A SUCCESSFUL RAID.
Jim Adams stuck to his threat. He ceased to be an abstainer, and life
changed at once for himself and for all those with whom he came in
contact.
He was morose with his mates, and withdrew from their company as much
as possible. He shared the supper beer with Jane, but he constantly
spoke sharply to her and especially resented the least inattention to
Harry's wants, so that it seemed as if the two had changed places,
and now it was Jim who found fault and Jane who, aided by that secret
object in her mind, took it quietly and made the best of things.
To Harry, Jim was never cross, but the child felt a difference, and
missed the companionship Jim had given him, for now Jim either called
in at the public-house on his way home from work, or, returning early,
went out immediately after supper, and he ceased to take an interest
in the Mission Service or in Harry's singing.
Jim was bitterly disappointed with himself. He had been trying to be
good like his little sister Nellie, to be good enough to meet her
in Heaven, and now he had been tricked into doing what he had no
intention of doing, and the old liking had come back with the old
taste. He had emptied the rest of that can of beer with real relish,
for in his anger he had carried it away to finish it with his dinner,
and in that finishing of it, he had gone under to the old temptation.
He had fought and failed. If, in his anger at the base trickery of his
mates, he had dashed the can of beer on the ground, he would not
have despised himself, he could have forgiven himself; but he knew
perfectly well that, even as the unexpected liquid poured down his
throat, and he realised what it was, he had made up his mind to finish
it, come what might.
He said to himself moodily that men and the devil had combined against
him, and what was the use of fighting any more?
He only hoped that Tom would not guess. He knew Tom would be
disappointed in him, and he avoided seeing him if he was able.
Besides, he knew all Tom could say to him, but he did not mean to try
to be a teetotaller again.
And Tom did guess. But he said nothing, for with his wise, kind eyes
he saw that the time had not come, only, as he went to and from his
work, many an earnest prayer went up from Tom's heart that Jim might
try again, not this time in his own strength, but in the strength of
that One who had died to redeem him from all iniquity; that he might
one day say, "I will go forth in the strength of the Lord God."
So Tom came and went to Jim's home as regularly as ever on a Saturday,
and took Harry out with him. Though he seldom found Jim in, and the
very sight of Jane and the sound of her voice, brought back the shiver
to his heart that had come to it when he knew she had seen and spoken
to Pattie, yet he persevered in coming for the child. If things were
not going too well with Jim, little Harry needed the more love and
guardianship, for was not this a little life that must one day grow to
good or to evil?
He was thankful that Jane never mentioned Pattie, but he little
guessed that her thoughts were ever hovering round the idea of
vengeance for his wrongs, like a moth about a candle.
One Monday evening, Jane returned from her work in Old Keston, full of
wrath and dismay.
She had received a week's notice from her lady, and no reason,
adequate in Jane's mind, had been given for the change. This made her
furious, for though washing jobs were plentiful, one that suited her
as well as this was rare, and she would also lose her vantage ground
of keeping an eye on Pattie and finding a chance of paying her out.
Only one Monday remained to her, but rack her brains as she would, no
way of working her will occurred to her. Yet if she once lost sight of
Pattie, small chance of doing anything would remain.
The last Monday came, and all day Jane kept a sharp look-out on
Pattie's premises; but Pattie had eyes as well as Jane Adams, and she
took very good care that Mondays never took her down the garden within
reach of Jane's tongue. Yet the very proximity of Tom's sister on
Mondays brought him before Pattie's mind and made her remember that
phrase which had seemed like music to her, "going thin and a-fretting
for a worthless thing like you."
Yes! she was but a worthless thing--only Tom had not thought so. He
had loved her. Sam Willard liked her, but if she had not gone out with
him on Sunday evening after church, he would have asked somebody else
to go, and laughed and talked nonsense and enjoyed himself just the
same, scarcely heeding the difference of his companion. Sam was never
free on Saturday evening as Tom used to be. She wondered what Tom did
with his Saturdays now. She would like, unseen herself, to see Tom
for just a moment. She wondered if he ever thought of her now. It was
almost worth risking meeting Jane to know that!
