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[Illustration: [_See p._ 35.]
POPPY'S PRESENTS
BY
MRS. WALTON
_Author of 'Christie's Old Organ,' 'A Peep Behind the Scenes,' etc._
London
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56, PATERNOSTER ROW; AND 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
BUTLER & TANNER,
THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS,
FROME, AND LONDON.
CONTENTS.
I. THE LITTLE RED CLOAK 7
II. POPPY'S WORK 18
III. A HOLIDAY 26
IV. A LONG NIGHT 35
V. FOUND AT LAST 44
VI. POPPY WRITES A LETTER 53
VII. A VISIT FROM GRANDMOTHER 63
VIII. JACKY AND JEMMY 71
IX. JOHN HENRY'S BAIRN 81
X. THE MOTHER'S LEGACY 90
XI. THE STORY OF THE RING 100
XII. THE WONDERFUL FIRE 112
XIII. POPPY'S FATHER COMES HOME 119
CHAPTER I.
THE LITTLE RED CLOAK.
The great cathedral bell was striking twelve. Slowly and solemnly it
struck, and as it did so people looked at their watches and altered
their clocks, for every one in the great city kept time by that grave
old bell. Every one liked to hear it strike; but the school children
liked it best of all, for they knew that with the last stroke of twelve
lessons would be over, and they would be able to run home to dinner.
'Good morning, children,' said Miss Benson, the mistress.
'Good morning, ma'am,' said the girls, and then they marched out like
soldiers in single file. So quiet they were, so grave, so orderly they
went, almost as solemnly as the old bell itself.
But only till they reached the school door. Then they broke up into a
merry noisy crowd, running and shouting, chasing each other from side to
side, jumping, hopping, and skipping as they went down the street.
'Oh dear, what a noise them children do make!' said old Mrs. North, as
she got up and shut her cottage door.
But the noise soon died away, for the children were hungry, and they
were hurrying home to dinner.
What is that little bit of red that we see in front of the crowd? It is
a little girl in a scarlet cloak, and she is turning down a long
straight road which leads into the heart of the city. Let us follow her
and see where she is going. She is very tidily dressed; there is a clean
white holland pinafore under the scarlet cloak, and although her shoes
are old, they are well patched and mended. But she is turning into a
very poor part of the city--the streets are getting narrower and more
crowded, and they are getting darker, too, for the quaint, old-fashioned
houses overhang the pavement, and so nearly meet overhead, that very
little light or air can get into the dismal street below.
Still on and on goes the little red cloak. And now she is turning down a
court on the left-hand side of the street. An open court it ought to be,
with a row of houses on each side, and an open space in the middle; but
it is not an open space to-day, for it is everybody's washing-day in
Grey Friars Court, and long lines are stretched from side to side, and
shirts and petticoats and stockings and all manner of garments are
waving in the breeze.
The little red cloak threads her way underneath; sometimes the corner of
a wet towel hits her in the face, sometimes she has to bend almost
double to get underneath a dripping blanket or sheet. But she makes her
way through them all, and passes on to the last house in that long
dingy court, and as she does so she notices a little crowd of women
standing by her mother's door. There is old Mrs. Smith leaning on her
crutches, and Sarah Anne Spavin and her mother, and Mrs. Lee with her
baby in her arms, and Mrs. Holliday, with Tommy and Freddy and Ann
Eliza. And as she looks up she sees several faces looking out of the
windows overhead.
What could be the matter? Had anything happened to her mother? Was her
mother dead? That was her first thought, poor child. But nobody was
looking particularly grave, and they laughed as they caught sight of the
little red cloak coming under the white sheets and table-cloths.
'Why, here's Poppy!' said Mrs. Holliday, as she came up to them.
'Well, Poppy,' cried another, 'have you heard the news?'
'Your mother's got a present for you, Poppy,' said Sarah Anne Spavin;
'you'd better hurry in and have a look at it.'
'A present for me,' said the child; 'what is it?'
But the women only laughed and bade her go and see.
And the faces at the window overhead laughed too, and said there was
such a thing as having too much of a good thing.
Poppy passed them all and went in, and then she heard her mother's voice
calling to her to come upstairs. Her mother was in bed, and she beckoned
Poppy to come up to her.
'Poppy, child,' she said, rather sorrowfully, 'I've got a present for
you.'
