were old enemies, and likely to fight with spirit. They placed
themselves in a ring, with hoarse shouts of encouragement and approval,
and the fight began; the kitten adding its plaintive mew from time to
time to the general noise.
At first it seemed that one blow from Bill's heavy hand would be enough
to finish the affair; but it was soon evident that Dan's lean figure and
nimble movements were greatly to his advantage. He sprang about in such
a swift and agile manner, that he seemed everywhere at once; and while
Bill was turning to deal a blow, or to catch hold of him, he had ducked
his small black head and escaped. Buttoned tightly in his narrow
jacket, which he had not taken off, his straight thin figure offered
nothing for the hand to grasp, so that it was like trying to lay hold of
a wriggling, slippery eel. It was certainly a much better fight than
could have been expected from the unequal size of the rivals, and Bill's
face grew a deep red, as much with rage as with his vain efforts to
close with Dan, who skipped round him breathless but full of spirit.
Suddenly, however, while the excitement was at its height, there came a
cry of alarm from the onlookers, "The bobby! the bobby!"
A blue uniform turned the corner. The crowd split up, and vanished like
magic as the policeman came towards them. Bill turned away sulkily, and
Dan seizing the kitten, which had been dropped on the ground, ran off at
the top of his speed.
Without turning his head, to see if his enemy was in pursuit, he sped
down the street past the school-house, clasping the kitten to his
breast. Soon he had left the shops and busy part of the town behind
him, and reached the outskirts, where the houses were poor and mean, and
there were ragged people standing about on the door-steps. He gave a
quick glance over his shoulder now, and seeing no sign of Bill or the
policeman, slackened his pace, loosened the tight pressure of his hand
on the kitten, and stroked it gently.
"Poor little kit," he said, "nice little kit. How pleased Becky'll be
with it."
It was hard to say whether Dan or the kitten was most exhausted by all
they had been through. His fight, his rapid run, and the excitement of
the whole affair had made him so breathless, that he was glad to lean
against a lamp-post and pant. As for the grey kitten, it lay almost
lifeless on his breast, its eyes closed, its little body quite limp, and
its heart beating so faintly that it could hardly be felt. The boy
looked down at it with pity.
"Looks pretty bad," he murmured; "they've mauled it about so. P'r'aps a
drop of milk would set it up."
Urged by this thought, he made an effort to go on again at a slower
pace, still panting a good deal, and presently reached a row of small
cottages, one of which he entered. A child's voice from a dark corner
of the poorly-furnished kitchen cried, as he opened the door, "Mother,
it ain't father; it's Dan;" and a woman, who was bending over a pot on
the fire, turned towards him.
"Well," she said fretfully, "what makes _you_ so late? It's bad enough
to have your father coming in at all hours and wanting his supper."
Dan made no answer, but hurried up to the corner from which the child's
voice had sounded. "See here, Becky," he said softly; "see what I've
brought you!"
The child, a girl of about eight years old, raised herself eagerly on
the hard couch on which she was lying. She was very like Dan, with the
same brown skin and dark eyes, but the eyes had no merry twinkle in
them. Her face was thin and drawn, and had the appealing look which
comes of suffering borne with patience.
"Is it a rabbit, Dan?" she asked, peering at the soft furry thing in her
brother's arms.
"It's a little cat," said Dan, putting the kitten gently down by her
side, "as Bill was going to ill-treat."
Becky touched the kitten with her thin fingers. "Its eyes is shut," she
said. "Oh Dan, I'm feared it's dead."
The woman had now drawn near to look at the kitten too. She had a fair
skin and very pale blue eyes, which were always wide open, as though she
were surprised at something; when this expression changed, it became a
fretful one, which had also got into the tone of her voice.
"Give us a drop o' milk, mother," said Dan; "that'll do it good."
"Milk indeed!" said Mrs Tuvvy; "and what next? Where's the money to
come from to buy milk for cats, when goodness knows if we shall soon
have bit or drop to put into our own mouths?"
Neither of the children took any notice of their mother's remarks, or
answered the questions which she continued to put.
"How do you suppose we're going to live, now yer father's got turned
off? Who's a-goin' to pay the doctor's bill, I should like to know?"
Dan rose and fetched from the table a small basin covered with a saucer.
"That's yer supper," said Mrs Tuvvy mournfully. "You ain't never goin'
to give it to the cat! Well, you won't get no more."
Dan knelt by the couch, and tried to put a little warm milk into the
kitten's mouth with the spoon, but its teeth were firmly shut.
"You open its mouth, Dan, and I'll feed it," said Becky eagerly.
"There, it swallowed that--now some more. See; it's better already."
For the kitten had opened its eyes, and given itself a little stretch.
Soon it was able to lap some milk out of the saucer, and to eat some
crumbled bread.
"Ain't it a little dear?" said Becky, her thin face lighted up with
pleasure. "Oh Dan, it's purring! It must be quite well, mustn't it?"
"I expect it'll want a good long sleep first," said Dan, looking gravely
at the kitten, which had curled itself up by Becky's side, and begun a
faint little song of thankfulness; "it's been through a deal."
