It was an interesting sight to watch police-constable Number 666 as he
went through the performance of his arduous duties that day at the
Regent Circus in Oxford Street.
To those who are unacquainted with London, it may be necessary to remark
that this circus is one of those great centres of traffic where two main
arteries cross and tend to cause so much obstruction, that complete
stoppages would become frequent were it not for the admirable management
of the several members of the police force who are stationed there to
keep order. The "Oxford Circus," as it is sometimes called, is by no
means the largest or most crowded of such crossings, nevertheless the
tide of traffic is sufficiently strong and continuous there to require
several police-constables on constant duty. When men are detailed for
such "Fixed-Point" duty they go on it for a month at a time, and have
different hours from the other men, namely, from nine in the morning
till five in the afternoon.
We have said it was interesting to watch our big hero, Number 666, in
the performance of his arduous duties. He occupied the crossing on the
city side of the circus.
It was a magnificent afternoon, and all the metropolitan butterflies
were out. Busses flowed on in a continuous stream, looking like big
bullies who incline to use their weight and strength to crush through
all obstruction. The drivers of these were for the most part wise men,
and restrained themselves and their steeds. In one or two instances,
where the drivers were unwise, a glance from the bright eye of Giles
Scott was quite sufficient to keep all right.
And Giles could only afford to bestow a fragmentary glance at any time
on the refractory, for, almost at one and the same moment he had to
check the impetuous, hold up a warning hand to the unruly, rescue a
runaway child from innumerable horse-legs, pilot a stout but timid lady
from what we may call refuge-island, in the middle of the roadway, to
the pavement, answer an imbecile's question as to the whereabouts of the
Tower or Saint Paul's, order a loitering cabby to move on, and look out
for his own toes, as well as give moderate attention to the
carriage-poles which perpetually threatened the small of his own back.
We should imagine that the premium of insurance on the life of Number
666 was fabulous in amount, but cannot tell.
Besides his great height, Giles possessed a drooping moustache, which
added much to his dignified appearance. He was also imperturbably
grave, except when offering aid to a lady or a little child, on which
occasions the faintest symptoms of a smile floated for a moment on his
visage like an April sunbeam. At all other times his expression was
that of incorruptible justice and awful immobility. No amount of chaff,
no quantity of abuse, no kind of flattery, no sort of threat could move
him any more than the seething billows of the Mediterranean can move
Gibraltar. Costermongers growled at him hopelessly. Irate cabmen saw
that their wisdom lay in submission. Criminals felt that once in his
grasp their case was hopeless, just as, conversely, old ladies felt that
once under his protection they were in absolute security. Even
street-boys felt that references to "bobbies," "coppers," and "slops;"
questions as to how 'is 'ead felt up there; who rolled 'im hout so long;
whether his mother knew 'e was hout; whether 'e'd sell 'em a bit of 'is
legs; with advice to come down off the ladder, or to go 'ome to bed--
that all these were utterly thrown away and lost upon Giles Scott.
The garb of the London policeman is not, as every one knows, founded on
the principles of aesthetics. Neither has it been devised on
utilitarian principles. Indeed we doubt whether the originator of it,
(and we are happy to profess ignorance of his name), proceeded on any
principle whatever, except the gratification of a wild and degraded
fancy. The colour, of course, is not objectionable, and the helmet
might be worse, but the tunic is such that the idea of grace or elegance
may not consist with it.
We mention these facts because Giles Scott was so well-made that he
forced his tunic to look well, and thus added one more to the already
numerous "exceptions" which are said to "prove the rule."
"Allow me, madam," said Giles, offering his right-hand to an elderly
female, who, having screwed up her courage to make a rush, got into
sudden danger and became mentally hysterical in the midst of a
conglomerate of hoofs, poles, horse-heads, and wheels.
The female allowed him, and the result was sudden safety, a gasp of
relief, and departure of hysteria.
"Not yet, please," said Giles, holding up a warning right-hand to the
crowd on refuge-island, while with his left waving gently to and fro he
gave permission to the mighty stream to flow. "Now," he added, holding
up the left-hand suddenly. The stream was stopped as abruptly as were
the waters of Jordan in days of old, and the storm-staid crew on
refuge-island made a rush for the mainland. It was a trifling matter to
most of them that rush, but of serious moment to the few whose limbs had
lost their elasticity, or whose minds could not shake off the memory of
the fact that between 200 and 300 lives are lost in London streets by
accidents every year, and that between 3000 and 4000 are more or less
severely injured annually.
