A few days before the present date of this story a fair-haired young
lady, with gentle, beautiful brown eyes, who was known in many of the
Liverpool slums as Sister Mary, was going home late. She was dressed as
a Sister, and belonged to a religious institution; but she lived with
her own father and mother, in one of the great suburbs of the city. She
was indefatigable in visiting the poor and suffering, going to their
houses at all hours without a particle of fear, and coming scathless
and without even an insulting word from many rough scenes and from many
low haunts.
On this particular night she had seen to the dying Mrs. Granger's
comforts, had said a word or two to Bet on her exit from the house, and
then walked rapidly down Sparrow Street to the first tramcar which went
in the direction of her home. A girl of her acquaintance got in also at
the same moment, and the two sat side by side talking on subjects of
mutual interest. The car was full; and a rough-looking sailor, of the
lowest type of face, was crushed up close to Sister Mary. She sat with
her back partly to him, and discoursed with eagerness to her companion.
The sailor knew many tricks of sleight-of-hand--he was, in short, a
kind of Jack-of-all-trades, and the laudable profession of the
professional pickpocket was by no means beneath his notice. He managed
to help himself to Sister Mary's purse without her being at all aware
of the fact. Her hands were clasped in her muff, which, though
unprofessional, the cold night necessitated her wearing. She paid her
tram fare with some loose change which she had slipped into her glove,
and did not disturb the purse which she supposed to be lying snugly in
an inside pocket.
Meanwhile Dent, for it was he, overheard some scraps of conversation of
highly interesting nature.
Sister Mary Vallence had been at the bank that afternoon; she had been
fortunate in getting to the Bank of England just before the hour of
closing, and she described the race she had had, in an amusing manner,
to her companion.
"Father would have been so put out if I had not brought him the money,"
she said. "He wanted it very particularly, for my brother Henry sails
for America to-morrow."
"But are you not afraid of going down into these awful, awful slums
with so much money in your pocket?" queried her girl friend.
"No, not really--no one would dream of supposing that I had close on 26
pounds in my inner pocket. As to the notes I always make a rule of
taking the numbers. Well, good-night dear; I am glad I met you. By the
way I saw that splendid-looking girl, Elizabeth Granger, again to-night
I wish I could show her to you, Agnes. You would never rest until you
had her for a model. Good-night,--I will get down here, conductor."
Dent also soon after left the tramcar; he had secured a richer prize
than he had dared to hope for in any ordinary young lady's purse, and
went on his way considerably elated,--only what a stupid, silly, almost
wicked trick that was of people to take the numbers of bank-notes!
Miss Vallence went home, and very soon afterwards discovered her loss.
It so happened that she had never noticed the sailor who sat next her,
and consequently had not the smallest clue as to the time or the place
where the purse was stolen. She had, indeed, never opened it since she
had put the money given to her at the Bank of England into it, having
enough small change for her immediate needs in the bag which she
usually carried about with her. The purse had been stolen; but how,
when, and where, were mysteries which no one seemed able to clear up.
The numbers of the missing notes were sent to the Bank, and a reward
offered for the purse should anyone be honest enough to return it. The
affair was also put into the hands of the police; but, as Sister Mary
could give so little information, they told her that her chance of
recovering the money was but slight. The only hope lay in the
presentation of the 5 pound notes at the Bank of England; but even if
they could trace the thing through this means, he was not very likely
to change the notes at present. Sister Mary's brother had to go to sea
without the money which would have considerably added to his comfort,
and a bad man plotted and schemed to do much mischief through his
ill-gotten wealth.
Bet was terribly startled when her father calmly and coolly proposed
such a mate for her as Isaac Dent. During the first night she spent in
Mother Bunch's attic, she lay awake and tossed wearily from side to
side, trying to forget the evil face of the man who would if he could
make her life, she knew, a hell on earth. She was glad of Mother
Bunch's protection, and wondered if it would be possible for her and
the boys to leave Liverpool altogether. But Bet, like most girls of her
class, had an intense and almost passionate regard for her native
place. The big town, with its wharves and quays and docks represented
her world. She was at home in it; she knew both its byways and
highways. To live away from the big ships and the rolling splendid
river and the taste of the sea which was wafted to her sometimes on the
strong fresh breeze, would have been death in life to the Liverpool
girl. No; she would rather undergo any hardships in her native place
than seek the troubles she knew not of elsewhere.
