A Very Narrow Escape
PATTIE knew that she had not the smallest fraction of time to spare.
Dot's resistance was giving way, and Mrs. Cragg had all but gained
the victory. To scream would be useless. Mrs. Cragg would listen to no
warning of hers.
She flung herself wildly across the space between, full against
Mrs. Cragg, and Mrs. Cragg went down in a heap upon the bed, the glass
of liquid being jerked out of her hand and shattered upon the floor.
Pattie, with the force of her own impetus, went down upon Mrs. Cragg,
and Dot was in some danger of being demolished.
"You rude, unmannerly girl, you!" shrieked Mrs. Cragg, pulling herself
up and glaring at Pattie. "You dare to treat me so! You—you—you—"
breath and words failing her together. "I'll tell Mr. Cragg the sort
of way you go on! See if I don't!"
Mrs. Cragg shook herself, and pulled down her sleeves, which had been
dragged out of position in the scuffle.
"Never saw such behaviour in my life! But I can tell you I'm not going
to submit to this sort of thing. I'll have you turned out of the
house! I'll have you made to remember yourself another time.
It's disgraceful!"
Pattie was seated upon the side of the bed, white as ashes, gasping
for breath, and clutching Dot, as if to save the child from some
terrible danger. Dot had become composed the moment she had Pattie
by her side. Pattie's gaze met Mrs. Cragg's furious eyes, but to speak
at first was impossible. That short horror had robbed her of all
strength. Dot whimpered, and then put her finger into her mouth.
At length Pattie found power to point to the bottle upon the table,
and to whisper hoarsely,—
"Look! It is poison!"
Mrs. Cragg did look, and understood. Suddenly her fury died away,
and she stood, convicted, trembling, almost stunned with the awful
knowledge that, but for Pattie's prompt action, she might have killed
her own little child.
The dead silence was broken by Pattie's sobs. Dot's arms were round
her neck, pulling her down.
"Pattie, why you cly? Pattie own darling. Pattie mustn't cly. Pattie
stay with Dot."
Pattie could do nothing but "cly" for a while. The morning had been
one long strain, and this final fright broke her down. She hid her
face in Dot's pillow and sobbed helplessly.
But presently the silence of the other who was present crept into her
consciousness; and she lifted her head to look around. Mrs. Cragg sat
apart, grey and wordless. All the self-assertion was for once
washed-out of her. She had no excuse to offer, no self-defence to put
forward. That abashed face was new to Pattie. She could not see in it
the Mrs. Cragg whom she had hitherto known.
"Is ma-ma angly?" asked Dot's little voice.
"No, Dot. I think ma-ma is sorry," replied Pattie's trembling tones.
Mrs. Cragg neither moved nor looked round.
"I'm sorry to have had to be so rough," at length faltered Pattie,
her chest heaving still. "I couldn't help it, you know. There was
no time. If I had not made haste—"
Then a new fear swept across her.
"Did Dot take any? Mrs. Cragg, are you sure?—did she drink any of that
stuff?"
"No," was the answer; "not one drop."
"If she had—"
The girl shuddered; then, standing up, she went nearer to Mrs. Cragg.
"You didn't know, of course. You didn't think what you were doing.
I suppose you fancied it was her medicine."
"Dot pointed to the mantelshelf. I asked her."
"No. That stood there. It oughtn't to have been. But we kept the
medicine in the cupboard. That is only meant for—" Pattie broke down
afresh. "It ought not to have been left anywhere within reach,"
she went on presently. "But, oh, if I had not been in time—"
"If Mrs. Smithers hadn't been to see me, she'd have had it all ever so
long ago," muttered Mrs. Cragg. "And if you hadn't come back just when
you did—"
Mrs. Cragg spoke in a strange, husky voice, and before Pattie could
answer she asked abruptly:
"If Dot had drunk that, would she have died?" Pattie whispered a
"Yes." Mrs. Cragg's shoulders shook, and Pattie's hand came on her
kindly.
"I don't know, I'm sure, whatever makes you so nice to me," faltered
Mrs. Cragg. "You've behaved uncommon well, I must say. And I've
treated you bad, I know that. I don't know whatever made me. But I
shan't forget this. I shan't ever forget it." Mrs. Cragg began
to choke and gulp. Dot seemed inclined to go to sleep after the
morning's agitations.
"Don't keep her awake," whispered Pattie; and Mrs. Cragg did her best
to cry in subdued tones—not an easy matter, since self-command was not
one of her virtues.
By the time Dot was soundly off, Mrs. Cragg spoke again:
"Pattie, you don't know what I've been and done! I've told
Mrs. Smithers all about you."
"Yes; I know you have."
"I mean—about your father. I felt cross, and so I said it out.
If you'd known that, you wouldn't, perhaps, have—"
"Not have tried to save dear little Dot!" Pattie spoke in amazed
accents. "You can't think so, surely! I would do anything for Dot.
Mrs. Smithers told me when I was out. She did not say that she had
heard it from you, but of course—" Pattie stopped.