Before the human stream had got quite across, an impatient hansom made a
push. The eagle eye of Number 666 had observed the intention, and in a
moment his gigantic figure stood calmly in front of the horse, whose
head was raised high above his helmet as the driver tightened the reins
violently.
Just then a small slipshod girl made an anxious dash from refuge-island,
lost courage, and turned to run back, changed her mind, got bewildered,
stopped suddenly and yelled.
Giles caught her by the arm, bore her to the pavement, and turned, just
in time to see the hansom dash on in the hope of being overlooked. Vain
hope! Number 666 saw the number of the hansom, booked it in his memory
while he assisted in raising up an old gentleman who had been
overturned, though not injured, in endeavouring to avoid it.
During the lull--for there are lulls in the rush of London traffic, as
in the storms of nature,--Giles transferred the number of that hansom to
his note-book, thereby laying up a little treat for its driver in the
shape of a little trial the next day terminating, probably, with a fine.
Towards five in the afternoon the strain of all this began to tell even
on the powerful frame of Giles Scott, but no symptom did he show of
fatigue, and so much reserve force did he possess that it is probable he
would have exhibited as calm and unwearied a front if he had remained on
duty for eighteen hours instead of eight.
About that hour, also, there came an unusual glut to the traffic, in the
form of a troop of the horse-guards. These magnificent creatures,
resplendent in glittering steel, white plumes, and black boots, were
passing westward. Giles stood in front of the arrested stream. A
number of people stood, as it were, under his shadow. Refuge-island was
overflowing. Comments, chiefly eulogistic, were being freely made and
some impatience was being manifested by drivers, when a little shriek
was heard, and a child's voice exclaimed:--
"Oh! papa, papa--there's _my_ policeman--the one I so nearly killed.
He's _not_ dead after all!"
Giles forgot his dignity for one moment, and, looking round, met the
eager gaze of little Di Brandon.
Another moment and duty required his undivided attention, so that he
lost sight of her, but Di took good care not to lose sight of him.
"We will wait here, darling," said her father, referring to
refuge-island on which he stood, "and when he is disengaged we can speak
to him."
"Oh! I'm _so_ glad he's not dead," said little Di, "and p'raps he'll be
able to show us the way to my boy's home."
Di had a method of adopting, in a motherly way, all who, in the remotest
manner, came into her life. Thus she not only spoke of our butcher and
our baker, which was natural, but referred to "my policeman" and "my
boy" ever since the day of the accident.
When Giles had set his portion of the traffic in harmonious motion he
returned to his island, and was not sorry to receive the dignified
greeting of Sir Richard Brandon, while he was delighted as well as
amused by the enthusiastic grasp with which Di seized his huge hand in
both of her little ones, and the earnest manner in which she inquired
after his health, and if she had hurt him much.
"Did they put you to bed and give you hot gruel?" she asked, with
touching pathos.
"No, miss, they didn't think I was hurt quite enough to require it,"
answered Giles, his drooping moustache curling slightly as he spoke.
"I had hoped to see you at my house," said Sir Richard, "you did not
call."
"Thank you, sir, I did not think the little service I rendered your
daughter worth making so much of. I called, however, the same evening,
to inquire for her, but did not wish to intrude on you."
"It would have been no intrusion, friend," returned Sir Richard, with
grand condescension. "One who has saved my child's life has a claim
upon my consideration."
"A dook 'e must be," said a small street boy in a loud stage whisper to
a dray-man--for small street-boys are sown broadcast in London, and turn
up at all places on every occasion, "or p'raps," he added on reflection,
"'e's on'y a markiss."
"Now then," said Giles to the dray-man with a motion of the hand that
caused him to move on, while he cast a look on the boy which induced him
to move off.
"By the way, constable," said Sir Richard, "I am on my way to visit a
poor boy whose leg was broken on the day my pony ran away. He was
holding the pony at the time. He lives in Whitechapel somewhere. I
have the address here in my note-book."
"Excuse me, sir, one moment," said Number 666, going towards a crowd
which had gathered round a fallen horse. "I happen to be going to that
district myself," he continued on returning, "what is the boy's name?"
"Robert--perhaps I should rather say Bobby Frog," answered Sir Richard.
"The name is familiar," returned the policeman, "but in London there are
so many--what's his address, sir,--Roy's Court, near Commercial Street?