Watch as she would, however, Jane saw nothing of Pattie till about
four o'clock that Monday afternoon, and then she saw her bustle out
into the garden, and begin vigorously brushing and dusting a child's
wheel chair. It was but a few minutes' work and Pattie took the chair
inside again, but a few moments later she reappeared at her bed-room
window, and throwing the sash up she brought a hat and a brush to the
sill and brushed the hat vigorously. Clearly Pattie and the child were
going out for a walk! At any rate, if she could but meet them on
her way to the station, Jane thought she could annoy Pattie pretty
considerably.
She had meant to have a few words with her lady about her dismissal,
but her lady had taken the opportunity to go out calling and left the
maid to pay Mrs. Adams, and Jane scarcely regretted it, so anxious was
she to be off before Pattie's walk should be over.
However, though she looked up and down every road she passed on her
way to the station, she saw no sign of Pattie, and the station bell
warning her of her train, she hurried on She did not want to lose it
and wait an hour.
She found the booking office in an uproar. In the centre of the crowd
of people gathered for this train, the greatest favourite in the day
for Mixham Junction, a terrible dog-fight was going on between a big
Irish terrier and a small black terrier, and the small dog was getting
the worst of it.
In vain the lady who owned the small dog, begged and besought the
onlookers to rescue her pet; nobody seemed to own the Irish terrier,
and the majority of the passengers, being working men, carried neither
sticks nor umbrellas, and nobody appeared to be inclined to interfere
otherwise with so formidable-looking an antagonist. Into the midst of
this hubbub came Jane, and the first thing her eyes fell upon was
a frightened child, in a little wheel chair in a corner under the
window, who was sobbing loudly with absolute terror.
Pattie's little charge!
Jane recognised the child and the chair in an instant, and looked
round for Pattie. As she did so the Mixham Junction train thundered
in, adding tenfold to the noise and confusion, the dog-fight lost its
interest in a moment for the onlookers, and they streamed out on to
the platform, mingling and struggling with the passengers who were
alighting.
One glance showed Jane that Pattie was not in sight. Her opportunity
of vengeance had come to her. She recognised it, triumphed in it, all
in the flash of a moment, and bending over little terrified, crying
Maud, she unfastened her strap with a touch, lifted her out, and
saying aloud,
"Never mind, dear, it's all over now," she stepped swiftly across the
platform and entered a third class carriage.
"Right!" shouted a porter, banging the door behind her. There was a
moment's pause--a moment for reflection--a moment to go back, but Jane
did not take it. She had paid Pattie out at last.
The carriage was full of people, and they looked at the sobbing child,
some with curiosity, some with annoyance, but Jane was equal to the
occasion.
She settled the child on her lap, wiped her wet eyes and set her hat
straight, and then she faced a kind-looking lady who sat opposite.
"There's been two dogs fighting in there and it's frightened her," she
said. "Never mind, my dear, it's all over now."
"I don't want to go in the train, I want to go home," cried Maud,
struggling to get off this strange woman's knee, "I want to go home. I
want my mother," she sobbed.
"Hush, hush, my dear!" said Jane authoritatively, giving her an
admonitory little shake. Then she looked apologetically at the kind
lady again.
"She don't like leaving her mother--but there's a new baby sister at
her home," she said glibly, "so she's coming home with me for a bit.
But she's been spoilt and she don't like the idea of a new baby at
all, and she ain't used to her auntie yet, and then there was the dogs
on top of it all! Hush, my dear, hush, you're disturbing the ladies
and gentlemen."
She was relieved when the whole carriage load turned out at the next
station: she and Maud were left alone, and she had time to collect her
thoughts.
Her triumph was complete! She had paid Pattie out thoroughly and she
was satisfied. The opportunity for her vengeance had come to her and
she had seized it without fear and without regret. How clever it was
of her to have thought of that fiction about her sister and the new
baby! It would do for Jim too, admirably, and he would never find out.
She doubted if he even knew where in the outskirts of Old Keston her
sister lived. He might even not know her married name! He would accept
the story as she gave it, especially now that he was beginning to
drink again. Well! he could drink as much as he liked, so long as he
brought her her money and Harry's money regularly!
In a day or two she would take the child back to Old Keston,
ostensibly to see its mother and the new baby, but in reality she
would take it in the dark to its own gate, and leave it to make its
own presence known.
In the meantime Pattie would be dismissed without a character, with
a multitude of blame upon her head, if indeed she escaped so easily.
They might think Pattie had stolen the child, and clap her into prison
till she was found!
That would be vengeance indeed!