THE CHILD SAMUEL
Fly and Honeybird introduced Samuel Brown to Rowallan. They found him
sitting at the gate one day, and mistook him for the child Samuel. For
a long time they had been expecting the coming of a mysterious beggar,
who would turn out to be a saint or an angel in disguise. Such things
had often happened in Ireland, Lull said. But, although scores of
beggars came to Rowallan, so far no saint or angel had appeared. Most
of the beggars were too well known to cast off a disguise worn long and
successfully and suddenly declare themselves to be celestial visitors.
But now and then an unknown beggar came from nobody knew where, and
disappeared again into the same silent country. These nameless ones
kept the two children's faith and hope alive. Samuel was one of these.
Fly had spied his likeness to the child Samuel the minute she saw him
sitting at the gate tired and dejected. They went to work cautiously
to find out the truth, for they had got into trouble with Lull a few
days before for bringing into the house a possible St Anne, who had
stolen the schoolroom tablecloth. But when they asked his name, and he
said it was Samuel, they did not need much further proof.
Was he the real child Samuel out of the Bible? Honey bird asked, to
make sure. The boy confessed he was. He had come straight from heaven
on purpose to visit them, he said.
As they were taking him up to the house they met Patsy, and told him.
Patsy jeered at their tale, and reminded them of St Anne. But, in
spite of Patsy's warning, they took the beggar into the kitchen.
Patsy, disgusted at their folly, left them to do as they pleased. If
he had remembered that Lull was out he might have been more careful.
Half-an-hour later he caught sight of the child Samuel running down the
avenue wearing his best Sunday coat. Lull was very angry with Fly and
Honeybird when she came home. Mick and Jane said it was the beggar who
was to blame. Patsy had given chase, and did not come home till ten
o'clock that night. When he did come back he brought his Sunday coat
with him, as well as a black eye. He had followed the child Samuel to
the town, he said, and Eli had never given the boy as good a beating.
In spite of this beating and the discovery of his fraud Samuel came
back a few days later. His mother was sick, he said, and he had come
to borrow sixpence. Jane wanted Mick to give him a second beating.
"Nasty wee ruffan, comin' here cheatin' two wee girls," she said.
Samuel took no notice of her. He addressed his remarks to Patsy.
"Anybuddy could chate them, but I'm thinkin' it'd be the divil's own
job to chate yerself," he said flatteringly.
Patsy smiled. "Don't you try it on, that's all," he said.
"Do ye think I want another batin'?" Samuel grinned. He stayed, and
played with them all afternoon, in spite of Jane's plain-spoken
requests for him to be off. Before he left he had a good tea in the
kitchen, and got sixpence from Lull, who had a tender heart for the
poor. After that he came frequently. He said his mother was dying,
and wrung Lull's heart by his tales of the poor woman's sufferings.
Jane noticed, and did not fail to point out, that grief never spoilt
his appetite for pears. Now and then Samuel would silence her by a
wild fit of weeping. Patsy got angry with Jane for her cruelty.
"Let the poor wee soul alone, an' quit yer naggin' at him," he said one
day, when Jane's repeated hints had made Samuel throw himself on the
grass to cry.
"I wisht I believed he was tellin' no lies," was Jane's answer.
Lull agreed with Patsy that Jane was too suspicious.
"No good iver comes to them that's hasky with the poor," she told Jane.
Lull was Samuel's best friend. Every time he came she gave him
something for his dying mother. There was one thing the children did
not like about Samuel: he never seemed to be content with what he got.
He begged for more and more, till even Patsy was ashamed of him. One
evening he grumbled because Lull had only given him a penny. He had
had a good tea, and his pockets were lined with apples to eat on the
way home.
"It's hardly worth my while comin' if that's all I'm going to get," he
said.
"Then don't be troublin' yerself to come anymore," said Jane; "we'll
niver miss ye."
Samuel looked reproachfully at her. "How would ye like your own mother
to be dyin'?" he asked. Jane's heart melted at once. She offered him
flowers to take back. Samuel refused the flowers. "Thon half-crown ye
have in yer money-box'll be more to her than yer whole garden full," he
said.
But Jane was not sympathetic enough for this. She said she was saving
up to buy Lull a pair of boots at Christmas. After he had gone she
wondered how he could have known about her money-box, and then
remembered that Fly and Honeybird had told him most of the history of
the house on his first visit. The very next day Samuel came to tell
them that his mother was dead. His eyes were red and swollen with
weeping. For half-an-hour after he came he sat in the kitchen sobbing
bitterly, and refusing to be comforted. Fly and Honeybird cried in
sympathy, and Jane would have cried too if she had not been so busy
watching him. He cried steadily, only stopping every now and then, to
wipe his nose on his sleeve. She decided she would give him the
black-bordered handkerchief she had treasured away in her drawer
upstairs; also, she would make a beautiful wreath for his mother's
coffin. But soon the terrible truth came out that there was no coffin.
Between bursts of sobs Samuel explained that his father was in gaol,
and he himself had not a penny to pay for the funeral.
"An' her laid out an' all," he wept. "The neighbours done that much
for her. In as nice a shroud as ye'd wish to wear. She had it by her
this many's the day. But sorra a coffin has she, poor soul, an' God
knows where she's goin' to get wan."
