Little Meg's Neighbour
When their feast was over, the children sauntered on slowly, not
wishing to enter Angel Court till it was dark enough for Robin's and
baby's finery to pass by unseen; but as soon as it was dark they turned
out of the main thoroughfare into the dingy streets more familiar to
them. As they entered the house Meg heard the deep gruff voice of Mr
Grigg calling to her, and she went into his room, trembling, and
holding the baby very tightly in her arms. It was a small room, the
same size as their own attic, and the litter and confusion throughout
made it impossible to go in more than a step or two. Mr Grigg was
seated at a stained wooden table, upon which stood two large cups and a
black bottle of gin, with a letter lying near to Mr Grigg's large and
shaking hand. Coming in from the fresh air of the night, Meg coughed a
little with the mingled fumes of gin and tobacco; but she coughed
softly for fear of giving offence.
'Here's a letter come for your mother, little Meg,' said Mr Grigg,
seizing it eagerly, 'I'll read it to you if you like.'
'Oh no, thank you, sir,' answered Meg quickly; 'father's coming home,
and he'll read it to-morrow morning. His ship's in the river, and
it'll be in dock to-night for certain. So he'll be home to-morrow.'
Upon hearing this news Mr Grigg thought it best to deliver up the
letter to Meg, but he did it so reluctantly that she hurried away lest
he should reclaim it. Robin was already halfway upstairs, but she soon
overtook him, and a minute afterwards reached their own door. She was
about to put the baby down to take out the key, when, almost without
believing her own eyes, she saw that it was in the lock, and that a
gleam of firelight shone through the chinks of the door. Meg lifted
the latch with a beating heart, and looked in before venturing to
enter. The fire was lighted, but there seemed to be no other
disturbance or change in the attic since the morning, except that in
her mother's low chair upon the hearth there sat a thin slight woman,
like her mother, with the head bowed down, and the face hidden in the
hands. Meg paused, wonder-stricken and speechless, on the door-sill;
but Robin ran forward quickly, with a glad shout of 'Mother! mother!'
At the sound of Robin's step and cry the woman lifted up her face. It
was a white, thin face, but younger than their mother's, though the
eyes were red and sunken, as if with many tears, and there was a gloom
upon it, as if it had never smiled a happy smile. Meg knew it in an
instant as the face of the tenant of the back attic, who had been in
jail for six weeks, and her eye searched anxiously the dark corner
under the bed, where the box was hidden. It seemed quite safe and
untouched, but still Meg's voice was troubled as she spoke.
'I thought I'd locked up all right,' she said, stepping into the room,
while Robin took refuge behind her, and regarded the stranger closely
from his place of safety.
'Ay, it was all right,' answered the girl, 'only you see my key 'd
unlock it; and I felt cold and low coming out of jail to-day; and I'd
no coal, nor bread, nor nothing. So I came in here, and made myself
comfortable. Don't you be crusty, little Meg. You'd be the same if
you'd been locked up for six weeks. I wish I were dead, I do.'
The girl spoke sadly, and dropped her head again upon her hands, while
Meg stood in the middle of the floor, not knowing what to do or say.
She sat down after a while upon the bedstead, and began taking off the
baby's things, pondering deeply all the time what course of action she
ought to follow. She could place herself so as to conceal completely
the box under the bed; but if the girl's key would unlock her attic
door, how was she ever to leave it for a moment in safety? Then the
thought flashed across her that father would be at home to-morrow, and
she would no longer have to take care of the hidden treasure. In the
meantime Robin had stolen up to the stranger's side, and after closely
considering her for some moments, he stroked her hand with his own
small fingers.
'I thought you were mother, I did,' he said. 'It's my birthday to-day.'
For one instant the girl looked at him with a smile in her sunken eyes,
and then she lifted him on to her lap, and laid her face upon his curly
head, sobbing bitterly.
'Little Meg,' she said, 'your mother spoke kind to me once, and now
she's dead and gone. I wonder why I wasn't took instead o' her?'
Meg's tender heart closed itself no longer against the stranger. She
got up from her seat, and crossing the floor to the fireside, she put
the baby down by Robin on her lap.
'You didn't ought to go into a person's room without asking leave,' she
said; 'but if you'll hold baby for me, I'll soon get tea. I've got a
little real tea left, and father 'll buy some more to-morrow. You mind
the children till it's ready.'
It was soon ready, and they drank and ate together, with few words.
Meg was intent upon getting her weary children to bed as soon as
possible, and after it was over she undressed them at once. Before
Robin got into bed she addressed the girl hesitatingly.
'Robbie always says his prayers aloud to me,' she said; 'you won't
mind, will you?'
'Go on,' answered the girl, with a sob.
'Robbie,' said Meg, as he knelt at her knee, with his hands held up
between both her hands, 'Robbie, it's your birthday to-day; and if I
was you I'd ask God for something more than other days. I'd ask Him to
bless everybody as well as us if I was you. If everybody was good,
it'd be so nice.'
'Yes, Meg,' replied Robin promptly, closing his black eyes before he
began his prayer. 'Pray God, bless father on the big sea, and bless
me, and Meg, and baby, and take care of us all. Pray God, bless
everybody, 'cept the devil. Amen.'
But Robin did not get up from his knees. He dropped his head upon
Meg's lap, and when she moved he cried, 'Stop a minute!' Meg waited
patiently until he lifted up his face again, and shutting his eyes very
tightly, said, 'Pray God, bless everybody, and the devil, and make him
a good man. Amen.'
'Robbie,' said Meg mournfully, 'I don't think the devil can be made
good. He doesn't want to be good. If anybody wants to be good, God
can make 'em good, anybody in all the world; but He won't if they don't
want to.'
Robin was already half asleep, and gave little heed to Meg's words.
She tucked him snugly into his place beside baby, and stooping over
them, kissed both their drowsy faces with a loving and lingering
tenderness. Then she turned to the fire, and saw the strange girl
there upon her knees before her mother's chair, weeping again in a
passion of tears.