[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: Miss Toosey]
[Illustration: Title page]
LADDIE
AND MISS TOOSEY's
MISSION
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS
Copyright 1897 by Henry Altemus.
LADDIE.
[Illustration: (Mrs. Carter running for train)]
LADDIE.
CHAPTER I.
"Third-class forward! Here you are, mum. Plenty of room this way!
Now then! that ain't third, that's first. Come, look alive! All
right behind there?"
Doors bang; a whistle; and the train moves off.
The guard had thrust into a third-class carriage, already nearly
full, a bandbox with a blue spotted handkerchief round it, and a
bunch of Michaelmas daisies, southernwood, and rosemary tucked under
the knot at the top; a marketing-basket, one flap of which was raised
by a rosy-cheeked apple emitting a powerful smell; a bundle done up
in a handkerchief of the same pattern as that round the bandbox, only
bright yellow; a large cotton umbrella of a pale green color, with a
decided waist to it; and a pair of pattens! Anything else? Oh, yes,
of course! there was an old woman who belonged to the things; but she
was so small and frightened and overwhelmed that she appeared quite a
trifle beside her belongings, and might easily have been overlooked
altogether. She remained just where the guard had pushed her,
standing in the carriage, clutching as many of her things as she
could keep hold of, and being jerked by the motion of the train, now
against a burly bricklayer, and now against his red-faced wife who
sat opposite; while her dazzled, blinking eyes followed the hedges
and banks that whirled past, and her breath came with a catch and a
gasp every time a bridge crossed the line, as if it were a wave
coming over her. Her fellow-travellers watched her, in silence at
first, having rather resented her entrance, as the carriage was
already sufficiently full; but when a sudden lurch of the train sent
her violently forward against a woman, from whom she carromed off
against the bricklayer, and flattened her drawn black-satin bonnet
out of all shape, the man found his tongue, which was a kind one,
though slow in moving.
"Hold hard, missus!" he said; "we don't pay nothing extra for sitting
down, so maybe you could stow some of them traps under the seat, and
make it kind of more comfortable all round. Here, mother, lend a
hand with the old lady's things, can't you? That's my missus, mum,
that my better arf, as the saying is, and no chap needn't wish for a
better, though I say it as shouldn't."
This remark produced a playful kick, and a "Get along with you!" from
the red-faced wife, which did not show it was taken amiss, but that
she was pleased with the delicate compliment, and she helped to
arrange the various baskets and bundles with great energy and good
nature.
"Now that's better, ain't it? Now you can just set yourself down.
Lor' bless the woman! whatever is she frightened at?"
For the bustling arrangements were seriously alarming to the old
woman, who was not sure that a sudden movement might not upset the
train, or that, if she let go of anything in an unguarded moment, she
might not fall out and be whirled off like those hurrying blackberry
bushes or patches of chalk on the embankment; though, indeed, it was
only her pattens and umbrella that she was clutching as her one
protection. The first thing that roused her from her daze of fear
was the bricklayer's little boy beginning to cry, or, as his mother
called it, "to beller," in consequence of his mother's elbow coming
sharply in contact with his head; and, at the sound, the old woman's
hand let go of the umbrella and felt for the marketing-basket, and
drew out one of the powerful, yellow apples, and held it towards the
sufferer. The "bellerin" stopped instantaneously at such a
refreshing sight, even while the mouth was wide open and two tears
forcing their way laboriously out of the eyes. Finding that she
could accomplish this gymnastic feat without any dangerous results,
the old woman seemed to gain more confidence, seated herself more
comfortably, straightened her bonnet, smiled at the bricklayer,
nodded to the little boy, and, by the time the train stopped at the
next station, felt herself quite a bold and experienced traveller.
"This ain't London, I take it?" she asked, in a little, thin,
chirrupy voice.
"London? bless you! no. If you're bound for London you'll have
another five hours to go before you can get there."
"Oh, yes, I know as it's a terrible long way off, but we seemed
coming along at such a pace as there wasn't no knowing."
"You ain't used to travelling, seemings?"
"Oh! I've been about as much as most folks. I've been to Martel a
smartish few times when Laddie was there, and once I went to Bristol
when I was a gal keeping company with my master, but that ain't
yesterday, you'll be thinking."
"Martel's a nice place, I've heard tell?"
"So it be; but it's a terrible big place, however."
"You'll find London a pretty sight bigger."
