THE BABY.
ELLEN, with a carefully covered basket, which she carried warily,
proceeded, after parting with Hannah, to pay a few visits to the old
or ailing people whom Hannah and she were in the habit of helping
in various ways. One sick man got a nice bowl of soup, and old Mrs.
Cantrell not only got a bowl of soup, but had it nicely heated for her.
Ellen read to her for half an hour, and chatted with her pleasantly,
and left the old lady much refreshed.
Then she went on to a poor girl, who had long been confined to a bed of
pain and unrest. She had the great refreshment of having her bed well
made, while she sat by the one poor window of her attic, and looked
at the sky. There was nothing else to look at, except the housetops,
and she preferred the sky—though one could hardly call it blue. This
poor soul had a small allowance from the family in whose service she
had met with the accident which disabled her, so she was not actually
in want, but it was a great thing to her to get her shopping done by a
trusty friend, and a visit now and then shortened the long weary day.
Moreover, Hannah had got her employment from a "ready-made" shop in the
neighbourhood, and taking the parcels for her, made it possible for her
to undertake it. What a relief to the long hours of weariness and pain
the employment was!
The next visit was to an old woman who had "seen better days." Oh,
pathetic words! She liked to hear a hymn read, though she never failed
to tell Ellen that hymns sounded much more comforting when repeated,
not read; and Ellen always had to tell her that she was quite unable to
learn hymns off by heart. On this, the old lady always repeated poetry,
and Ellen never knew what it was all about, and was glad when it came
to an end, which it did not do till the old lady was tired, and felt
comfortably convinced that she was far cleverer than Ellen Rule.
Then, with an empty basket, Ellen set off to inquire for Mrs.
Cartwright.
You see, Hannah's "friends," as she always called them, had increased.
Her idea that it would be a capital plan to adopt a child and think no
more of her neighbours, had come to nothing—she had nearly forgotten
that she had ever entertained it. In the mass of suffering that lay
around her, a working woman could make but little difference. Yet she
lightened some heavy burdens; she cheered some sad hearts; she taught
Ellen to love and help others, and she set a good example. Moreover,
she did not think much of herself or her doings, only saying, that if
you belong to the Lord Jesus, you must try to be like Him.
Ellen found that Mrs. Cartwright was much worse. Mrs. Green was there
and told Ellen that she would stay there all night, as Miss Mildred
could not be left alone. So, as it was late, Ellen set off for home.
It was pretty dark now, except for the gas lamps. Ellen always went by
Princess Street, which was a quiet and perfectly respectable street,
and, far from being crowded, was at this hour almost deserted. It was
inhabited by the poorer classes of clerks and the better class of
artisans, and they were probably having their tea.
There was a shorter way to Wellington Row, but it was by no means a
pleasant street, and, as a child, Ellen had been told never to enter
it. But she slackened her pace as she reached the turn, wondering if
she might not go that way for once, as she was in a hurry. Looking down
the alley—it was really no more than an alley—she saw an old woman
standing near the corner with a red bundle in her arms. Further down,
there were many people coming and going, or standing in groups, talking
or quarrelling. Ellen determined to keep to her usual line of march,
and was about to move on, when she found the old woman at her side, she
seemed much bent and very feeble.
"Step this way, young lady," said the old woman. "Would you help a poor
old body, whose strength is but small? Would you oblige me by holding
the child for about five minutes? I want to go up yonder for a doctor,
for I think the child's ill. Nothing infectious, miss, I assure you."
But the momentary shrinking which she had noticed in Ellen was not
caused by any fear of infection, but by a feeling of dislike to this
smooth-spoken old woman. Still, she did not like to refuse, and in
another moment, the red bundle was in her arms, and the old woman was
making her way up Princess Street as fast as she could get over the
ground—and that was at no mean pace, considering how feeble she had
seemed. Ellen had not seen her face, as it was muffled up in a thick
veil, which did not suit the rest of her attire.
The woman looked back frequently, and nodded at Ellen, who was watching
her. But Ellen looked down at the bundle for a few moments, and when
she again looked up, she failed to see the shabby little figure; and I
may as well add, she never saw it again.
She waited, and waited; and presently Princess Street seemed to wake
up, and people came out of the houses and set off, probably for some
place of amusement. Ellen was getting very anxious to go home, and was,
moreover, frightened because the child, if there "was" a child in the
bundle, lay so perfectly still.
