in; "if he knows that she
is so wicked as you say she is, why does he want to have anything to do
with her?"
The boy kept a puzzled silence for a few minutes whilst he considered
this point, then a gleam of comprehension crossed his face.
"Because he's a Christian," he replied; "because the love of God's in
his heart—that's what makes him so kind. Folks who've got the love of
God in their hearts care for other folks even when they ain't good like
themselves; they want to help 'em and make 'em better."
"You don't mean to say that you think the little gentleman could care
anything about Gran?"
"Yes, I do."
"It says in the Bible, 'Beloved, let us love one another; for love
is of God,'" Melina said reflectively. "Are you a Christian, William
Jones?" she inquired.
"Not much of one, I'm afraid," he answered, looking rather taken aback
at her question.
"I'm not much of one either," she said; "I haven't been one at all very
long."
At the corner of Jubilee Terrace they came upon a group of boys, who,
the minute they caught sight of Melina, commenced to make disparaging
remarks about her. William Jones stopped to remonstrate with them,
whilst the little girl walked on. As she paused on the doorstep of her
home, she heard a voice inside say:
"You shall have the money next week, Mrs. Berryman, indeed you shall!
We've had so much sickness of late, and so many expenses, that—but
whatever happens you shall have the money next week!"
An instant later the door opened from within, and a sad-faced young
woman with a baby in her arms brushed past Melina and hurried away.
Melina was standing looking after her when Mrs. Berryman came out of
the parlour.
"What a dawdle you are, child!" the old woman said testily; "come in
and shut the door." Then, as her granddaughter obeyed, she took her by
the shoulder and pulled her, less roughly than usual, into the kitchen.
"Humph! you don't look very well, as Mrs. Jones said," she observed; "I
hope you aren't going to be ill."
"I feel quite well, Gran."
"That's right. You were always a thin, peaky little thing, as I told
Mrs. Jones. I suppose you're wondering how I came to be talking to her?
She called in to see me just now, to invite you to go to Hawmouth with
her on Monday."
"Oh, Gran What did you say?"
"That I'd no money to give you for holiday-keeping; but she said her
husband would be pleased to pay your expenses—it's to be his treat."
"Then I'm to go?" Melina asked, trembling with excitement.
"Yes, if the weather keeps fine."
"Oh, I hope it will! I do so hope it will!"
"I'm not sorry you're to have a treat," Mrs. Berryman said, "for—I'll
give you your due—I think you deserve it. You've been a better girl
lately, and I find you haven't stayed away from school at all. Now,
I don't mind your turning religious if so be that makes you less
troublesome; but mind you this—keep a still tongue in your head to
those Joneses about me, or it'll be the worse for you. I can't abear to
be talked about."
"I have never talked about you, Gran—at least, only when you've served
me badly, and—"
"Oh, you stick to it that I've served you badly, do you?" Mrs. Berryman
interrupted with a frown.
Melina raised her eyes to the old woman's face with a world of reproach
in their dark depths. "Gran," she said, "you know."
Her grandmother thrust her away from her. "I've corrected you when
you've done wrong," she said, "as it's been my duty to do. Stop staring
at me—it's rude to stare."
"I'm sure I didn't mean to be rude," Melina returned. She removed her
eyes from Mrs. Berryman's ill-tempered countenance, and asked: "May I
run in next door for a minute? I should like to thank Mrs. Jones for
inviting—"
"Oh, go if you like!" Mrs. Berryman broke in; "you'd better find out
what time you are to start on Monday—I forgot to inquire."
Mrs. Jones was laying the cloth for supper when Melina knocked at the
back door, and, from the kitchen window, she beckoned to the child to
come in.
"Oh, Mrs. Jones," the little girl began, as she entered the kitchen, "I
don't know how to thank you—I don't indeed! Gran has just told me that
I'm to go to Hawmouth with you, and oh, it seems almost too wonderful
to be true! How good of you to think of it! I've never been to the
seaside in my life!"
"Then I'm very glad you're going with us on Monday," Mrs. Jones
replied, a smile on her comely face; "you must be ready to start by
half-past seven, for the train leaves at a quarter to eight and it will
take us more than ten minutes to walk to the station."
"I'll be in good time, never fear!" Melina assured her.
"On second thoughts I think you'd better be ready before that, though,
and come in here to breakfast. Yes, that will be best. Breakfast at
seven sharp, mind."
"Oh, how nice! Oh, thank you, Mrs. Jones!" Melina's face was beaming
with delight, but it clouded slightly as she continued in a more
subdued tone: "Gran says Mr. Jones is going to pay for me on Monday.
I—I don't think that is quite right—"
"Oh yes, it is," Mrs. Jones broke in quickly; "don't worry your head
about that. We shouldn't have thought of inviting you to join us on
Monday if we hadn't meant to pay all expenses."
"Oh, how kind you are!" Melina breathed softly, her dark eyes shining
with a grateful light through a mist of happy tears.
Soon after that she took her departure, whilst Mrs. Jones proceeded
with her interrupted task of preparing for supper, her conscience
reproaching her because she had never thought of giving her little
neighbour a pleasure before.
"God forgive me," she murmured to herself; "I might perhaps have made
life happier for her if I'd tried."