"I know London pretty well, though I haven't never been there; for
Laddie, he's been up there nigh about fifteen year, and he's told me
a deal about it. I know as it's all rubbish what folks say about the
streets being paved with gold and such like, though the young folks
do get took in; but Laddie, he says to me, 'Mother,' says he, 'London
is paved with hard work like any other town; but,' he says, 'good
honest work is worth its weight in gold any day;' so it's something
more than a joke after all."
The old woman grew garrulous as the train rushed along. Laddie was a
subject, evidently, upon which her tongue could not help being
eloquent.
"An old hen with one chick," the bricklayer whispered to his wife;
but they listened good-naturedly enough to the stories of the
wonderful baby, who had been larger, fatter, and stronger than any
baby before or since, who had taken notice, begun teething, felt his
feet, run off, and said "daddy" at an incredibly early period.
Mrs. Bricklayer nodded her head and said, "Really, now!" and "Well, I
never!" inwardly, however, reserving her fixed opinion that the
infant bricklayers had outdone the wonderful Laddie in every detail
of babyhood.
Father Bricklayer could not restrain a mighty yawn in the middle of a
prolonged description of how Laddie's gums were lanced; but at this
juncture they reached the station which was the destination of the
bricklayer and his family, so the old woman was not wounded by the
discovery of their want of thorough interest, and she parted from
them with great regret, feeling that she had lost some quite old
friends in them. But she soon found another listener, and a more
satisfactory one, in a young woman, whom she had hardly noticed
before, as she sat in the opposite corner of the carriage with her
head bent down, neither speaking nor being spoken to. She had a very
young baby wrapped in her shawl; and as one by one the other
passengers left the carriage and she was left alone with the old
woman, the two solitary creatures drew together in the chill November
twilight; and, by and by, the wee baby was in the old woman's arms,
and the young mother, almost a child herself, was telling her sad
little story and hearing Laddie's story in return. There never had
been such a son; he had got on so wonderfully at school, and had been
a favorite with every one,--parson and schoolmaster; "such a
headpiece the lad had!"
"Was Laddie his real name?"
"Why, no! he was christened John Clement, after his father and mine;
but he called himself 'Laddie' before ever he could speak plain, and
it stuck to him. His father was for making a schoolmaster of him,
but Laddie he didn't take to that, so we sent him into Martel to the
chemist there, to be shop-boy; and Mr. Stokes, the gentleman as keeps
the shop, took to him wonderful and spoke of him to one and another,
saying how sharp he were, and such, till at last one of the doctors
took him up and taught him a lot; and when he went up to London he
offered to take Laddie, and said as he'd take all the expense, and as
he'd made a man of him. He come to see me himself, he did, and
talked me over, for I was a bit loath to let him go, for 'twas the
year as the master died; he died just at fall and Laddie went at
Christmas, and I was feeling a bit unked and lonesome."
"Were that long ago?"
"Yes, 'twere a goodish time. Fifteen year come Christmas."
"But you'll have seen him many a time since?"
"Well, no, I ain't. Many the time as he's been coming down but
something always come between. Once he had fixed the very day and
all, and then he were called off on business to Brighton or
somewhere. That were a terrible disappointment to the boy; my heart
were that sore for him as I nearly forgot how much I'd been longing
for it myself."
"But he'll have wrote?"
"Bless you, yes! he's a terrible one for his mother, he is. He've
not written so much of late maybe; but then folks is that busy in
London they hasn't the time to do things as we has in the country;
but I'll warrant he've written to me every time he had a spare
moment; and so when I sees old Giles the postman come up, and I says,
'Anything for me, master?' and he says, 'Nothing for you to-day, mum'
(for I were always respected in Sunnybrook from a girl up), I think
to myself, thinks I, 'it ain't for the want of the will as my Laddie
hasn't wrote.' And then the presents as he'd send me, bless his
heart! Bank notes it were at first, till he found as I just paid 'em
into the bank and left 'em there; for what did I want with bank
notes? And then he sent me parcels of things, silk gownds fit for a
duchess, and shawls all the colors of the rainbow, till I almost
began to think he'd forgot what sort of an old body I be. Just to
think of the likes of me in such fine feathers! And there were
flannel enough for a big family, and blankets; and then he sent tea
and sugar, I don't know how many pounds of it; but it were good and
no mistake, and I'd like a cup of it now for you and me, my dear."
"And have he sent for you now to come and live with him?"