Oh! I know it well--one of the worst parts of London. I know the boy
too. He is somewhat noted in that neighbourhood for giving the police
trouble. Not a bad-hearted fellow, I believe, but full of mischief, and
has been brought up among thieves from his birth. His father is, or
was, a bird-fancier and seller of penny articles on the streets, besides
being a professional pugilist. You will be the better for protection
there, sir. I would advise you not to go alone. If you can wait for
five or ten minutes," added Giles, "I shall be off duty and will be
happy to accompany you."
Sir Richard agreed to wait. Within the time mentioned Giles was
relieved, and, entering a cab with his friends, drove towards
Whitechapel. They had to pass near our policeman's lodgings on the way.
"Would you object, sir, stopping at my house for five minutes?" he
asked.
"Certainly not," returned the knight, "I am in no hurry."
Number 666 stopped the cab, leaped out and disappeared through a narrow
passage. In less than five minutes a very tall gentlemanly man issued
from the same passage and approached them. Little Di opened her blue
eyes to their very uttermost. It was _her_ policeman in plain clothes!
She did not like the change at all at first, but before the end of the
drive got used to him in his new aspect--all the more readily that he
seemed to have cast off much of his stiffness and reserve with his blue
skin.
Near the metropolitan railway station in Whitechapel the cab was
dismissed, and Giles led the father and child along the crowded
thoroughfare until they reached Commercial Street, along which they
proceeded a short distance.
"We are now near some of the worst parts of London, sir," said Giles,
"where great numbers of the criminal and most abandoned characters
dwell."
"Indeed," said Sir Richard, who did not seem to be much gratified by the
information.
As for Di, she was nearly crying. The news that _her_ boy was a thief
and was born in the midst of such naughty people had fallen with
chilling influence on her heart, for she had never thought of anything
but the story-book "poor but honest parents!"
"What large building is that?" inquired the knight, who began to wish
that he had not given way to his daughter's importunities, "the one
opposite, I mean, with placards under the windows."
"That is the well-known Home of Industry, instituted and managed by Miss
Macpherson and a staff of volunteer workers. They do a deal of good,
sir, in this neighbourhood."
"Ah! indeed," said Sir Richard, who had never before heard of the Home
of Industry. "And, pray, what particular industry does this Miss Mac--
what did you call her?"
"Macpherson. The lady, you know, who sends out so many rescued waifs
and strays to Canada, and spends all her time in caring for the poorest
of the poor in the East-End and in preaching the gospel to them. You've
often seen accounts of her work, no doubt, in the _Christian_?"
"Well--n-no. I read the _Times_, but, now you mention it, I have some
faint remembrance of seeing reference to such matters. Very
self-denying, no doubt, and praiseworthy, though I must say that I doubt
the use of preaching the gospel to such persons. From what I have seen
of these lowest people I should think they were too deeply sunk in
depravity to be capable of appreciating the lofty and sublime sentiments
of Christianity."
Number 666 felt a touch of surprise at these words, though he was too
well-bred a policeman to express his feelings by word or look. In fact,
although not pre-eminently noted for piety, he had been led by training,
and afterwards by personal experience, to view this matter from a very
different standpoint from that of Sir Richard. He made no reply,
however, but, turning round the corner of the Home of Industry, entered
a narrow street which bore palpable evidence of being the abode of
deepest poverty. From the faces and garments of the inhabitants it was
also evidently associated with the deepest depravity.
As little Di saw some of the residents sitting on their doorsteps with
scratched faces, swelled lips and cheeks, and dishevelled hair, and
beheld the children in half-naked condition rolling in the kennel and
extremely filthy, she clung closer to her father's side and began to
suspect there were some phases of life she had never seen--had not even
dreamt of!
What the knight's thoughts were we cannot tell, for he said nothing, but
disgust was more prominent than pity on his fine countenance. Those who
sat on the doorsteps, or lolled with a dissipated air against the
door-posts, seemed to appreciate him at his proper value, for they
scowled at him as he passed. They recognised Number 666, however,
(perhaps by his bearing), and gave him only a passing glance of
indifference.
"You said it would be dangerous for me to come here by myself," said Sir
Richard, turning to Giles, as he entered another and even worse street.
"Are they then so violent?"
"Many of them are among the worst criminals in London, sir. Here is the
court of which you are in search: Roy's Court."
As he spoke, Ned Frog staggered out of his own doorway, clenched his
fists, and looked with a vindictive scowl at the strangers. A second
glance induced him to unclench his fists and reel round the corner on
his way to a neighbouring grog-shop. Whatever other shops may decay in
that region, the grog-shops, like noxious weeds, always flourish.
