Little Meg's Treat to Her Children
Robin's birthday dawned brightly, even into the dark deep shadows of
Angel Court, and Meg was awakened by the baby's two hands beating upon
her still drowsy face, and trying to lift up her closed eyelids with
its tiny fingers. She sprang up with a light heart, for father was
coming home to-day. For the first time since her mother's death she
dragged the box from under the bed, and with eager hands unlocked the
lid. She knew that she dare not cross the court, she and the children,
arrayed in the festive finery, without her father to take care of them;
for she had seen other children stripped of all their new and showy
clothes before they could reach the shelter of the larger streets.
But Meg was resolved that Robin and baby at least should not meet their
father in rags. She took out the baby's coat and hood, too small now
even for the little head it was to cover, and Robin's blue cap and
brown holland pinafore. These things she made up into a bundle,
looking longingly at her own red frock, and her bonnet with green
ribbons: but Meg shook her head at herself admonishingly. It never
would do to risk an appearance in such gorgeous attire. The very
utmost she could venture upon was to put some half-worn shoes on her
own feet and Robin's; for shoes were not in fashion for the children of
Angel Court, and the unusual sound of their tread would attract quite
as much attention as little Meg dare risk. She dressed her children
and set them on the bed, while she put her own rough hair as smooth as
she could by a little glass in the lid of the trunk. Her bonnet, which
had originally belonged to her mother, had been once of black silk, but
it was now brown with years, and the old shawl she pinned over the
ragged bodice of her frock was very thin and torn at the edges; but
Meg's heart was full of hope, and nothing could drive away the smile
from her careworn face this morning. With the baby in her arms she
carefully descended the ladder, having put the door-key into the bag
round her neck along with the key of the box and her last half-crown.
Then with stealthy steps she stole along under the houses, hushing
Robin, who was inclined to make an unnecessary clatter in his shoes;
but fortunately the inhabitants of Angel Court were not early risers,
and Meg was off in good time, so they reached the outer streets safely,
without notice or attack. Before going down to the docks Meg drew
Robin into an empty archway, and there exchanged his ragged cap and
pinafore for those she had put up into her bundle. Having dressed the
baby also, she sat and looked at them both for a minute in mute
admiration and delight. There could not be a prettier boy than Robin
in all London, she was sure, with his bright black eyes and curly hair,
that twisted so tightly round her fingers. As for the baby with her
shrewd old-womanish face, and the sweet smile which spoke a good deal
plainer than words, Meg could scarcely keep from kissing her all the
time. How pleased and proud father would be! But when she remembered
how she should have to tell him that mother was dead and buried, and
none of them would ever see her again, Meg's eyes were blinded with
tears, and hiding her face in the baby's neck, she cried, whether for
joy or sorrow she could hardly tell; until Robin broke out into a loud
wail of distress and terror, which echoed noisily under the low vault
of the archway.
Little Meg roused herself at the sound of Robin's cry, and taking his
hand in hers, with the baby upon her arm, she loitered about the
entrance to the dockyard, till a good-tempered looking burly man came
near to them. Meg planted herself bravely in his way, and looked up
wistfully into his red face.
'Please, sir,' she said, 'could you tell me if father's ship's come in
yet?'
'Father's ship!' repeated the man in a kindly voice. 'Why, what's the
name of father's ship?'
'The Ocean King,' said Meg, trembling.
'It's in the river, my little lass,' he said, 'but it won't be in dock
till night. Father can't be at home afore to-morrow morning at the
soonest.'
'Thank you kindly, sir,' answered Meg, her voice faltering with her
great joy. Her task was ended, then. To-morrow she would give up the
key of the box with its secret treasure, which she hardly dared to
think about, and then she could feel like a child once more. She did
feel almost as gay as Robin who was pattering and stamping proudly
along in his shoes, and in the consciousness that it was his birthday.
