In the war! And those blue eyes had not opened, surely, till some time
after the war was ended! His husband! I was bewildered. I bent my gaze
on him sternly, and asked, as severely as I could,--
“Young man, can you read?”
Laura was fumbling away at the unanswered door-bell. The boy looked as
if he wanted to run; but I put my hand on his arm.
“Can you read?” I repeated gravely. I think he shook in his shabby
boots, for his voice was not quite steady as he answered,--
“Not much.”
“Not much, I should think. Do you know what this thing says that you’ve
got round your neck?”
“Does it say I’m blind?” he asked, with a little frightened quaver.
“No, it says--but do you know what a husband is?”
“Yes, he comes home drunk, and beats Mag and me awful.”
“Did you ever know a boy of your age to have a husband?”
The blue eyes grew so wide open that I wondered if they could ever
shut themselves up again; and Laura, who had turned round at my
question, looked as if she thought I had suddenly gone mad. The little
dressmaker had opened the door, and stood there waiting meekly, with
the handle in her hand. But my spirit was up, and I did not care for
either of them. I asked again, very impressively, as I thought, with a
pause after each word,--
“Did--you--ever--know--a--boy--of--your--age--to--have--a--husband?”
“No, marm,” he gasped, “husbands belongs to women.”
“Then what do you wear this thing for? It says that you have lost your
husband in the war.”
The imp actually turned pale, and I almost pitied him.
“Will they put me in prison?” he asked, an abject little whine coming
into his voice. “_Will_ they?”
“Did you steal it?”
“I didn’t to say steal it--I just _took_ it. I’d seen the rest put them
on when they went out begging, and this was old Meg’s. She wasn’t
going out to-day, and I thought no harm to borrow.”
“Then you can’t read?”
“Well, not to say read, marm. I think I could make out a word now and
then.”
“Do you want to?”
The face brightened a moment, and, with the curving lips and eager
eyes, was really that of a pretty boy.
“Oh, if I could!” half sighed the quivering lips; and then the smile
went out, and left blank despair behind it. “It’s no use, marm; she
won’t let me.”
“Who won’t? Your mother?”
“No, Mag’s mother--old Meg. My mother’s dead, and I never had any
father that ever I heard of; and since mother died old Meg does for
me; and every day she sends me out to beg; and if I don’t get much she
whips Mag.”