When a clock somewhere struck eight, she got quite desperate. She had
been more than half an hour standing there, and Mrs. Rule would reach
home tired and hungry, and Ellen had the key. Very timidly she raised a
fold of the dirty ragged, red shawl, and there lay a little waxen face.
So there really "was" a baby—but was it breathing? Surely this was no
healthy sleep!
A policeman was now in sight, and perhaps the sensible thing to do
would be to tell him her story, and show him the child. What Ellen did,
was to cover the little face again, saying, "Mrs. Rule will know what
to do," and to set off for home as fast as possible, not by the short
way, for she forgot all about it.
As she hurried along, she became more and more frightened every
moment—the child was so unnaturally still. She increased her pace to
a run, and soon reached her own door, where she found Hannah waiting,
getting very uneasy, but not knowing what to do.
"Why, Ellen honey, is this you, running! And indeed you 'are' late, for
I was late myself."
"Oh, Mrs. Rule dear, look! Is the little thing dead?"
"What little thing? Why, Ellen, you're half killed, running like that.
Give me the key."
She opened the door, and hastily lighted the gas in the parlour. Ellen
laid the red bundle on a chair and began to cry.
"Name of wonder, what have you here? A dirty rag of a shawl. Where did
you get it?—What is in it, Ellen?"
"A baby! Oh, see if it is dead! It is so still! Oh, Mrs. Rule dear, I'm
so frightened!"
Hannah put the girl into a chair, and began to unfold the bundle.
Ellen's cries and sobs grew louder.
"Is it dead? I'm afraid it is. Oh, do tell me—is there any life in it?"
"A baby!" said Hannah. "And without a tack of clothing on it. Yes, 'tis
breathing. I don't know what's the matter with it—there doesn't seem
to be any injury. Ellen, stop crying at once, and be of some use. Run
and get Mrs. Collins. She's reared a family, and may know what's the
matter."
Ellen ceased to sob, but could not cease crying. However, she flew from
the room, and out into the street, leaving the hall door open. Never
before had the quiet girl been seen to rush along the pathway as she
did, both when carrying the baby and now. And she had not got home
unobserved. There was a gas lamp opposite No. 6, and Mrs. Collins was
sitting in the parlour, with her venerable nose very near the glass of
the window.
"A good thing Miss Hallam is out, for I do think it was that charity
foundling that ran by; there's something wrong with her."
When quite sure that Hannah was out of hearing, she generally spoke of
Ellen as "the charity foundling." It seemed to give her great comfort.
"Why, here she is again! Now, I wish we were made up again, for I want
to know. Oh, she's coming here; so I shall know, after all! I dare say
Hannah Rule's in a fit; she's a full complexioned woman, and 'such' a
temper! Well, what do you want?"
For she had opened the door, at which Ellen was knocking loudly and
persistently.
"Come to Mrs. Rule; there's a baby, and it's maybe dying. Come at once."
"A baby!" screamed Mrs. Collins. "But, upon my word, Ellen, this is
cool! I'm turned out of the house, as one may say, yesterday, and
to-day 'tis 'Come at once.' No, Ellen; I'm a forgiving woman, as you
know, but—"
"But you 'must' come," said Ellen, breathlessly.
She well knew that Mrs. Collins was capable of arguing for half an
hour, and time was precious—the baby might die. So, without a moment's
hesitation, gentle, slow-moving Ellen caught her by the hand, and
whisked her out of her own house and down to No. 3 in less time than I
take to tell the tale.
Luckily, Miss Hallam came home in a few minutes and shut the door,
which neither Mrs. Collins nor Ellen thought of doing.
No. 3's door was open too, so in they swept. A voice called—
"Come to the kitchen. I've brought it here for warmth. Shut the door,
Ellen."
Mrs. Collins trotted into the kitchen, too full of curiosity to
hesitate.
"A baby!" she cried again. "And a dead baby! No, it's not dead. Ah, I
see how it is! I used to give my children a few drops sometimes, just
to get a little peace, but some one's given this child too much. See
its poor little eyes—they're set like. Ellen, run to Dr. Jephson's at
the corner, and tell him there's a child here has had an overdose of
something to make it sleep. I don't know what to do for it; and it's in
a bad way, I know that much."
"Just hold the child for me, and I'll go for him myself—Ellen's half
dead. Ellen, get a drink of water, and sit quiet a bit; I won't be
long."
