JOHN MONDAY IS CONFIDENTIAL
IT was a hot afternoon at the beginning of July. The air was sultry,
as though a thunderstorm was not far off; and the sky was enveloped in
a haze of grey mist, which, though it hid the sun, made the atmosphere
not one whit less oppressive.
John Monday, in charge of his master's shop, was seated on a high
stool behind the counter, idly swinging his long legs, and yawning
occasionally as though weary of the day. Peering through the dusty
window, he saw the street was unusually quiet, for few folks were
about, and the children were not yet let loose from the board schools.
A couple of babies, old enough to toddle, were playing in the gutter
on the opposite side of the way. John Monday watched them with some
amusement, and laughed to himself when one put a handful of dust on
the other's head. This ill-treatment brought about a quarrel,
which was settled by a blow from a small fist that, however, hit
sufficiently hard to evoke a yell of mingled wrath and pain from the
first offender. The next minute a slatternly woman appeared upon the
scene, and after administering a shower of smart slaps on the bare
arms of each child, dragged them into a doorway near by, and thus left
the street free from any human presence.
John Monday sighed, and wished someone would come into the shop. He
slipped off his stool, and going to the door stood on the step gazing
up and down the street. At first there was not a living being within
sight, but presently a figure appeared around the corner—a big man,
clad in a tweed suit, bearing a large market-basket covered with a
snowy linen cloth. He was evidently a countryman, judging from his
healthy, ruddy countenance, and a stranger in Haughton, the boy
decided, as he noted how the big man stared about him.
When the stranger caught sight of John Monday, he quickened his
footsteps, and advanced towards him with a good-humoured smile
on his face.
"Can you tell me where Mr. Harding lives?" he asked politely.
"Mr. Harding, the watchmaker and jeweller?"
"Yes, I can," was the reply; "he lives here."
"Here!"
The stranger was evidently greatly astonished, for he took a step
backwards, and gazed at the house with such a look of blank dismay
on his countenance that John Monday almost laughed. Then he read
Mr. Harding's name on the sign-board above the shop window, and
exclaimed—
"Well, I never! To think that this should be the place! Well, I am
surprised!"
"Do you want to see Mr. Harding?" the boy inquired.
"Yes—at least, I wanted to see his little cousin. Is she in?"
"No; she isn't home from school yet, but she'll be back by-and-by.
Will you call again, or perhaps you'd like to come inside and wait?"
"I think I'd better wait. I've carried this basket from the station,
and it's rather heavy."
John Monday led the way into the shop, and gave the newcomer a chair.
The big man sat down, and, after placing his basket on the floor,
took from his pocket a red handkerchief, with which he wiped his
heated face.
"It's uncommonly warm," he remarked. He looked at the boy, who had
perched himself on the high stool behind the counter, and a kindly
twinkle came into his eyes. "I think you must be John Monday,"
he said; "my little niece has spoken of you in her letters."
"Then you are Uncle Dick—Mr. Dawson?"
"Yes. I thought I'd give Mousey a surprise."
"She will be pleased! She's for ever talking of you and her aunt."
"Bless her little heart!" Mr. Dawson exclaimed. "How is the dear
child?"
"Quite well. She goes to school every day, you know, and is growing
uncommonly sharp."
Mr. Dawson's face beamed with pleasure on hearing this; but it clouded
as he glanced around him.
"This is a dull place," he said thoughtfully. "Eliza would be
surprised if she saw her cousin's house—and he supposed to be so
well-to-do, too."
"So he is," John Monday responded; "but he's that saving and mean
he won't spend a penny more than he can possibly help."
"And yet he has behaved most generously to Mousey."
"I suppose so. He's sent her to a good school, and he minds what
she says, though he'd hate to think anyone noticed it. I hardly ever
open my mouth before him without he snaps out something sharp and
nasty—sometimes I feel I'd a deal rather be in the workhouse
than here."
"Dear! dear!" said Mr. Dawson; "I'm afraid you're discontented
with your lot in life. Are you learning to be a jeweller?"
"Yes; but I hate the work. I should like to be a market gardener."
"I suppose Mousey has told you that's my trade?"
John Monday nodded. He was greatly attracted by Mr. Dawson's kind
face, which seemed to express his goodwill towards the world
in general.
"I love the country," the boy said earnestly; "when I've a holiday
I go for a long walk to where the air's fresh, and the birds sing, and
I feel as though I'd give anything to live where I could learn all
about the trees and flowers; but what's the good of talking like this
when it's my fate to be in this miserable hole all day long?"
He broke off, growing crimson, as though ashamed of having spoken
so freely to a stranger.
Mr. Dawson regarded him with sympathetic eyes as he inquired—
"What do you mean by fate, young man? What I call Providence,
I suppose. You take my word for it, when God has work for you in the
country He will send you there, and till He does I reckon your duty's
here, and I'd try to do it cheerfully, if I were you. Who is supposed
to clean this shop?"
"I am," John Monday answered, surprised at the question. He was
secretly much gratified at being called a young man.
"Well, then, if I were you, I'd, get soap and water, and a duster,
and set to work to clean that dirty window," Mr. Dawson advised.
"It strikes me your duty lies close at hand for the present, even
staring you in the face."
The lad looked abashed, but his companion had spoken so kindly that he
could not be offended. Before anything more could be said, Mr. Harding
was seen in the street, and in another moment he entered the shop. He
shook hands cordially with Mr. Dawson, and said he was delighted to
see him; but why had that stupid boy kept him in the shop instead of
showing him into the parlour?
Mr. Dawson replied that he had quite enjoyed a talk with John Monday,
and they had spent a very pleasant time together. Then he picked up
his big market-basket from the floor, and followed Mr. Harding into
the parlour, where he placed his burden upon the table.
"It holds a pair of chickens, and a few vegetables and flowers, which
I've brought as a present, if you'll kindly accept it," he explained.
"My wife reared the chickens herself, so she knows their age to a day,
and can answer for their being tender; and, of course, I grew the
other things in my gardens."
Mr. Harding was profuse in thanks, and called Maria to carry the
basket into the kitchen and empty it there. Afterwards, he insisted
on Mr. Dawson taking the easiest chair in the room, and seating
himself near by, prepared to entertain his guest.
"Mousey'll be home directly," he said; "you know she goes to school?
She's getting on very well, I'm pleased to say—very well; in fact,
I've no fault to find with her, for she's a good, obedient child."
"I'm sure she is," Mr. Dawson responded. He thought the parlour was
even duller than the shop, and he added hesitatingly, "Do you think
she is happy?"
"Yes, I believe she is," Mr. Harding answered; "she has made friends
at school, and one in particular, the daughter of a fellow townsman.
I cannot have children running in and out here, but I raise no
objection to Mousey visiting at her friend's home. Really, I see very
little of the child. My whole time, nearly, is devoted to business."
"It must make a great difference having Mousey in the house—I mean,
it must be much brighter and more cheerful. That assistant of yours
seems an open-spoken lad."
"John Monday? Oh, he's well enough in his way, but he's very
slow-witted. He suits my purpose, though. Ah, here comes Mousey!"
The glass door was thrown open, and the little girl rushed into the
parlour with her face aglow with excitement, having been informed
by John Monday that a visitor awaited her within. She flung herself
into Mr. Dawson's arms, and, much to his dismay, burst into a flood of
tears, hiding her face against his breast. He soon discovered,
however, that she was crying from excessive joy, for presently she
looked up and smiled at him, whispering that she was as glad as glad
could be, and there was no one like him, so kind, so dear, in the
whole wide world!