The court was apparently much deserted at that hour, for the men had not
yet returned from their work--whatever that might be--and most of the
women were within doors.
"This is the house," continued Giles, descending the few steps, and
tapping at the door; "I have been here before. They know me."
The door was opened by Hetty, and for the first time since entering
those regions of poverty and crime, little Di felt a slight rise in her
spirits, for through Hetty's face shone the bright spirit within; albeit
the shining was through some dirt and dishevelment, good principle not
being able altogether to overcome the depressing influences of extreme
poverty and suffering.
"Is your mother at home, Hetty!"
"Oh! yes, sir. Mother, here's Mr Scott. Come in, sir. We are so glad
to see you, and--"
She stopped, and gazed inquiringly at the visitors who followed.
"I've brought some friends of Bobby to inquire for him. Sir Richard
Brandon--Mrs Frog."
Number 666 stood aside, and, with something like a smile on his face,
ceremoniously presented Wealth to Poverty.
Wealth made a slightly confused bow to Poverty, and Poverty, looking
askance at Wealth, dropt a mild courtesy.
"Vell now, I'm a Dutchman if it ain't the hangel!" exclaimed a voice in
the corner of the small room, before either Wealth or Poverty could
utter a word.
"Oh! it's _my_ boy," exclaimed Di with delight, forgetting or ignoring
the poverty, dirt, and extremely bad air, as she ran forward and took
hold of Bobby's hand.
It was a pre-eminently dirty hand, and formed a remarkable contrast to
the little hands that grasped it!
The small street boy was, for the first time in his life, bereft of
speech! When that faculty returned, he remarked in language which was
obscure to Di:--
"Vell, if this ain't a go!"
"What is a go?" asked Di with innocent surprise. Instead of answering,
Bobby Frog burst into a fit of laughter, but stopped rather suddenly
with an expression of pain.
"Oh! 'old on! I say. This won't do. Doctor 'e said I musn't larf,
'cause it shakes the leg too much. But, you know, wot's a cove to do
ven a hangel comes to him and axes sitch rum questions?"
Again he laughed, and again stopped short in pain.
"I'm _so_ sorry! Does it feel _very_ painful? You can't think how
constantly I've been thinking of you since the accident; for it was all
my fault. If I hadn't jumped up in such a passion, the pony wouldn't
have run away, and you wouldn't have been hurt. I'm so _very, very_
sorry, and I got dear papa to bring me here to tell you so, and to see
if we could do anything to make you well."
Again Bobby was rendered speechless, but his mind was active.
"Wot! I ain't dreamin', am I? 'As a hangel _really_ come to my bedside
all the vay from the Vest-end, an' brought 'er dear pa'--vich means the
guv'nor, I fancy--all for to tell me--a kid whose life is spent in
`movin' on'--that she's wery, wery, sorry I've got my leg broke, an'
that she's bin an' done it, an' she would like to know if she can do
hanythink as'll make me vell! But it ain't true. It's a big lie! I'm
dreamin', that's all. I've been took to hospital, an' got d'lirious--
that's wot it is. I'll try to sleep!"
With this end in view he shut his eyes, and remained quite still for a
few seconds, and when Di looked at his pinched and pale face in this
placid condition, the tears _would_ overflow their natural boundary, and
sobs _would_ rise up in her pretty throat, but she choked them back for
fear of disturbing her boy.
Presently the boy opened his eyes.
"Wot, are you there yet?" he asked.
"Oh yes. Did you think I was going away?" she replied, with a look of
innocent surprise. "I won't leave you now. I'll stay here and nurse
you, if papa will let me. I have slept once on a shake-down, when I was
forced by a storm to stay all night at a juv'nile party. So if you've a
corner here, it will do nicely--"
"My dear child," interrupted her amazed father, "you are talking
nonsense. And--do keep a little further from the bed. There may be--
you know--infection--"
"Oh! you needn't fear infection here, sir," said Mrs Frog, somewhat
sharply. "We are poor enough, God knows, though I _have_ seen better
times, but we keep ourselves pretty clean, though we can't afford to
spend much on soap when food is so dear, and money so scarce--so _very_
scarce!"
"Forgive me, my good woman," said Sir Richard, hastily, "I did not mean
to offend, but circumstances would seem to favour the idea--of--of--"
And here Wealth--although a bank director and chairman of several
boards, and capable of making a neat, if weakly, speech on economic laws
and the currency when occasion required--was dumb before Poverty.