Dr. Jephson had plenty of experience of this kind of case. And he did
the best he could for the poor baby, but he declared that it was in a
very bad way, and that he hardly expected to bring it round. However,
before morning the little thing was out of danger. Neither Hannah, nor
Ellen, nor the good-natured doctor, even tried to sleep that night; nor
were any questions asked as to how Ellen became possessed of the baby.
Where was Mrs. Collins, do you ask? When the good creature found that
nothing could be thought of but the struggle for the little flickering
spark of life, she said she was only in the way, and went home. But at
about seven a.m. she returned, and said that she had not been able to
sleep a wink for thinking of the child.
"Is it alive, Ellen?"
"Oh, yes; and doing well—it is fast asleep! Mrs. Rule has it in the
kitchen. Will you come in?"
Mrs. Rule was sitting by the fire, with the child, now wrapped in a
soft blanket, lying on her lap. It slept, but with occasional starts
and moans, and it was necessary to keep it very warm.
"It is really better," said Mrs. Collins.
"Yes; it will do now, Dr. Jephson says. But it had enough of whatever
the nasty stuff was to kill a weakly child. He says this must be a very
strong, healthy baby."
"But the question is, how did you get it? Where did it come from?"
"The only question I've had time to ask Ellen was if she knew where to
find its people, and she said no. The doctor's only just gone. Ellen,
'tis half-past seven; go and call Mr. Holcroft, and take up the hot
water; I don't like to put the child out of my arms, for a chill now
would about finish it. Come back as soon as you can, for breakfast must
be thought of; you and I have had nothing since dinner yesterday; no
wonder you look so white, child."
Ellen left the kitchen, and Mrs. Collins said impressively—
"I shall ask just one word, for I must go. How came she by the child?"
"I believe she found it. Come, now, Mrs. Collins, you make friends with
me—you know you were in a great way the other night—and I'll come in
and tell you all about the child as soon as ever I can."
"You can surely come if you feel inclined," Mrs. Collins remarked
grandly. "Being myself a mother, I take an interest in the poor child.
Oh, yes; come, by all means, if I'm not here in the meantime to ask how
it is."
While Ellen was getting ready some much-needed breakfast, she told the
story of her adventure.
"My belief is," she concluded, "that the old woman stole the child. You
remember a story we had, that Mrs. Cartwright lent me, telling how a
child was stolen just for its clothes. She never meant to come back;
she just wanted to get rid of it."
"Well, dear, it will be a lesson to you not to be taken in again. The
old wretch—a pretty peck of trouble we shall have."
"Oh, Mrs. Rule dear, it will be no trouble. It will be lovely to have
it. I do love it already. It lay so quiet, pressed up to me. I just
felt I could do anything for it. I will do all the nursing of it, if
you like."
"Why, Ellen! You never think we're going to keep the child?"
It was a long time since Ellen had dropped or otherwise smashed
anything from sudden nervousness, but at this moment crash went a very
favourite brown teapot, which she was lifting off the stove.
"And we so thirsty," cried Hannah, gazing at the good tea running over
the tiles of the kitchen floor. "Never mind, Ellen; any one may meet
with an accident. Get the best teapot, and make tea again."
Ellen obeyed in silence. When breakfast was ready, a big wash-basket
was made ready to serve as the baby's cradle, and, with pillows and
blankets, made a very snug one. The little creature half awoke as
Hannah laid it down, but soon slept peacefully again, well tucked up,
and placed near the fire.
"It's the prettiest child I ever saw, now that it's a natural colour;
it even has a bit of pink on its cheek. Look, Ellen."
Hannah stretched herself mightily, saying, "I'm so stiff, sitting with
it on my lap all night; and I'm as hungry as ever I was in my life.
As for you, Ellen, you look like a ghost, and as soon as you've had
breakfast, off you go to bed. Young things can't stand losing their
sleep."
They were both hungry, and no wonder, but Ellen did not seem to care
what she ate, and was quite silent.
Presently Hannah said—
"Don't drop asleep there, Ellen; it won't rest you. Go and undress, and
go to bed. Nothing like that for a real rest."
Ellen looked up. "Mrs. Rule dear, what did you mean about the baby? You
know the policeman would take it to the poorhouse, or maybe Armine's
Trust, and the poor, pretty darling would just be miserable. I would
wish it had died last night rather than that. And you, that are so kind
and so sorry for people, do you remember telling me that God gave me to
you, to be your child? And has not God brought you this little thing? I
never thought you'd let it go to the poorhouse."