"I am very sorry," she said quietly, "because everybody will hear it
now. But still, if you will let me stay a little longer to take care
of Dot, I would rather do it. I should like to be sure that she is
taken care of properly, till she is well."
"I don't wonder you think I'm not fit to look after her!"
"I don't think you are a good nurse," came in reply. "A nurse would be
more careful. But, after this, you will never make such a mistake
again. And I do think nurse and I have been to blame, leaving out
a bottle of poisonous stuff where anybody might get hold of it. In an
old medicine bottle too! I can't think how we could! It's a lesson to
me as well as to you."
Mrs. Cragg gazed at Pattie with troubled eyes.
"I've treated you uncommon ill," she said.
"But you are sorry now. You will be kinder from to-day, won't you?"
asked Pattie, putting her hand into Mrs. Cragg's. "You will try to
like me more than you have done?"
"And, Pattie, you don't mind—what I've been and told Mrs. Smithers?"
"Yes, I do mind. I can't help minding very much. It is a question
of my father's good name; and I must mind that. But it is done, and I
have to bear it. I shouldn't make things any better by going away, and
making dear little Dot unhappy. Only, may I say one thing? I do want
very much that Dot should never hear about this. I mean, I want her
never to know that you could find out my secret as you did, and that
you have broken your promise not to tell. Don't let it come to her
ears."
Mrs. Cragg broke into almost a laugh.
"I should have thought it would be me, not you, to want that,"
she said. "And Dot's such a baby!"
"But she understands. Dot notices everything. And she has to learn
what goodness and truth are—through you. She ought to know first what
God is—through you. Don't you see what I mean? When I think of my
mother, it helps me to know how true and loving God is. How can Dot
learn in any other way? I can talk to her, but words don't mean much.
Dot ought to learn the lesson—through you—through what you are."
Mrs. Cragg's head hung low. This went home like a dagger-thrust.
If Dot were to form her childish notion of God from what her mother
was, it might well be asked what would be the picture of God in that
little mind?
Then she burst afresh into tears.
Dot's accident had at the first opened Mrs. Cragg's eyes to the
reality of what her child was to her; but after tempers and ill-moods
had obscured the lesson. Now, far more sharply, a second time it had
come. In the hour when she stood, glass in hand, recklessly striving
to force between Dot's lips that which would have rendered her a
childless woman, and when Pattie had dashed the fearful peril aside,
Mrs. Cragg became a changed person.
The change could not be otherwise than gradual in its working; yet in
actual fact it was abrupt. Hitherto Mrs. Cragg's life-attitude had
been away from good and towards evil. She had lived for herself only,
not for God, not for those who were about her. Now, as in a flash,
she had learnt to know something of her true self, to realise
something of whither that self-pleasing attitude might lead her.
Thenceforward her face was to be turned another way. Hard fighting
would lie before her; but from this day she did fight, she did not
merely drift. She began to wish to be more like Pattie.
Also she began ardently to wish for more of her little Dot's
affection. Not now because she was jealous of Pattie, but because
she found how much of the sweet child-love she had thrown away.
Dot bore no malice. When Mrs. Cragg set herself to amuse the little
one, Dot magnanimously accepted all attentions. But at any moment
she would turn from Mrs. Cragg, with a cry of joy, to "Pattie or
Dadda." There was no cry of joy when Mrs. Cragg appeared. It would
take long before Dot could forget the past.
Cragg was told by his wife the terrible story of little Dot's narrow
escape. Pattie had promised to say nothing; but Mrs. Cragg showed that
her penitence was real by confessing it herself. Cragg was much
overcome by the thought of what might have been—but for Pattie.
"My dear, I don't know how you feel," he said, "but I feel that
nothing we can do for her will be too much—after this!"
"I think so too, Mr. Cragg. And I'd like Pattie never to leave us."
Cragg surveyed his wife seriously.
"You wish it now. But, by-and-by—when you begin to forget—"
"I shan't forget. I never shall. I couldn't—how could I? It isn't like
a common thing happening. Just think—what it is that Pattie saved me
from! No, I'd like Pattie to stop with us always. And I want to say
something else too. I really am sorry now that I've spent such a lot
lately, and I do mean to do better. I mean to be more careful.
It hasn't been right."
Cragg came near and gave his wife a kiss.
"I'm glad you feel so, my dear," he said kindly. "It's a great relief
to my mind."
"I mean to save all I can. And I'll spend as little as ever I can do
with, till that bill is paid. I will really, Mr. Cragg. And—I think
I shan't be so much with Mrs. Smithers. She hasn't been a nice
friend."
"I hope it will all come true as you purpose, my dear," Cragg said
gravely.
For a moment Mrs. Cragg was tempted to be angry, recognising the doubt
in her husband's tone. Then she remembered that she had not been
careful always to keep her word. Better than being angry was to
resolve afresh, not in her own strength, and to show in the course
of time that her intentions and promises were worthy of reliance.