Indeed, though he had often theorised about that stricken creature, he
had never before fairly hunted her down, run her into her den, and
fairly looked her in the face.
"The fact is, Mrs Frog," said Giles Scott, coming to the rescue, "Sir
Richard is anxious to know something about your affairs--your family,
you know, and your means of--by the way, where is baby?" he said looking
round the room.
"She's gone lost," said Mrs Frog.
"Lost?" repeated Giles, with a significant look.
"Ay, lost," repeated Mrs Frog, with a look of equal significance.
"Bless me, how did you lose your child?" asked Sir Richard, in some
surprise.
"Oh! sir, that often happens to us poor folk. We're used to it," said
Mrs Frog, in a half bantering half bitter tone.
Sir Richard suddenly called to mind the fact--which had not before
impressed him, though he had read and commented on it--that 11,835
children under ten years of age had been lost that year, (and it was no
exceptional year, as police reports will show), in the streets of
London, and that 23 of these children were _never found_.
He now beheld, as he imagined, one of the losers of the lost ones, and
felt stricken.
"Well now," said Giles to Mrs Frog, "let's hear how you get along.
What does your husband do?"
"He mostly does nothin' but drink. Sometimes he sells little birds;
sometimes he sells penny watches or boot-laces in Cheapside, an' turns
in a little that way, but it all goes to the grog-shop; none of it comes
here. Then he has a mill now an' again--"
"A mill?" said Sir Richard,--"is it a snuff or flour--"
"He's a professional pugilist," explained Giles.
"An' he's employed at a music-hall," continued Mrs Frog, "to call out
the songs an' keep order. An' Bobby always used to pick a few coppers
by runnin' messages, sellin' matches, and odd jobs. But he's knocked
over now."
"And yourself. How do you add to the general fund?" asked Sir Richard,
becoming interested in the household management of Poverty.
"Well, I char a bit an' wash a bit, sir, when I'm well enough--which
ain't often. An' sometimes I lights the Jews' fires for 'em, an' clean
up their 'earths on Saturdays--w'ich is their Sundays, sir. But Hetty
works like a horse. It's she as keeps us from the work'us, sir. She's
got employment at a slop shop, and by workin' 'ard all day manages to
make about one shillin' a week."
"I beg your pardon--how much?"
"One shillin', sir."
"Ah, you mean one shilling a day, I suppose."
"No, sir, I mean one shillin' a _week_. Mr Scott there knows that I'm
tellin' what's true."
Giles nodded, and Sir Richard said, "ha-a-hem," having nothing more
lucid to remark on such an amazing financial problem as was here set
before him.
"But," continued Mrs Frog, "poor Hetty has had a sad disappointment
this week--"
"Oh! mother," interrupted Hetty, "don't trouble the gentleman with that.
Perhaps he wouldn't understand it, for of course he hasn't heard about
all the outs and ins of slop-work."
"Pardon me, my good girl," said Sir Richard, "I have not, as you truly
remark, studied the details of slop-work minutely, but my mind is not
unaccustomed to financial matters. Pray let me hear about this--"
A savage growling, something between a mastiff and a man, outside the
door, here interrupted the visitor, and a hand was heard fumbling about
the latch. As the hand seemed to lack skill to open the door the foot
considerately took the duty in hand and burst it open, whereupon the
huge frame of Ned Frog stumbled into the room and fell prostrate at the
feet of Sir Richard, who rose hastily and stepped back.
The pugilist sprang up, doubled his ever ready fists, and, glaring at
the knight, asked savagely:
"Who the--"
He was checked in the utterance of a ferocious oath, for at that moment
he encountered the grave eye of Number 666.
Relaxing his fists he thrust them into his coat-pockets, and, with a
subdued air, staggered out of the house.
"My 'usband, sir," said Mrs Frog, in answer to her visitor's inquiring
glance.
"Oh! is that his usual mode of returning home?"
"No, sir," answered Bobby from his corner, for he was beginning to be
amused by the succession of surprises which Wealth was receiving, "'e
don't always come in so. Sometimes 'e sends 'is 'ead first an' the feet
come afterwards. In any case the furniture's apt to suffer, not to
mention the in'abitants, but you've saved us to-night, sir, or, raither,
Mr Scott 'as saved both us an' you."
Poor little Di, who had been terribly frightened, clung closer to her
father's arm on hearing this.
"Perhaps," said Sir Richard, "it would be as well that we should go, in
case Mr Frog should return."
