POOR STRAY!
BOB was eager to tell Mrs. Winter about his visit to the grand hotel
on Clifton Down, which had seemed to him quite a palace, and all that
Lady Margaret Browning had said to him; but he had no opportunity of
doing so till the next day when, late in the evening, he went
upstairs for the night. Then he had half an hour's talk with her
in her attic. She heard all he had to tell with the greatest
interest, and remarked smilingly that she supposed he felt himself
a rich man now he was the owner of five pounds.
"Oh, yes!" he agreed; "it's a lot of money, isn't it? But the worst
of it is Aunt Martha doesn't want me to spend it. She's going to keep
it for me till father comes back. I should like to give Jackie a
present; but she won't agree to my spending even a few shillings?"
"I think, perhaps she's right," said Mrs. Winter, "If you broke the
five pounds you'd probably spend more than would be wise. Think how
surprised and delighted your father will be to find you with five
whole pounds, Bob!"
"Yes! He shall have them all, Mrs. Winter!" Mrs. Winter nodded.
"Now," she said, "I've something to tell you. I've been talking
to-day to someone who knows about Lady Margaret Browning, and I've
found out that she's the daughter of that young lady I was telling
you about, the 'Miss Peggy' I loved so much. So you see I had seen
the ruby brooch before."
"Oh, how strange!" Bob cried, in amazement.
"Yes, isn't it? Miss Peggy's husband wasn't an earl when she married
him; he only became one on the death of an uncle a few years since.
Oh, how I'd love to see Miss Peggy's daughter!"
"Perhaps you will some day," Bob replied quickly, "for I do believe
she means to come and see Jackie and me, though Aunt Martha says
she'll go away and not think of me again."
"She'll think of you again if she's anything like her mother,"
Mrs. Winter told him, "and from what you say, I think she may be.
It was just like her mother to ask God's blessing on your father.
'The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and He addeth no sorrow
with it.' That's something worth having, isn't it?"
Next morning at breakfast Bob told his aunt that Mrs. Winter had been
nurse to Lady Margaret Browning's mother, and she was greatly
surprised.
"Well, I never!" she exclaimed, "who'd have thought it! And Mrs.
Winter so poor too!"
"Do you think she's very poor?" asked Bob anxiously.
His aunt nodded.
"She told me herself she's only a few shillings a week more than her
old-age pension to live on," she said; "it's hard lines for her,
because I hear from outsiders that her husband left her a few
hundreds—she lent the money to a relative who lost it in his
business. If I was she I'd apply to Lady Margaret Browning for help."
"Oh, I don't think she'd like to!" Bob answered quickly, for he
realised his kind old friend was not the sort of person to ask
charity.
Nevertheless, he quite made up his mind that when he saw Lady
Margaret Browning again—he believed he would see her again—that he
would tell her all about her dead mother's old nurse.
Bob was kept busy by his aunt that morning, running errands. He was
toiling along with a heavy basket filled with vegetables and fruit
when he came around a corner upon Tom Smith. He would have passed
without speaking, but Tom stood in front of him and stopped him.
"Hulloa; youngster!" was the bully's greeting, followed by the
question: "What about that brooch?"
"Well, what about it?" said Bob coldly. Tom gave him a shrewd look.
"I suppose you saw the printed bills in the shop windows?" he said
inquiringly. "Well—" as Bob nodded—"did you get the reward?"
"Yes, of course."
"And what about me in the matter?" Tom asked, much to Bob's
amazement. "You know I saw the brooch on the ground at the same time
as you did," he went on untruthfully, "but you were quicker than me
and picked it up first."
"I don't know anything of the sort!" Bob cried indignantly. "How can
you tell such a wicked story?"
"It's not a wicked story and I dare you to say so! It's true! And my
word's as good as yours, I hope! You ought to halve that five pounds
with me, or, at any rate, give me something out of it."
"I'm not going to give you anything!"
"You're not?"
"No."
Tom took a step nearer to Bob, and made a threatening gesture as
though he would strike him. Bob looked him steadily in the eyes,
and did not flinch. The bully hesitated a minute, then a cruel
expression crossed his face.
"If you don't give me a share of that five pounds I'll make you wish
you had!" he declared. "Come, now, a pound will satisfy me. No?
Ten shillings then?"
"I won't give you a farthing," Bob told him, "for I am positive
you never saw the brooch before I'd picked it up. Let me pass.
I can't stop talking any longer! Do you hear? Let me pass!"
Instead of doing so Tom gave Bob a violent push which made him
stagger and upset some apples from his basket. In a minute several
big boys, friends of Tom Smith's, who had been standing by, listening
and watching, had pounced upon the apples and made off with them.
Bob stood aghast with dismay, whilst Tom broke into a roar
of laughter and quickly followed his friends.
"Whatever will Aunt Martha say?" thought poor Bob. "And they are
eating apples, too, not cheap cooking ones!"
Unfortunately for Bob Mrs. Mead was not in a good humour when he
returned home with the tale that some boys had stolen the apples from
him, and she was too angry to listen when he attempted to explain all
that had happened.
"You're not to be trusted!" she said severely. "Why, those apples
were worth twopence each! Early apples are always dear, especially
dessert ones. What's that you say, that a boy you'd been talking to
was to blame and not you? What business had you dawdling away your
time talking to any one, pray? Don't try to make any more excuses,
and get out of my sight!"
Bob obeyed. He went upstairs, but found the attics empty. No doubt
Mrs. Winter and Jackie and Stray had gone for a walk. He seated
himself on the edge of his bed to wait for their return, his heart
hot with indignation and the feeling that he had been unjustly
treated. By-and-bye, being very tired, he took off his dusty boots,
and lay down on the bed to rest. In a few minutes he was asleep.
Bob had been asleep for nearly an hour when he was awakened by voices
in the other attic. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and called—
"Jackie! Jackie!"
"Oh, come here, Bobbie!" was the answer. "Stray's hurted!"
Bob bounded off the bed and rushed into Mrs. Winter's attic. Jackie
was there, in tears, and Mrs. Winter, who was kneeling on the floor
beside Stray. The dog was allowing his mistress to examine a nasty
cut behind one of his ears.
"Oh, Bobbie," Jackie cried, "Stray's hurted drefful! A bad boy
did it. He threw a stone and hit him."
"The brute!" exclaimed Bob furiously. "The cowardly brute! It must
have been Tom Smith! Oh, poor Stray!—poor Stray!"