"No, he don't know nothing about it; and I mean to take him all by
surprise. Old Master Heath, as my cottage belonged to, died this
summer; and the man as took his farm wants my cottage for his
shepherd, and he give me notice to quit. I felt it a bit and more,
for I'd been in that cottage thirty-five year, spring and fall, and I
knows every crack and cranny about it, and I fretted terrible at
first; but at last I says to myself, 'Don't you go for to fret; go
right off to Laddie, and he'll make a home for you and glad;' and so
I just stored my things away and come right off."
"He've been doing well in London?"
"Well, my Laddie's a gentleman! He's a regular doctor, and keeps a
carriage, and has a big house and servants. Mr. Mason, our parish
doctor, says as he's one of the first doctors in London, and that I
may well be proud of him. Bless me! how pleased the boy will be to
see his old mother! Maybe I shall see him walking in the streets,
but if I don't I'll find his house and creep in at the back door so
as he sha'n't see me, and tell the gal to say to the doctor (doctor,
indeed! my Laddie!) as some one wants to see him very particular.
And then"--The old woman broke down here, half-sobbing,
half-laughing, with an anticipation too tenderly, ecstatically sweet
for words. "My dear," she said, as she wiped her brimming eyes,
"I've thought of it and dreamt of it so long, and to think as I
should have lived to see it!"
The expectations of her travelling companion were far less bright,
though she had youth to paint the future with bright hopes, and only
nineteen winters to throw into the picture dark shadows of
foreboding. She had been well brought up, and gone into comfortable
service; and her life had run on in a quiet, happy course till she
met with Harry Joyce.
"Folks says all manner of ill against him," said the girl's trembling
voice; "but he were always good to me. I didn't know much about him,
except as he liked me, and I liked him dearly; for he come from
London at fair-time, and he stopped about the place doing odd jobs,
and he come after me constant. My mistress were sore set against
him, but I were pretty near mad about him; so we was married without
letting any folks at home know naught about it. Oh, yes! we was
married all right. I've got my lines, as I could show you as there
wasn't no mistake about it; and it were all happy enough for a bit,
and he got took on as ostler at the George; and there wasn't a
steadier, better-behaved young feller in the place. But, oh, dear!
it didn't last long. He came in one day and said as how he'd lost
his place, and was going right off to London to get work there. I
didn't say never a word, but I got up and begun to put our bits of
things together; and then he says as he'd best go first and find a
place for me, and I must go home to my mother. I thought it would
have broke my heart, I did, to part with him; but he stuck to it, and
I went home. Our village is nigh upon eight mile from Merrifield,
and I'd never heard a word from mother since I wrote to tell them I
was wed. When I got home that day, I almost thought as they'd have
shut the door on me. A story had got about as I wasn't married at
all, and had brought shame and trouble on my folks; and my coming
home like that made people talk all the more, though I showed them my
lines and told my story truthful. Well, mother took me in, and I
bided there till my baby was born; and she and father was good to me,
I'll not say as they wasn't; but they were always uneasy and
suspicious-like about Harry; and I got sick of folks looking and
whispering, as if I ought to be ashamed when I had naught to be
ashamed of. And I wrote to Harry more than once to say as I'd rather
come to him, if he'd a hole to put me in; and he always wrote to bid
me bide a bit longer, till baby come; and then I just wrote and said
I must come anyhow, and so set off! But, oh! I feel skeered to think
of London, and Harry maybe not glad to see me."
It was dark by this time, and the women peering out could often see
only the reflection of their own faces in the windows or ghostly
puffs of smoke flitting past. Now and then little points of light in
the darkness told of homes where there were warm hearths and bright
lights; and once, up above, a star showed, looking kindly and
home-like to the old woman. "Every bit as if it were that very same
star as comes out over the elm-tree by the pond, but that ain't
likely all this way off."
But soon the clouds covered the friendly star, and a fine rain fell,
splashing the windows with tiny drops, and making the lights outside
blurred and hazy. And then the scattered lights drew closer
together, and the housed formed into rows, and gas lamps marked out
perspective lines; and then there were houses bordering the line on
either side instead of banks and hedges; and then the train stopped,
and a damp and steaming ticket collector opened the door, letting in
a puff of fog, and demanded the tickets, and was irritated to a great
pitch of exasperation by the fumbling and slowness of the two women,
who had put their tickets away in some place of extra safety and
forgotten where that place was. And then in another minute the train
was in Paddington; gas and hurry and noise, porters, cabs, and
shrieking engines,--a nightmare, indeed, to the dazzled country eyes
and the deafened country ears.