Lull was greatly distressed. "To be sure, the parish would bury the
woman," she said; "but God save us from a burial like that." She took
her teapot out of the cupboard, and gave Samuel five shillings.
"If I had more ye'd be welcome to it, but that's every penny piece I've
got," she said. Samuel thanked her kindly, and murmured something
about money-boxes. Mick responded at once.
"I'll bet ye we've got a good wee bit in them," he said joyfully. The
money-boxes were opened, and found to contain nearly ten shillings.
The children handed over their savings gladly to help Samuel in his
need. Even Jane rejoiced that she had her half-crown to give. Samuel
went away immediately after this, and not until he had been gone some
time did Jane remember the black-bordered pocket handkerchief.
However, she determined to take it to him, and also to take a wreath
for the coffin. After dinner she made the wreath in private. Lull
might have forbidden it if she had known. Then she called Mick and
Patsy, and they started for Samuel's house. He lived near the town, so
they had a long walk before they reached the squalid street. Some boys
were playing marbles when the children turned the street corner. One
of them looked up, then rose, and fled into a house. Jane thought he
looked like Samuel, but she said nothing. Patsy had led the way so
far; now he stopped, and said they must ask which was the house. They
asked some women sitting on a doorstep.
"If it's Mrs Brown ye want, she's been in her grave this six years,"
one of them said.
"Why, Samuel tould us ye helped to lay her out this mornin'," said Jane
indignantly. A drunken-looking woman came forward.
"To be sure we did," she said. Jane fancied she saw her wink at the
others. "Samuel tould ye his poor mother was dead, didn't he, dear? I
suppose ye've brought a trifle for him, the poor orphan."
"Which house does he live in?" Jane asked.
"Don't trouble yerselves to be goin' up. The place is not fit for
quality. Lave yer charity with me, an' I'll give it to the childe."
Jane insisted on going up. The woman said she would bring Samuel down
to them. She seemed anxious to keep them back. But suddenly Samuel
himself appeared at a door.
"I knowed ye'd mebby come," he said in a hushed voice as he led them up
the stairs. He pushed open a door, and invited them to step in.
"The place is that dirty I hardly like to ask ye," he said. The room
was very dirty, but the children hardly noticed this. All their
attention was concentrated on the bed where the corpse lay, straight
and stiff, covered with a sheet. They stood silently by, awed by the
outlines of that rigid figure. Jane began to wish she had not insisted
on coming upstairs. But it was their duty to look at the dead. Samuel
would be hurt if they did not; he would think they were wanting in
respect. She dreaded the moment when he would turn back the sheet, and
show them the cold, unnatural face, that would haunt her eyes for days.
Breathing a prayer that God would not let her be frightened she stepped
forward, and put the wreath at the foot of the bed. As she did so her
hand touched something hard. At once fear gave place to suspicion.
Under cover of the wreath she felt again, and made sure the corpse was
wearing a pair of hobnailed boots. She looked carefully, and saw that
the sheet was moved as if by gentle breathing. Samuel, weeping at the
head of the bed, never offered to turn back the sheet.
"I'd like to luk at her face," said Jane at last.
Samuel cried more than ever. "Don't ast me," he said. "The poor soul
got that thin that I'd be feared for ye to see her."
"God rest her, anyhow," said Mick piously.
"Well, I'm thinkin' that's the quare thing," said Jane, looking hard at
Samuel, "not to show a buddy the corpse. I niver heard tell a' the
like." Samuel's answer was more tears. Mick and Patsy were both
ashamed of their sister.
"I'm thinkin' she's not dead at all," Jane went on.
"Whisht, Jane; are ye clean mad?" Mick remonstrated. Samuel stopped
crying. "Can't ye see for yerself she's dead right enough?" he said.
"I'd be surer if I seen her face," said Jane.
Mick in disgust turned to go, but Jane stood still.
"Wait a minute till I fix this flower that's fallen out," she said,
noting with satisfaction that Samuel looked uneasy. She watched the
figure under the sheet, and made sure it was breathing regularly then
she took a pin out of her dress, and bent over to arrange the wreath.
Suddenly her hand dropped on the sheet. There was a yell of pain, and
the corpse sat bolt upright. Samuel's fraud was laid bare. His dead
mother was a man with a black beard.
"God forgive ye, ye near tuk the leg aff me," he shouted, "jabbin' pins
into a buddy like that."
"Shame on ye!"--Jane's eyes blazed; "lettin' on to be dead; I've the
quare good mind to tell the polis." She turned to Samuel, but he had
gone. Patsy had gone too; only Mick stood there, with a white, scared
face.
"Come on ar this for a polisman," she said wrathfully, and swept Mick
before her. The corpse was still rubbing his leg. Out on the street
the women crowded round to know what had happened. Jane pushed her way
through them.
"I think ye all a pack a' rogues," was the only answer she would give
to their questions. Patsy was nowhere to be seen, so they turned
sorrowfully homeward, to tell Lull for what they had parted with their
savings. Patsy followed them a few hours later. He had been looking
for Samuel to beat him, but Samuel had got away. He never came back to
Rowallan. They watched for him for weeks, but never saw him again.
The thought of the first beating Patsy had given him was the only
satisfaction they ever got from the memory of Samuel Brown.