A POINTED QUESTION.
Neither had Mrs. Price slept well. All night long she either had fitful
and broken dreams, in which her small guest, Sue, constantly figured; or
she lay with her eyes open, thinking of her. She was surprised at the
child's resolve. She recognized an heroic soul under that plain and
girlish exterior.
In the morning she got up rather earlier than usual, and instead of
going directly downstairs, as was her custom, she went up to Sue's
attic. She had promised her eccentric young son to allow him to tell his
own tale in his own way; but she meant to comfort Sue with some
specially loving and kind greeting. Having a true lady's heart, she knew
how to give Sue a very cheering word, and she went upstairs with that
heart full.
Of course there was no Sue in the little chamber. The bed had been lain
in, but was now cold and unoccupied. Mrs. Price went downstairs,
considerably puzzled and disturbed. She sent for Pickles and told him.
She was full of fear at Sue's disappearance, and told the heedless boy
that she blamed him.
"You did wrong, my lad--you did very wrong," she said. "You gave the
poor thing to understand that she was to be put in prison, and now
doubtless she has gone to deliver herself up."
"No, mother. She only went out to have a little exercise. Cinderella
'ull be back in an hour or so," answered the boy.
But he did not speak with his usual assurance and raillery. The fact
was, the calculations in his shrewd little brain were upset by Sue's
disappearance. He felt disturbed, perplexed, and annoyed.
His mother being really displeased with him was a novel experience to
Pickles. She blamed herself much for having allowed him his own way in
this matter, and the moment breakfast was over, went out to the nearest
police-station to relate Sue's story.
Pickles stayed in until noon; then he also went out. He had cheered
himself until this hour with the hope that Sue had only gone out for a
walk. Notwithstanding all the improbabilities of his poor, frightened
Cinderella venturing to show herself in the street, he had clung firmly
to this idea; but when the neighboring clock struck twelve he was
obliged to abandon it. He was obliged to admit to his own little puzzled
heart that it was on no ordinary walk that Sue had gone. Remorse now
seized him in full measure. He could not bear the house; he must vent
his feelings in exercise. For the first time in his sunny and healthy
young life he walked along the streets a defeated and unhappy boy.
Suddenly, however, a thought occurred to him. He stood still when it
flashed across his fertile brain. Then, with a cheerful shout, which
caused the passers-by to turn their heads and smile, he set off running
as fast as his feet would carry him.
Hope would never be long absent from his horizon, and once again he was
following it joyfully.
He was on his way now to Harris's house. He meant to pay pretty Connie a
visit, and when with her he would put to her a pointed question.
It was nearly three o'clock when he reached Westminster. A few minutes
later he found himself on the landing outside Connie's rooms. Here,
however, he was again a little puzzled, for he wanted to see Connie and
not to see Giles. Taking a long time about it, he managed to set the
closed door ajar. He looked in. Connie and Giles were both within.
Connie was mending her father's socks; Giles was reading aloud to her.
Neither of them had noticed the slight creaking noise he had made in
opening the door. He ventured on a very slight cough.
This sound was heard; the reading ceased.
"Come in," said Connie.
This he must not do. He waited an instant, then creaked the door again.
"Dear, dear! I made certain I had shut that door," said Connie.
At this she rose unsuspiciously. "Jest wait a minute, Giles dear. I
didn't catch that last bit."
She ran to the door to put it to. Pickles placed his foot in her way.
The obstacle caused her to look into the passage. There a boy, very red
by nature, and with his natural color now much intensified by hard
running, stood awaiting her.
He pointed to the door, put his finger to his lips, then rushed down the
first flight of stairs, where he turned round, and beckoned to her to
follow him.
"I'll be back in a minute, Giles," said Connie. She had ready wit enough
to perceive at a glance that Pickles had something to say to her which
he did not wish Giles to hear.
Closing the door behind her, she ran downstairs. Pickles could have
hugged her in his gratitude.
"Ain't you a perfect duck of a darlin'?" he said, gazing hard and full
into her face.
"What do you want me for, Pickles?" asked Connie.
"Fur one or two things of much private importance. First, tell me, how
is the little lame chap as is fretting fur his sister wot is kept in the
country?"
"He is not so well, Pickles; he is not so well as he was. Pickles, I
don't believe that story about Sue being in the country."
"You don't believe me when I opens my lips to give utterance to the
words of gospel truth!" replied Pickles. But his red face grew a shade
redder, and his full, bold gaze was not quite so steady as usual. "Why,
surely, Pickles, _you_ ain't going to be troubled wid nerves!" he said
to himself.
Connie, watching anxiously, entreated in her softest tones: "Dear
Pickles, you might trust me. I should like to know, and I won't tell
Giles."
"Ay, ay, that's a woman's curiosity; but the misfortune is as it can't
be gratified. No, Connie. You are as rare and pretty a bit of woman as
hiver I clapped heyes on. But fur hall that you ain't going to come
hover this yere boy. When I tells you, Connie, that Sue is hin the
country, please believe as she _his_ in that year health-giving place.
When 'tis conwenient fur me to confide in you farther, why, I'll do it.
That time ain't at present. In the meantime, ef you want to real help
them who ere in difficulty, you will let me know widout any more wasting
o' precious time where yer father, Peter Harris, is working to-day."
"Oh Pickles! wot do you want wid him?"
"Nothink to hurt you, pretty one. Now, will you speak?
"He's at Messrs ---- in ---- Street," replied Connie.
"Thank yer; and now I'm off. Ef you'll listen to the words o' solemn
wisdom, and be guided in that same, you'll not mention this stolen
interview to little Giles--bless the little chap! You keep up his heart,
Connie. As soon as hiver this yer young man can manage it, Sue shall
come home. Lor', now! ain't the world strange and difficult to live in?
Wot 'ull bring joy to one 'ull give pain to t'other, but the cause o'
right must win the day. Well, good-bye, Connie. I'll wery like look in
soon again."