"Ellen honey, you don't think what it means. It's one thing to take a
girl to be a daughter to me, and learn what I can teach her, but to
take a boy! A mere baby, too! And do you expect me to take every child
that other people want to get rid of?"
Ellen began to cry. "The pretty baby," she sobbed; "I wish 'twas dead,
because I love it so!"
"But, Ellen, listen to me, now. It may happen that the child may be
claimed by its own people. Dr. Jephson says it is so well fed and
cared for that it certainly did not belong to the kind of woman who
would desert it, and he thinks it belongs to respectable people, and
was stolen, maybe just for its good clothes. If this is so, it will
soon be heard of, and I will tell you what I will do: To please you,
child, I'll keep it till the police have tried all they can to find out
who lost it. I will indeed, Ellen, though the neighbours will say I'm
little wiser than yourself about it."
Ellen dried her eyes, and looked up at the speaker. After a moment's
consideration she said—
"Will it take long to find out?"
"Oh, a week or more, I suppose."
"And if we hear nothing in that time, will you—but I know you will—you
would keep it a bit longer? Ah! I might have known you, and not got
into a fright. And, when the time comes—if it ever does come—that you
give up trying to find its people, you'll send it to the poorhouse.
Yes, and so you may, Mrs. Rule dear."
And Ellen laughed as she put her arms round Hannah's neck, and kissed
her.
"Ellen, I believe you think I'm a fool," remarked Hannah.
"Indeed I do not, then. Ah, there's no one like you!"
And Ellen went off to bed, where she fell fast asleep in half a minute,
and never heard the precious baby squalling—as squall he did on
awaking, and finding himself hungry.
Hannah took a warm soft shawl of her own, in which she wrapped the
baby, and, sitting by the fire, she attempted to feed it. With the
result that the baby kicked vigorously, and shouted in a manner which
left no doubt as to the healthy condition of its lungs.
"I do solemnly declare," said Hannah, addressing an imaginary hearer,
"that this child hasn't learned to take the spoon; and there's a pretty
kettle of fish."
After a pause of dismay, she got up, put the baby into the basket, and
went to the hall door. She looked towards No. 6, but for once Mrs.
Collins was not to be seen.
"Just because for once she was wanted," muttered poor Hannah. "Oh, Mr.
Holcroft, you made me jump."
"Why, Mrs. Rule, you ought to know my hour for going out, by this time.
But, for pity's sake, what 'is' the noise? It sounds like a child
crying."
"So it is, sir! A child that some old woman put off on us last
night—just handed it to Ellen to hold for a minute, and then made off.
I was trying to feed it, and it won't take food from me, though I know
it must be hungry, the poor little thing."
"Send it back to the old woman at once, I advise you."
"Very gladly, sir, if I knew where to find her, and that the child
belongs to her, which I doubt, sir. You must pass Dr. Jephson's—would
you oblige me so much as to let him know that I want a baby's bottle,
ready for use?—Tell him to send at once. I can't leave the child, you
see, and Ellen's asleep."
"Yes, I'll tell Jephson, but pray get that noisy child out of the house
before I come home. I could not stand that."
He gave the message, though he grumbled at having to do it, being an
old bachelor, and "cantankersome," as Hannah sometimes admitted.
Dr. Jephson came himself, bringing the bottle, for he wanted to see
his little patient, whom he not only saw, but heard. The bottle was
filled with milk and water. "Just warm, Mrs. Rule, 'just' warm, if you
please," the doctor said impressively.
"I believe you think I never fed a baby before," said Hannah.
"Well, ma'am, you've not been too successful with this one yet,"
replied Dr. Jephson, who was a great admirer of Hannah's kindness to
her neighbours, and I believe rather enjoyed her sharp sayings.
As the bottle was now full, Hannah made no verbal reply. Lifting the
still screaming baby into her lap, she deftly tucked the little ivory
mouthpiece into its wide-open mouth, and with a start of pleased
surprise, the little creature began sucking away, and its face soon
expressed the most placid enjoyment.
"See that, doctor!" Hannah said triumphantly. "Ah, I wasn't some years
in Mrs. Bulteel's nursery for nothing!"
"It is my belief you can do most things, Mrs. Rule. Well, good morning;
I must go home, or that young idle-bones, Munro, will be poisoning some
of my patients."
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