Dot's Opinion
"BY the bye, Pattie, were you out this morning about half-past
eleven?" Mr. Cragg put the question at tea-time, nothing leading up
to it.
"Half-past eleven! Yes; just about then I took Dot for a walk."
"I couldn't find Mrs. Cragg, so I tried to find you, and your door
was locked."
Mrs. Cragg writhed, conscious of a change of colour.
"Was it? I remember. I came back with Dot to get my purse, and I could
not get in either. Somebody must have locked it by accident, or else
the bolt may have slipped. It seemed all right a little later, when we
came back again."
"You don't know who locked it, my dear?" Cragg noticed his wife's
uncomfortable look.
"How should I know, pray?" demanded Mrs. Cragg.
"Somebody probably knows. It might be you or any one."
"As if I troubled myself with Pattie's concerns! I'm much too busy."
"Pattie's concerns have to be attended to, like everybody else's
concerns, now and then," Cragg said, with a kind look at the girl.
Pattie was gazing at Mrs. Cragg, and did not see the look. A
recollection had come to mind of finding her cupboard that afternoon
in a disordered state. Pattie was very neat, and she always knew
exactly where each article in box, or drawer, or cupboard lay. She had
supposed that the girl had been turning out her things for dusting
purposes. But the discomfited expression and reddened colouring of
Mrs. Cragg's face suggested something different. Pattie, however, said
nothing. "Anyhow, I'll take a look at the lock, and see if it wants
oiling," remarked Cragg,—"eh, Pattie?"
"Thank you very much," Pattie answered; and the subject was dropped.
Now that Mrs. Cragg had gained the information she wanted, the
question arose—how to use it? She could not tell her husband what she
had learnt, because she dared not tell him by what mode she had learnt
it. She dared not refer to Pattie's past in the presence of Pattie.
The questions that she had meant to put to Pattie became impossible,
in the face of her own secret knowledge. She had small command of
feature, and she knew that at any moment her face might betray her.
It was disgusting, she said to herself. To think of a girl, who might
have been a convict's daughter but for the forbearance of this
Mr. Peterson, fondling and petting Dot half the day, sitting at their
table, being called "Miss Pattie" by the servant—for upon that
Mr. Cragg had insisted. The whole thing was really too bad.
These thoughts made Mrs. Cragg additionally unpleasant to Pattie, and
Pattie noticed the fact with some wonder. She supposed that Mrs. Cragg
was growing tired of her presence in the house, and she began to cast
about in her mind where to look for work. When she consulted Cragg,
he put the matter aside, and said, "No hurry yet awhile." But Pattie
did not fall in with this view.
Hers was not a suspicious temperament. Although the idea had flashed
across her, in connection with Mrs. Cragg's look and with the fact of
her disturbed cupboard, that Mrs. Cragg might have been examining
something in her room, and might have locked the door, she had not
encouraged the notion, but had done her best to dismiss it. She had
a horror of suspecting falsely.
That she would sooner or later leave the Craggs, and go out to make
her own way, was settled in her mind, though she knew that it might
not be possible for a while. When the time should come, her trouble
would be having to say good-bye to Dot. The child had twisted herself
in and out among Pattie's heart-strings, and life apart from Dot wore
a forlorn aspect.
On Sunday afternoon Dot was always supposed to be in Mrs. Cragg's
charge, while the nursery-maid went to church. Of late, being with her
mother had really meant being with Pattie. Next Sunday Mrs. Cragg,
having eaten a heavy dinner, was, or appeared to be, particularly
sleepy, and she sat nodding drowsily on the sofa.
The sleepiness was partly put on, for Mrs. Cragg was deep in
cogitation. She had not yet restored the letters to their box in
Pattie's cupboard. If she could not put them back soon, she would have
to burn them, for fear of accidental discovery; but that she was
reluctant to do, for more reasons than one —and by no means for
Pattie's sake. There had been some talk of letting Dot go to the
children's service with Pattie, and Mrs. Cragg presently asked, with a
yawn,—
"Are you going to take Dot to church?"
"Dot would like it, if I may."
"I don't care if you do. You'll have to be in good time. And Dot
must sit still."
"Dot will behave like a mouse. Yes, we will go early. It is too soon
yet. The bells won't begin for some time."
"Tell me that tory adain," begged Dot. "About wicked naughty Gazi."
"But you know it, Dot. Suppose you tell me instead."
Dot pulled herself upright, and assumed a solemn air.
"Gazi was a naughty wicked tory-teller," she said. "Tory-tellers am
always wicked. And when Lisha asked him, 'Where'd he'd been and wented
to?'—Gazi said he'd not been wented nowhere. And then he got all twite
whited all over him."
"But he had been somewhere, hadn't he?"
"Oh,—m-yes,—he'd been and wented after that other man, what was made
well. He was naughty, too, only he didn't tell no tories, and then he
was good. And he wanted for to give Lisha fings,—lots and lots of
fings, and nice focks and ever so much pennies. And Lisha wouldn't
have nofink; 'n so Gazi thoughted he'd go an' get somefink nice. And
he wented and telled a lot of big tories—big, big tories," repeated
Dot impressively. "And so he gotted all white, all over hims."
"That was his punishment, wasn't it?"
"Him's punishment," repeated Dot.
"Dot, you don't mean ever to tell stories, do you?"
Dot shook her head vehemently.
"Cause I'd get all white."
"I think if you told stories, you would have to be punished in some
way. It might not be in the same way as Gehazi. But God is our Father,
you know, and a Father has to punish His little children when they are
naughty, so as to make them learn to be good. You don't want to be
naughty, do you, and to make God sorry?"
Another shake.
"Does drown-up peoples evern tell tories now?"
"Sometimes, I'm afraid."
"Does ma-ma?"
"Hush, Dot. You must never ask such silly questions. The question that
you have to ask is, 'Does Dot?'"
Dot was not easily turned from her purpose. She said, in a loud and
clear whisper:
"I know twite well when ma-ma telled a wicked tory. When she saided
she was out and she wasn't. 'Cause she was in your room, own Pattie
darlin'."
Pattie was startled.
"No, Dot, no. You are talking nonsense. Hush!"
Dot spoke more energetically, running her words together.
"I not spawking nonsense. Ma-ma was in, and she saided she was out.
Ann telled me. 'Cause Ann saw ma-ma come out."
Mrs. Cragg sat up with a jerk.
"Really, Pattie, if you encourage the child in that sort of
impertinence, I shall have—I think the less you're with her the better
for Dot. She is growing insufferable, and it is your fault."
Pattie met the angry gaze quietly.
"I am not encouraging Dot indeed," she said.
"Ma-ma angly," remarked Dot.
"If I hear any more such impertinence—mind, Dot, I mean what I say—
if you say such things again, I shan't let you be with Pattie.
So you'd better take care."
Dot hung her head, and tears came to her eyes.
"I am sure Dot did not mean to be rude, did you, Dot?" asked Pattie,
even while it flashed through her mind that Mrs. Cragg had made no
attempt to deny the truth of Dot's assertions. But then, perhaps,
Mrs. Cragg did not think it worth while. "Come, I think it is time for
us to get ready for church. If I take you, will you be a good girl?"
"Vely dood," Dot declared cheerfully, restored to her usual spirits,
and the two went off together. Mrs. Cragg remained gloomily behind.