She reflected with satisfaction that her arm was strong as well as
Mother Bunch's--that in her own young strength she could defy most
dangers, and that these were not the times when girls could be forced
to marry against their will.
Towards morning she fell into a heavy sleep, and awoke to find the boys
both dressed after a fashion, and regarding her with round eyes of
approval and satisfaction.
"I won my bet," shouted Thady, when his sister slowly opened her eyes.
He began to turn somersaults in the wheel-like fashion which had drawn
him sundry halfpence in the streets. "I won my bet," he repeated
gleefully. "You'll have to give me the spotted marble, Nat."
Nat produced his treasure very unwillingly, and told Bet upbraidingly
that if she had slept one moment longer, so as to allow St. Jude's
clock to strike nine, he might have retained his treasure.
"And you looked real beautiful with the fringes round your eyes as
thick as thick," continued Thady, in an affectionate tone. "I'd have
lost my bet jest to look on yer," he added.
"You musn't make bets about things, boys," admonished their sister.
"Mother never held by betting, and you know, how I promised her that I
would bring you two up. Now we'll light the fire and have a bit of
breakfast, and then I'll take you to church. All good people go to
church, I've heerd say."
"Oh, lor!" whispered Thady to Nat. "Arn't we going to turn out real
pious!"
Nat was absorbed in the contemplation of his new boots, which he was
now fastening on, and did not reply to his brother. Bet, however, shook
her head; and the little captain, being oppressed by a sudden sense of
perplexity over this new state of things, stood in a contemplative
attitude under the skylight, looking up at the glimpse of blue sky and
whistling.
The day passed in a somewhat dreary fashion. Bet took her boys to the
nearest place of worship she could find--pushing them, in their
decidedly ragged apparel, inside the church door, but remaining in the
porch herself.
"You had better come in," whispered the verger.
"No, no; it's for them--get them the best places you can," she said in
reply.
And then she stood moodily just inside the porch, looking over the
town, and clasping her hands with an excess of excited feeling now and
then when the peal of the organ sounded on her ears. It was all
beautiful and warm within, but she was outside. Was she to be outside
everything all her life?
It is a fact much to be regretted, but both the general and the captain
behaved so very badly inside the church, using their newly-shod feet
with such vigor in kicking the boys next them, rolling their tongues
into their cheeks, distorting their features, and finally exchanging
marbles with their neighbors on each side of them, that the verger took
them out before the sermon was over, and told Bet that unless she chose
to accompany her brothers to church and sit with them during the
service, they could not go at all.
"It's no go, Bet," said the captain; "we ain't the sort as you can make
good 'uns of. Me and the general don't mind saying our prayers to you,
Bet, and not turning head-over-heels in the street, and not betting of
no bets, and we don't mind hiding if you tell us to hide, and we don't
mind being locked up in the attic, 'cause it ain't 'ard to get on to
the roof from the attic, and we can shy things at the cats from
there:--but we can't set still in church--can we, General? No, never no
more."
The General most heartily reciprocated these sentiments, and Bet
perceived that it would not be wise to lay down the laws of supposed
goodness too strictly in the case of two such adventurous spirits as
animated the breasts of her small brothers. She took them for a walk in
the afternoon, and it must be owned that the long day was dreary to all
three, and that all felt oppressed with an unnatural sense of
restraint. Nat, indeed, confided to his brother, as they lay side by
side in bed that night, that he was afeard ef there was much more of
that keeping in of a fellow he would have to go back to pie-crust
promises, and do again what was pleasing in his own eyes.
Monday morning, however, restored a far less strained order of things.
Bet was busy washing and mending, and doing all she could to put this
new semblance of a home into order. The boys, delighted at not having
to go to school as usual, whistled and cheered, and helped her to the
best of their ability. In the afternoon she read them a very exciting
story of adventure, which she had picked up in a penny paper, and again
the little fellows assured her that there was no one in all the world
like her, and that they would not hurt her, nor bring tears to her
eyes, nor cause her heart to ache for all the world,--in short, that
they would even be good for her sake.
"I'll find another school for you," said Bet, "what father won't know
nothing of, and you shall go reg'lar from next Monday out. And now
good-night, boys; I'll take the key of the door with me. See, I must
have a good sale of papers to-night; for arter I have bought my store
I'll only have tuppence left in my pocket."