Just what the neighbours had told her; and the child wondered more and
more what this present could be. It was a very long time now since Poppy
had had a present; she had never had one since her father went away, and
it was six months since he had left them.
Poppy often wondered where he had gone. Her mother never talked about
him now, and the neighbours shook their heads when he was mentioned,
and said he was a bad man. But he had often brought Poppy a present on a
Saturday night when he got his wages; sometimes he brought her a packet
of sweets, sometimes an apple, and once a beautiful box of dolls'
tea-things. But since he went away there had been no presents for Poppy.
Her mother had had to work very hard to get enough money to pay the rent
and to get bread for them to eat--there was no money to spare for
anything else.
What could this present be, about which all the neighbours knew?
'Look here, Poppy,' said her mother; and she pointed to a little bundle
of flannel lying on one side of the bed.
Poppy went round and peeped into it; and there she saw her present--a
tiny baby with a very red face and a quantity of black hair, and with
its little fists holding its small fat cheeks.
'Oh, what a beauty!' said Poppy, in an awestruck voice. 'Is it for me,
mother?'
'Yes,' said the mother, with a sigh; 'it's for you, Poppy.'
'But that isn't all,' said old Mrs. Trundle, who was standing at the
foot of the bed; 'that's only half your present, Poppy. Look here!'
And in her arms Poppy saw another bundle, and when she had opened it, lo
and behold, what should there be but another little baby, also with a
very red face and plenty of black hair, and with its little fists
holding its fat cheeks!
'Two of them?' said Poppy, in amazement. 'Are you sure they are both for
us, mother?'
'Yes, they are both for us,' said the poor woman; 'both for us, Poppy.'
'Who sent them?' asked the child.
'God sent them, poor little things!' said her mother, looking
sorrowfully at the two little bundles.
'Are they God's presents to me?' asked Poppy.
'Yes, to you and to me, Poppy,' said her mother; 'there's nobody else
to look after them.'
'Ay, you'll have your work set now, Poppy,' said old Mrs. Trundle.
But Poppy did not think of the work just then. Two dear little babies!
And for her own! She was very very happy. She could scarcely eat any
dinner, although Mrs. Lee took her across the court into her house, that
she might get some with her children, and it was a great trial to her
when her mother told her she must go back to school as usual.
'You'll get little enough schooling now, go while you may, Poppy,' she
said.
The excitement in the court was not over when the child passed down it
on her way to school.
The neighbours came to their doors when they caught sight of her red
cloak, and some of them said, 'Poor Poppy!' and some of them shook their
heads mournfully without saying anything. The child could not understand
why they all pitied her so much. She thought they ought to be glad that
such a nice present had come for her.
On her way to school Poppy passed under a curious old gateway, which had
been built many hundred years ago, and which still stood in the old wall
of the city. Under the shadow of this ancient Bar was a shop--such a
pretty shop Poppy thought it, and it was very seldom that she went under
the gateway without stopping to look in at the window. For there,
sitting in a row, and looking out at her, were a number of
dolls--beautiful wax dolls with curly hair and blue eyes and pink
cheeks. And Poppy had never had a wax doll of her own. Her only doll was
an old wooden creature with no real hair, and with long straight arms;
she could never even sit down, for her back and her legs would not bend,
and when Poppy came home and looked at her after she had been gazing in
the toy-shop window she thought her very ugly indeed.
One day when Poppy was standing under the Bar, a lady and a little girl
came up to the shop. The little girl was just as tall as Poppy, and she
stood beside her gazing at the row of dolls.
'I should like that one, mother,' she said; 'the one with yellow hair
and a red necklace.'
That was Poppy's favourite too; _she_ would have chosen that one, she
said to herself.
The lady had gone into the shop and bought the doll, and Poppy watched
the happy little girl walk away with it in her arms. And then poor Poppy
went into a dark corner under the Bar, and cried a little to herself
before she went on to school. If only _her_ mother had money enough to
buy her a wax doll!
But on the day Poppy's presents came she did not even stop for a moment
to look at the wax dolls. What stupid creatures they seemed to her now!
_Her_ babies could open and shut their eyes, and none of these dolls
could do that.
_Her_ babies could move, and yawn, and cry, and kick; they were far
better than dolls.
And mother said God had sent them! He must have known how much she had
wanted one of those wax dolls, Poppy thought.