MET AGAIN.
ONE fine frosty morning, a few days later, Josie Therlock sat sewing by
her mother's side, in the morning-room, with its blazing fire.
"Mother," said Josie.
"Yes, dear."
"I don't think there's anybody in all the whole world so good as
Leveson."
"At all events there is no one more dear to us, except—"
"Yes, I know," said Josie hastily, having a great dread of allusions
which might end in weeping. "But I don't mean that. I mean that he is
so very good—don't you think he is almost a little too good sometimes?
He has been wanting to get himself a microscope for ever so long, so
that he could show me things in it. He said it would make a cheese-mite
look ever so big, and a needle like a great spear. And now he has gone
and spent the money on beggars."
"Not beggars, I suspect. Leveson likes to hunt out the poor and needy
who do not beg."
"But you know what I mean. O dear, this seam is dreadfully long."
"Poor Josie—always in some trouble."
"I don't think there's any trouble so bad as a great long seam without
any end."
"If it really had no end, I half think I could agree with you."
"Well, this hasn't—hardly," said Josie. "I can't see any as I work, and
my back aches, and my fingers are so cold."
"Nurse will take you out for a walk presently."
"I like that, only nurse won't take me where I wish. She is so fond of
seeing all the shops, and I don't care for them unless I have something
to buy. But I haven't a penny left."
"Shall I send you to the toy-shop as a little treat, if you finish your
seam nicely?"
"The toy-shop?"
"Yes, to spend a shilling for me, on something that a certain little
girl would like to have for her own."
"O mother! You darling!" And Josie gave her an enthusiastic hug,
returning to the seam vigorously. "I'm going to work ever so hard now,
and I shall soon finish."
"I should like to see you doing as much to please me, Josie, as you
will do for the sake of a shilling."
"Oh, but indeed, it isn't that I don't want to please you, only—only—"
Josie paused, in perplexity how to wind up,—"only it is so hard. But,
mother, do you think Leveson needed to do that—about his microscope?"
"I can't judge for Leveson."
"Because he gives ever so much away. And I wanted to see the
microscope."
"That is a reason which I suspect weighed more with Leveson than any
wish to have it himself. But I suppose he thought his poor people
needed help, even more than you needed to see a magnified needle or
cheese-mite."
Josie made no answer, and worked steadily for a while. Suddenly she
sprang up with a shout—
"It's done—quite done. Isn't that good? And now may I—?"
Mrs. Therlock pulled out her purse; and Josie flew off with the
shilling in her hand.
No long time passed before she found herself in the shop with nurse.
Such an array of toys lay before her, that it was no easy matter to
choose. There were dolls in abundance, but she had plenty at home.
There were boxes of toys, but Josie considered herself rather beyond
them. And after all a shilling would not do very much. Josie inquired
the price of half the things she saw, at first in high spirits, which
grew slightly irritable, as she found how little she could purchase.
However, she satisfied herself at last with a neat white basket, which
she told nurse "would just hold her smallest doll's best frocks, which
were tumbling about among all the bigger things. And mother likes me to
be tidy even with my toys," added Josie, anxious to prove the wisdom of
her choice.
It was a keen day, though sunshiny. The frost had lasted long, and
while most of the snow had disappeared, it still lay in thick patches
on the roofs, and in sheltered corners. Nurse was lingering at a
shop-window, to admire the remains of some Christmas decorations, and
Josie had walked on a few yards, admiring her basket as she went. She
remembered all at once that it was just about here she had seen the
poor little starving girl some months back, and raising her eyes at the
recollection, they unexpectedly encountered the same child. The very
same—Josie had no doubt about that. Face and hands indeed were cleaner,
and the ragged frock had been carefully patched; but she was just as
thin, just as hollow-checked, just as miserable, just as much a picture
of want, as when Josie had last come across her.
"Why," Josie exclaimed involuntarily, "you're the very same little girl
that was starving that day,—ever so long ago."
"I'm starvin' now," said Ailie, speaking feebly, though with a gleam of
recognition.
"But if you are always starving, how is it that you never get quite
starved?" asked Josie.
"I haven't been since that day. Gran'father's kept me, an' I've had
enough. But he's out o' work now, and we've sold nigh everythin', an'
the money's gone," said Ailie.
"I did not know you had a grandfather," said Josie. "You told me you
had no home."
"Nor I hadn't," said Ailie. "An' he only makes me call him gran'father,
'cause he's so good to me. Old Job Kippis is his name. He's give me a
home all these months past."
"A home where?" asked Josie.
"Up in his garret. Top of a house, down a back street nigh to here,"
said Ailie.
"Up in a garret! How very dreadful," said Josie. "Why doesn't your
grandfather get more work?"
"He can't. He's tried. An' he says we'll have to go to the work'us."
"Why, that's just what you were afraid of last time," said Josie,
dubiously. "And yet you have never been. Where's your mother?"
"I dunno," said Ailie, gulping down a sob.
"How do you mean,—don't know?"
"She's never come. They set her loose out o' jail, an' she set off for
to come back, an' she never come. Nobody don't know where she is."
"I wonder if you are really telling me the truth now," said Josie
thoughtfully. "I do wish Leveson were here, for he would be sure to
know, and I am sure I don't."
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