ROBIN IN REQUEST
"MOTHER, mother, here's news—such good news!"
Robin's voice was full of joy and excitement as he hurried into the
kitchen, where his mother was seated close to the window which looked
into the court. It was the afternoon subsequent to the day on which
Richard Burt had returned home the worse for drink and had served his
wife so brutally.
"Good news?" echoed Mrs. Burt, a faint, incredulous smile flitting
across her pale, careworn face. "Good news for 'us,' Robin?"
"Yes, indeed, mother. But you're ill!" he cried, in accents of concern,
as he noticed her countenance bore signs of pain.
"I'm not well," she admitted; "you know, dear, I haven't felt very
strong of late; I get a pain here." She pressed her hand to her side as
she spoke. "No, it's not where he hit me," she continued hastily, as
she observed a wrathful gleam in her little son's eyes; "he bruised me
a bit, but I don't take much notice of a few bruises nowadays. Tell me
your news, my dear."
"Oh, yes! You'll be so pleased, mother. Something wonderful has
happened. It was like this. You know Sam Brown, and how he always
bullies me just because he's older and stronger than I am? Well, I was
coming home from school this afternoon when Sam overtook me and began
cheeking me, calling me names, and laughing at my clothes—oh, mother
you needn't look so sorry; really I didn't mind—that is, not much. A
lady we met heard what Sam was saying, and she stopped and looked at
him, and he cleared out as quick as he could. She was such a pretty
lady, with beautiful brown eyes, and her voice sounded so kind—"
"Then she spoke to you, Robin?" Mrs. Burt interposed, her interest now
thoroughly aroused.
"Yes. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, 'So they call you
Ragged Robin, do they?'
"And I said, 'Yes, ma'am.'
"She looked at me very hard and smiled, and I got very red, because I
was wondering what she thought of my shabby clothes.
"'I've a little boy of my own about your age,' she said. 'Where do you
live?'
"I told her. She said she didn't know Sun Court, but she expected she
would be able to find it, and she asked me my name and if I'd like to
earn some money out of school hours. I told her I wanted to get a job,
but it was very difficult to find one that I could suit, although I
could shine boots and clean knives as well as any boy.
"'Well, I'll engage you for a model, and I'll pay you a shilling an
hour,' she said. 'Can you come for a couple of hours twice a week? I
want to put you into a picture, and you'll have to keep very still
whilst I take your likeness—that's being a model, you know.'
"I was so surprised I didn't know what to say, but I felt I could have
jumped for joy, and I think she saw I was very, very glad. She's coming
to see you to-morrow; and, oh, mother, don't you call this good news?"
"Yes, dear, indeed it is," Mrs. Burt replied. Her face had brightened
considerably whilst her little son had been talking. "Did the lady tell
you her name?" she inquired.
"No. But she wrote down your name on a card, and asked me all sorts
of questions about you, mother. I told her that you hadn't been well
lately, and—and that father treated you badly—"
"Oh, Robin! You should not have mentioned that."
"Why not? It's true." The boy met his mother's reproachful gaze with
one of defiance; then his expression softened, and he continued:
"I don't know what made me tell her, I'm sure, but she looked so kind
I felt I could tell her anything. I thought if she wanted to put me
into a picture she'd like me to wear better clothes, so I told her I
was sorry I hadn't another suit; and then she said she meant to take my
likeness just as I am. Fancy that! And fancy her offering me a shilling
an hour to do nothing—only to keep still!"
"I expect you'll find it rather trying doing that," Mrs. Burt remarked
with a smile; "you're usually such a restless boy."
"Anyway, I do hope I shall get the job, mother."
"I'm sure I hope so too, dear. Are you ready for tea? The kettle's on
the oil-stove; it will boil directly."
"Where's father?" Robin inquired.
"Gone to Devonport to see if he can get work at the dockyard. He's
ashamed of himself to-day. I haven't done much myself this afternoon;
I've felt too weak and dispirited to stir about, and I haven't seen a
creature to speak to but old Mr. Blamey, who came to the door to know
how I was; he's always very attentive and kind."
"Yes," assented Robin; "folks say he's mazed, but I don't think he is."
"Mazed?" exclaimed Mrs. Burt. "To my mind he's a deal more sane than
most people," she declared emphatically.
"They say so because he's so very religious," Robin explained.
"He's a good man, Robin, and I'm certain the love of God is in his
heart, for he's always ready to put himself out of the way to do anyone
a kind turn; and he's happy—so few people are that in this world!"
"He says one can't be happy without Jesus," remarked Robin,
thoughtfully.
"He's right, my dear. I think there's no doubt that our old neighbour
has found Jesus, and you know the Bible tells us that 'they that seek
the Lord shall not want any good thing.' Mr. Blamey reminded me of that
this afternoon; his words came in season, for I've been very troubled
and unhappy of late, and I've kept my sorrows to myself instead of
laying them before the Lord. I fear I've been a faithless woman. Ah,
Robin, Sam Brown little guessed that he was doing you a good turn
by jeering at you this afternoon. I expect it was really the unkind
remarks he was making which drew the lady's attention to you."
"I hope she won't change her mind about me," said Robin uneasily;
"perhaps she will find out that Sun Court isn't a nice place," he
added, with a sigh.
"Don't meet trouble half way," advised his mother; "I've an idea that
the lady will prove as good as her word."