Nobody else had such a thing as a birthday, so far as he knew;
certainly none of his acquaintances in Angel Court, not even Meg
herself, for Meg's birthday was lost in the depth of the ten years
which had passed over her head. He scarcely knew what it was, for he
could neither see it nor touch it; but he had it, for Meg told him so,
and it made him feel glad and proud. It was a bright, warm, sunny
autumn day, with enough freshness in the breeze coming off the unseen
river to make the air sweet and reviving; for Meg was skirting about
the more open streets, without venturing to pass through the closer and
dirtier alleys.
'Robbie,' she said after a time, when they had come to a halt upon the
steps of a dwelling-house, 'Robbie, I'll give you a treat to-day,
because it's your birthday. We'll not go home till it's dark; and I'll
take you to see Temple Gardens.'
'What are Temple Gardens?' demanded Robin, his eyes eager for an answer.
'Oh, you'll see,' said Meg, not quite able to explain herself. 'I went
there once, ever so many years ago, when I was a little girl. You'll
like 'em ever so!'
'Do we know the road?' asked Robin doubtfully.
'I should think so!' replied Meg; 'and if we didn't, there's the
police. What's the police good for, if they couldn't tell a person
like me the road to Temple Gardens? We'll have such a nice day!'
The children trotted along briskly till they reached the broad
thoroughfares and handsome shops of the main streets which traverse
London, where a constant rush of foot passengers upon the pavement, and
of conveyances in the roadway, hurry to and fro from morning to
midnight. Poor little Meg stood for a few minutes aghast and stunned,
almost fearful of committing herself and her children to the mighty
stream; but Robin pulled her on impatiently. He had been once as far
as the Mansion House, before the time when their mother's long illness
had made them almost prisoners in their lonely attic; and Meg herself
had wandered several times as far as the great church of St Paul.
After the first dread was over, she found a trembling, anxious
enjoyment in the sight of the shops, and of the well-dressed people in
the streets. At one of the windows she was arrested by a full-size
vision of herself, and Robin, and the baby, reflected in a great glass,
a hundred times larger than the little square in the box-lid at home.
She could not quite keep down a sigh after her own red frock and best
bonnet; but she comforted herself quickly with the thought that people
would look upon her as the nurse of Robin and baby, sent out to take
them a walk.
They did not make very rapid progress, for they stopped to look in at
many shop windows, especially where there were baby-clothes for sale,
or where there were waxen figures of little boys, life-size, dressed in
the newest fashions, with large eyes of glass beads, not unlike Robin's
own black ones. The passage of the crossings was also long and
perilous. Meg ran first with the baby, and put her down safely on the
other side in some corner of a doorway; then with a sinking and
troubled heart, least any evil person should pick her up, and run away
with her as a priceless treasure, she returned for Robin. In this way
she got over several crossings, until they reached the bottom of
Ludgate Hill, where she stood shivering and doubting for a long time,
till she fairly made up her mind to speak to the majestic policeman
looking on calmly at the tumult about him.
'Oh, if you please, Mr Police,' said Meg, in a plaintive voice, 'I want
to get these two little children over to the other side, and I don't
know how to do it, except you'd please to hold baby while I take Robbie
across.'
The policeman looked down from his great height, without bending his
stiff neck, upon the childish creature who spoke to him, and Meg's
spirit sank with the fear of being ordered back again. But he picked
up Robin under his arm, and bidding her keep close beside him, he
threaded his way through the throng of carriages. This was the last
danger; and now with restored gaiety Meg travelled on with her two
children.
[Illustration: The policeman picked up Robin under his arm, and
threaded his way through the throng of carriages.]
By-and-by they turned from the busy Fleet Street under a low archway,
and in a minute they were out of the thunder of the streets which had
almost drowned their voices, and found themselves in a place so quiet
and so calm, with a sort of grave hush in the very air, that Robin
pressed close to Meg's side, with something of the silent and subdued
awe with which he might have entered a church. There were houses here,
and courts, but not houses and courts like those from which they had
come. Here and there they came upon a long corridor, where the sun
shone between the shadows of the pillars supporting the roof; and they
looked along them with wondering eyes, not knowing where they could
lead to, and too timid to try to find out. It was not a deserted
place, but the number of people passing to and fro were few enough to
make it seem almost a solitude to these poor children, who had
travelled hither from the over-crowded slums of the East End. They
could hear their own voices, when they spoke, ring out in such clear,
echoing tones, that Meg hushed Robin, lest some of the grave, stern,
thoughtful gentlemen who passed them should bid them begone, and leave
the Temple to its usual stillness. The houses seemed to them so large
and grand, that Meg, who had heard once of the Queen, and had a dim
notion of her as a lady of extraordinary greatness and grandeur,
whispered to Robin confidentially that she thought the Queen must live
here.
