CONCERNING JOHN MONDAY
EASTER MONDAY dawned with wind and rain. The sky was heavy, making the
aspect out-of-doors dismal and cheerless in the extreme.
Mousey found that she was to breakfast alone with John Monday, as Mr.
Harding, who had risen early, had left home on private business, with
the intention of remaining away till the evening.
John was apparently in high spirits at the prospect of a day's
holiday, and though he grumbled at the weather, it was evident it did
not depress him in the least.
"To think that we should have such a downpour after a beautiful day
like yesterday!" he remarked to Mousey. "A bank holiday, too! I had
intended going for an excursion somewhere, but I should be drenched to
the skin in a few minutes if I was out in this weather."
"Cousin Robert will get very wet, I'm afraid," Mousey said, with
concern in her tones.
"Oh, he's tough—tough as leather," the boy replied, laughing; "nothing
hurts him! You know what they say about what's no good never coming to
any harm."
"Do you mean that Cousin Robert is no good?" she questioned, flushing
with indignation. "What a bad boy you must be to speak of your master
like that!"
"Oh, come now, don't get cross," said the lad, amused at the angry
glance she shot at him.
"Well, then, you mustn't speak against Cousin Robert! I think he is
really kind. See how good he is to me. Perhaps you do not know that I
have no money of my own, and he is going to send me to school, and—"
"Oh, I know all that!" John interrupted. "I can't imagine what made
him bring you here. It was an extraordinary thing for him to do, and
so you'd think if you knew him better. I suppose you believe he makes
his money in that poky little shop, don't you?" he asked, jerking his
thumb in the direction of the glass door.
"Yes," she answered.
"Well, you're wrong! He doesn't."
Mousey looked considerably surprised, and not a little curious. John
watched her with secret delight, enjoying her bewilderment.
"He earns a little as a working jeweller," the boy proceeded, "but
everyone in Haughton knows he makes most of his money in other ways
than that. He lends money to people."
"Does he? How very kind of him!" Mousey exclaimed.
"Oh, very!" John responded, mimicking her tone; then he burst into a
fit of loud laughter, and called her a "simpleton."
The little girl felt indignant and insulted. Her companion proceeded—
"He lends money to folks, and makes them pay large interest for it;
and if they don't pay, he takes their furniture, or anything he can
lay his hands on. Oh, he's a hard one, he is! He owns a row of houses
that are let out in tenements, and he collects the rents every
Saturday night. It's no good making excuses if the money isn't ready,
I can tell you!"
"What are tenements?" Mousey asked, impelled to put the question from
curiosity, though the minute before she had decided not to prolong the
conversation.
"If you had a house, and let a part to one person, and a part to
another, and so on, the different sets of rooms would be tenements,"
he explained. "Do you see?"
Mousey nodded. John's round, green eyes were watching every change
of her face.
"I say," he said suddenly, "you don't like me, do you?"
"I—I don't know," she answered truthfully; "I don't like you when you
speak against Cousin Robert, because it's so deceitful of you. You are
very polite to him when he's here, but when he's away—"
"We won't talk of him any more," the lad interposed hastily. "What are
you going to do all day?"
"I expect I shall help Maria."
"Do you like reading?"
"Yes," Mousey answered, rather astonished at the question; "I like
reading the Bible, and—"
"Oh, the Bible!" her companion exclaimed, not allowing her to finish
the sentence. "I like something more exciting than that. Stories of
wars, and—"
"There are plenty of stories about wars in the Bible," Mousey informed
him quickly, interrupting him in her turn. "Haven't you read about the
wars in the Old Testament?"
"Never heard of them," he assured her, appearing interested; then
added, a look of suspicion crossing his face, "Are you having me on?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Are you trying to take me in—making game of me?"
"No, no! Did you never hear of Gideon, and how God delivered Midian
and all the host into his hands?"
"Never. I haven't got a Bible. Is it an interesting story?"
"Very. I'll lend you my Bible to read, if you like," Mousey said
good-naturedly.
"Thank you. As it's a wet day, and I can't go out, I shall be glad of
something to read; but I'd no idea there were stories of that sort in
the Bible." He drew a crushed, dirty-looking paper from his pocket,
and held it up. "This is the kind of tale I like," he said; "it's
about highway robbers and burglars."
At that moment Maria entered the room. As she caught sight of the
paper in the boy's hand, she shook her head at him; but he only
laughed, and leaning back in his chair, commenced to read.
After Mousey had assisted Maria to make the beds, and put the bedrooms
in order, she returned to the parlour with the intention of writing
to Aunt Eliza. Maria had kindly supplied her with pen, ink, and paper,
so, drawing a chair to the table, she commenced her letter.
"MY DEAR AUNT ELIZA,
"I hope you and dear Uncle Dick and my cousins are well.
I am very well, but I miss you so much. It is wet weather,
and Cousin Robert has gone away. He has a little shop,
not a big one. I like Maria, she is the servant, and is
very kind to me. There is a boy here; he is—"
At this point John Monday interrupted her by saying—
"You're writing about me, I know you are!"
"Yes," Mousey confessed, considerably taken aback, "I am telling Aunt
Eliza about you. How did you know?"
"Because you kept on looking at me, and I guessed what you were up to.
What are you saying?"
But Mousey declined to tell, and proceeded with her letter, taking
care not to glance at her companion again. At last she wanted to use
a word she could not spell, and had to turn to John for assistance.
He was most obliging, and told her how to spell the difficult word,
and, after that, several others as well. The letter was finished
in due course, and the envelope directed in Mousey's round, childish
handwriting.
"I shall have to ask Cousin Robert for a stamp," the little girl
remarked.
"Take one from his secretaire," John Monday suggested; "he won't
miss it."
"But that would be stealing," Mousey objected, looking at him with
reproachful eyes. "You don't mean it, really, do you?"
The boy had the grace to look ashamed of himself. He grew red, and
fidgeted uneasily in his chair.
"Where's that Bible of yours?" he inquired, glad to change the
subject. "I want to read about that soldier you were speaking of—
Gid—what was his name?"
"Gideon," Mousey replied. "I'll run upstairs and fetch my Bible."
This she accordingly did, and finding the sixth chapter of the book
of Judges, told him he could read about Gideon in the concluding
verses, and in the following chapter.
"I never thought there was anything half so interesting in the Bible,"
he told her later on; "and to think it's all true, too! Can't you let
me keep your book for a few days?"
Mousey hesitated, for this Bible had been her mother's gift to her
when she had first learnt to read; but remembering that John Monday
had no Bible of his own, she agreed to lend it to him.
"Not if you would rather not," he said, looking disappointed,
she thought.
"I would like to lend it to you," she replied; "I would indeed. I have
mother's Bible upstairs in my box, so I can read hers."
"Thank you," he responded gratefully; "it's very good of you."
Maria expressed astonishment when she heard Mousey had lent her Bible
to John Monday, and said she hoped he would take care of it, and be
more careful of Mousey's property than he was of his own.
The rain continued during the whole day, and towards evening the river
could be distinctly heard as it rushed beneath the house. It was a
dismal sound, and the little girl grew depressed as she sat listening
to it. All sorts of imaginary horrors entered her mind and refused to
be dispelled. Suppose the floor gave way, or worse still, suppose the
river continued to rise and flooded the house? Then she remembered
that Mr. Harding had told her the house was strongly built; but she
still felt nervous, and was not sorry when bed-time came. In her own
room there was no sound of the rushing river, and though the wind
shook the window-pane, and the rain pattered against the glass, long
before Mr. Harding had returned Mousey was in the land of dreams.