Mrs. Burt was right in her surmise, for the following afternoon the
expected visitor arrived. The old cobbler looked after her with
approving eyes as she passed his window, for seldom was such a sweet
face seen in Sun Court. She introduced herself to Robin's mother as
Mrs. Groves, and explained that her home was at Newlyn, in Cornwall,
and that she and her little son had been lodging in Plymouth for the
past month, and would in all probability remain several weeks longer.
"My boy is an only child, like yours," she said, "and I think the two
must be about the same age. How old is Robin?"
"Ten years and a few months, ma'am," Mrs. Burt replied.
"Gilbert—that is my little boy's name—is not quite ten. Unfortunately,
he is far from being a strong child; his health has always been a cause
of anxiety to me. He was very ill a short while since, and my reason
for coming to Plymouth was that he might be treated by a celebrated
doctor. My husband is an artist, and he has several pupils at Newlyn,
so he could not possibly leave to be with us here. I am an artist, too,
and the instant I saw your little son I longed to paint him. He is just
the model I want. You will let him come to me, will you not?"
"Oh yes, ma'am, thank you," Mrs. Burt hastened to respond, with mingled
thankfulness and gratitude in her voice, "and I do hope he'll keep
still and give you every satisfaction. I'm sure he'll try to do so.
He's really a very good, obedient boy, ma'am, and—and the greatest
comfort I have," she concluded with a break in her voice.
"I can well understand that. He looks a dear little fellow, and he has
a frank way of speaking, which I noticed at once."
Mrs. Groves did not mention Robin's stepfather, and he was not at home
during her call, having been successful in obtaining work as a labourer
at Devonport dockyard.
By the time Robin returned from school it had been settled that he was
to present himself on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, after four
o'clock, at the house on the Hoe where Mrs. Groves was lodging, and
that he was to have his tea there and serve as a model for a couple of
hours afterwards.
How gratified Robin felt as he accompanied Mrs. Groves to the entrance
of the court, where a cab was waiting for her. A group of boys who had
stood by, staring in amazement at him and his companion, accosted him
as the cab drove off.
"I say, you're looking up in the world, young 'un," remarked a big lad
called Dick Farrant, with a knowing wink.
"Who's the swell, Robin?" asked another.
"A lady who's going to put me into a picture," Robin replied, in a
dignified manner; "I'm to be her model. She's been to see my mother,"
he added, with a touch of pardonable pride in his tone.
"Going to put you into a picture!" cried Dick Farrant, sceptically.
"Get on! You don't expect us to believe such an unlikely wheeze as
that, do you?"
"It's quite true," declared Robin, his earnest voice carrying
conviction with it; "but you can believe it or not as you like. She's
an artist, and her name is Mrs. Groves, and she's the prettiest and
nicest lady I ever spoke to in my life."
The boys looked at Robin in amusement and laughed derisively. Some
ladies had queer fancies, they no doubt thought. The idea of anyone
wanting to paint a likeness of Robin, with his pale, thin face and
solemn grey eyes!
"And she's so kind and generous," proceeded Robin; "she's going to pay
me a shilling an hour just to stand still and do nothing. I shall earn
four shillings a week."
"Humph!" ejaculated Dick Farrant, in evident surprise. "I suppose
she'll dress you up?" he suggested curiously, his eyes travelling
meaningly over the little boy's shabby clothes.
Robin shook his head; whereupon the others exchanged amazed glances,
then burst into roars of laughter again. It struck them all as
exceedingly funny that the lady, so handsome and well-dressed herself,
should be desirous of painting their insignificant neighbour in his
rags.
Robin flushed angrily, but he was in too good spirits to feel annoyance
long, and there was no cloud on his face when, a few minutes later, he
rejoined his mother. To his delight he found her waiting for him with a
smiling face.
"What do you think of her, mother?" he inquired, of course referring to
their late visitor.
"I think she's a kind, good lady, my dear," Mrs. Burt replied; "she
talked to me so pleasantly, and spoke so nicely of you. Who is that?"
she asked, as a knock was heard at the door.
"It's Mr. Blamey," said Robin, going to look. "Oh, Mr. Blamey, do come
in and let mother tell you all about the lady!" he cried excitedly,
drawing the old cobbler into the kitchen and giving him a chair. "It's
all been arranged," he continued; "I'm to be her model and earn a
shilling an hour. Isn't it splendid?"
"Yes, indeed," Jasper responded, "and I'm very, very glad to hear it."
He sat down and listened whilst Mrs. Burt gave him an account of Mrs.
Groves's visit. When she had finished, he nodded his head and said:
"I congratulate you, Robin. It won't be so easy being a model as you
think, but it will teach you patience, and that's a lesson good for
everyone to learn. I saw the lady, and I liked her face—it was very
pleasant and kind."
"Yes," agreed Mrs. Burt, "I noticed that, too. She said that she
thought her little boy was a bit taller than mine, and if so some of
his cast-off clothes might fit Robin, and she promised he should have
them; but she's going to paint him in the suit he has on; she says she
does not want him to look spick and span in the picture. I do wonder
what the picture is to be!"
"I expect I shall soon find that out, mother," said Robin; "I feel
curious about it, like you."
The old cobbler now rose to go. "I think, from what I have heard, that
God has raised up a friend for you," he observed, addressing Mrs. Burt.
"I am very grateful to Him for having done so," she answered earnestly.
And Robin from the depths of his heart was grateful, too.