They came upon a fountain in the centre of a small plot of grass and
flowers, enclosed within high railings; and Robin uttered a shrill cry
of delight, which rang noisily through the quiet court where its waters
played in the sunshine. But at last they discovered, with hearts as
eagerly throbbing as those of the explorers of some new country, the
gardens, the real Temple Gardens! The chrysanthemums were in full
blossom, with all their varied tints, delicate and rich, glowing under
the brightness of the noontide sun; and Robin and Meg stood still,
transfixed and silent, too full of an excess of happiness to speak.
'Oh, Meg, what is it? what is it?' cried Robin at last, with
outstretched hands, as if he would fain gather them all into his arms.
'Is it gardens, Meg? Is this Temple Gardens?'
Meg could not answer at first, but she held Robin back from the
flowers. She did not feel quite at home in this strange, sweet, sunny
place; and she peeped in cautiously through the half-open iron gate
before entering. There were a few other children there, with their
nursemaids, but she felt there was some untold difference between her
and them. But Robin's delight had given him courage, and he rushed in
tumultuously, running along the smooth walks in an ecstasy of joy; and
Meg could do nothing else but follow. Presently, as nobody took any
notice of her, she gave herself up to the gladness of the hour, and
toiled up and down, under the weight of the baby, wherever Robin wished
to go, until he consented to rest a little while upon a seat which
faced the river, where they could see the boats pass by. This was the
happiest moment to Meg. She thought of her father's ship coming up the
river, bringing him home to her and the children; and she had almost
lost the recollection of where she was, when Robin, who had been very
quiet for some time, pulled her by the shawl.
'Look, Meg,' he whispered.
He pointed to a seat not far from them, where sat a lady, in a bright
silk dress, and a velvet bonnet with a long rich feather across it.
There were two children with her, a girl of Meg's age, and a boy about
as big as Robin, dressed like a little Highlander, with a kilt of many
colours, and a silver-mounted pouch, and a dirk, which he was
brandishing about before his mother, who looked on, laughing fondly and
proudly at her boy. Meg gazed, too, until she heard Robin sob, and
turning quickly to him, she saw the tears rolling quickly down his
sorrowful face. 'Nobody laughs to me, Meg,' said Robin.
'Oh yes, Robbie, I laugh to you,' cried Meg; 'and father 'll laugh when
he comes home to-morrow; and maybe God laughs to us, only we can't see
His face.'
'I'd like to go home,' sobbed Robin; and Meg took her baby upon her
tired arm, and turned her steps eastward once more. As they left
Temple Gardens, languid and weary, Meg saw the friendly man who had
spoken kindly to them that morning at the docks passing by in an empty
dray, and meeting her wistful eyes, he pulled up for a minute.
'Hullo, little woman!' he shouted. 'Are you going my way?'
He pointed his whip towards St Paul's, and Meg nodded, for her voice
could not have reached him through the din.
'Hoist them children up here, that's a good fellow,' he said to a man
who was standing by idle; and in a few seconds more they were riding
triumphantly along Fleet Street in such a thrill and flutter of delight
as Meg's heart had never felt before, while Robin forgot his sorrows,
and cheered on the horses with all the power of his shrill voice. The
dray put them down at about half a mile from Angel Court, while it was
still broad daylight, and Robin was no longer tired. Meg changed her
last half-crown, and spent sixpence of it lavishly in the purchase of
some meat pies, upon which they feasted sumptuously, in the shelter of
a doorway leading to the back of a house.