He was about to say good-bye when Di checked him, and, despite her
fears, urged a short delay.
"We haven't heard, you know, about the slops yet. Do stop just one
minute, dear papa. I wonder if it's like the beef-tea nurse makes for
me when I'm ill."
"It's not that kind of slops, darling, but ready-made clothing to which
reference is made. But you are right. Let us hear about it, Miss
Hetty."
The idea of "Miss" being applied to Hetty, and slops compared to
beef-tea proved almost too much for the broken-legged boy in the corner,
but he put strong constraint on himself and listened.
"Indeed, sir, I do not complain," said Hetty, quite distressed at being
thus forcibly dragged into notice. "I am thankful for what has been
sent--indeed I am--only it _was_ a great disappointment, particularly at
this time, when we so much needed all we could make amongst us."
She stopped and had difficulty in restraining tears. "Go on, Hetty,"
said her mother, "and don't be afraid. Bless you, he's not goin' to
report what you say."
"I know that, mother. Well, sir, this was the way on it. They
sometimes--"
"Excuse me--who are `they'?"
"I beg pardon, sir, I--I'd rather not tell."
"Very well. I respect your feelings, my girl. Some slop-making firm, I
suppose. Go on."
"Yes, sir. Well--they sometimes gives me extra work to do at home. It
do come pretty hard on me after goin' through the regular day's work,
from early mornin' till night, but then, you see, it brings in a little
more money--and, I'm strong, thank God."
Sir Richard looked at Hetty's thin and colourless though pretty face,
and thought it possible that she might be stronger with advantage.
"Of late," continued the girl, "I've bin havin' extra work in this way,
and last week I got twelve children's ulsters to make up. This job when
finished would bring me six and sixpence."
"How much?"
"Six and sixpence, sir."
"For the whole twelve?" asked Sir Richard.
"Yes, sir--that was sixpence halfpenny for makin' up each ulster. It's
not much, sir."
"No," murmured Wealth in an absent manner; "sixpence halfpenny is _not_
much."
"But when I took them back," continued Hetty--and here the tears became
again obstreperous and difficult to restrain--"the master said he'd
forgot to tell me that this order was for the colonies, that he had
taken it at a very low price, and that he could only give me three
shillin's for the job. Of--of course three shillin's is better the
nothin', but after workin' hard for such a long long time an' expectin'
six, it was--"
Here the tears refused to be pent up any longer, and the poor girl
quietly bending forward hid her face in her hand.
"Come, I think we will go now," said Sir Richard, rising hastily.
"Good-night, Mrs Frog, I shall probably see you again--at least--you
shall hear from me. Now, Di--say good-night to your boy."
In a few minutes Sir Richard stood outside, taking in deep draughts of
the comparatively fresher air of the court.
"The old screw," growled Bobby, when the door was shut. "'E didn't
leave us so much as a single bob--not even a brown, though 'e pretends
that six of 'em ain't much."
"Don't be hard on him, Bobby," said Hetty, drying her eyes; "he spoke
very kind, you know, an' p'raps he means to help us afterwards."
"Spoke kind," retorted the indignant boy; "I tell 'ee wot, Hetty, you're
far too soft an' forgivin'. I s'pose that's wot they teaches you in
Sunday-school at George Yard--eh? Vill speakin' kind feed us, vill it
clothe us, vill it pay for our lodgin's!"
The door opened at that moment, and Number 666 re-entered.
"The gentleman sent me back to give you this, Mrs Frog," laying a
sovereign on the rickety table. "He said he didn't like to offer it to
you himself for fear of hurting your feelings, but I told him he needn't
be afraid on that score! Was I right, Missis? Look well after it, now,
an' see that Ned don't get his fingers on it."
Giles left the room, and Mrs Frog, taking up the piece of gold, fondled
it for some time in her thin fingers, as though she wished to make quite
sure of its reality. Then wrapping it carefully in a piece of old
newspaper, she thrust it into her bosom.
Bobby gazed at her in silence up to this point, and then turned his face
to the wall. He did not speak, but we cannot say that he did not pray,
for, mentally he said, "I beg your parding, old gen'l'm'n, an' I on'y
pray that a lot of fellers like you may come 'ere sometimes to 'urt our
feelin's in that vay!"
At that moment Hetty bent over the bed, and, softly kissing her
brother's dirty face, whispered, "Yes, Bobby, that's what they teach me
in Sunday-school at George Yard."
Thereafter Wealth drove home in a cab, and Poverty went to bed in her
rags.