He took his neglected supper, and sat down to eat it at the foot of
Becky's couch, while Mrs Tuvvy returned to her cooking at the fire,
still grumbling half aloud. There was not much bread and milk, and Dan,
who always had a good appetite, was unusually hungry after his exertions
that afternoon. He had been through a deal, as well as the kitten. But
by dint of talking to his sister between each spoonful, he managed to
eke out the meal, and make it seem much more. Becky listened with the
most eager interest, meanwhile, to all the details of the fight, the
policeman, and the escape of Dan with the kitten. When there was no
more to tell, and very little more to eat, she leaned back on her couch
and sighed.
"He's a reg'lar bad un, that Bill!" she said presently. "Will he want
to fight again?"
Dan shook his head. "I shan't come across him no more," he said; "not
now I'm going to a place."
"I forgot," said Becky wearily. "Oh Dan, how long the days'll be when
you don't come home to dinner. Whatever shall I do?"
"Why," said Dan soothingly, "you won't be alone now. You'll have the
kit."
Becky gave a faint little smile.
"I mean to get you a good long bit of string," went on Dan, "and tie a
cork to the end, and then, you see, you'll bounce it about for the kit
to play with, and carry on fine, without moving."
"I suppose it'll get to know me after a bit, won't it?" said Becky,
evidently pleased with Dan's idea.
"Just about," answered her brother decidedly. Becky looked down fondly
at the small grey form on her arm.
"Dr Price's dogs came in with him to-day," she said, "but they mustn't
come in no more now. They'd worry it to death. Mother told him
to-day," she added in a lower tone, "as how she couldn't pay his bill,
because of father."
"What did he say?" asked Dan.
"He said, `That's a bad job, Mrs Tuvvy, but it can't be helped.'"
"Did he say you were getting better?" asked Dan again, scraping his
basin carefully round with his spoon.
"He said I wanted plenty of rest, and plenty of nourishing food," said
Becky. "What's nourishing food, Dan?"
"Nice things," said Dan, balancing his spoon on the edge of his basin,
and smacking his hungry lips; "chickens, and jellies, and pies, and such
like."
"Oh," said Becky, with a patient sigh. "Well, we shan't have no money
at all now, so we can't get any of 'em."
"I shall get six shillings a week when I begin work," said Dan; "and
there's what mother gets charing. But then there's the rent, you see,
and father getting nothing--"
He broke off, for the door opened, and Tuvvy himself appeared with his
basket of tools on his shoulder. The children looked at him silently as
he flung himself into a chair, but his wife began immediately in a tone
of mild reproachfulness.
"Yer supper's been waiting this ever so long, and it wasn't much to
boast of to begin with, but there--I s'pose we may be thankful to get a
bit of dry bread now."
She poured the contents of the saucepan into a dish, sighing and
lamenting over it as she did so.
"'Tain't what I've been used to, as was always brought up respectable,
and have done my duty to the children. And there's the doctor's bill--I
s'pose he won't come to see Becky no more till that's paid--and there
she is on her back a cripple, as you may call it, for life p'r'aps. And
what is it you mean to turn to, now you've lost a good place?"
As long as there was a mouthful of his supper left, Tuvvy preserved a
strict silence; but when his plate was empty, he pushed it away, and
said grimly, "Gaffer's goin' to let me stop on."
"Stop on!" repeated Mrs Tuvvy. She stopped short in her progress across
the kitchen, and let the empty plate she was carrying fall helplessly at
her side. "Stop on!" she repeated.
"Ain't I said so?" answered Tuvvy, pressing down the tobacco in his pipe
with his thumb.
Mrs Tuvvy seemed incapable of further speech, and stood gazing at her
husband with her mouth partly open. It was Becky who exclaimed, with a
faint colour of excitement in her cheek, "Oh father, what made him?"
"Do tell us, father," added Dan, touching him gently on the arm.
Tuvvy looked round at the boy's earnest face, and then down at the
table, and began to draw figures on it with the stem of his pipe. Mrs
Tuvvy hovered a little nearer, and Becky sat upright on her couch, with
eagerness in her eyes as her father began to speak.
"It was along of a little gentleman, Dennis Chester his name is, who
used to come and see me work. He asked the gaffer, and gaffer said
`No.' So then he says, `Will you let him stop,' says he, `if the others
are agreeable?' and to that the gaffer says neither yes nor no. But
this morning he sends for me, and `Tuvvy,' he says, `I've had a Round
Robin about you.' `And what sort of a bird is that, master?' says I.
`'Tain't a bird at all,' he says, `it's this,' and then he showed it
me."
"What ever was it?" asked Dan, as his father paused.
Tuvvy made a large circle in the air with the stem of his pipe.
"'Twas a round drawed like that on a bit of card, and inside of it was
wrote as follers: `We which have signed our names, ask Mr Solace to keep
Mr Tuvvy in his service.' All the men's names was round the outside,
and the little gentleman's name as well."
"What did Mr Solace say?" asked Dan.
"He said, `You ain't deserved it, Tuvvy.'"
"No more yer 'ave," said Mrs Tuvvy, regaining her speech.
"But," continued her husband, "the gaffer went on to say that, along of
Master Chester, who'd taken such a lot of trouble, he'd give me another
chance. So that's all about it."
"And in all my born days," broke out Mrs Tuvvy, "I never heard of
anything so singuller. Whatever made Master Chester take such a fancy
to _you_, I wonder?"
"So I'm to stop on," continued Tuvvy, putting his pipe in his mouth, and
turning his back on his wife.
"And I hope," said poor Mrs Tuvvy, beginning to cry a little from the
relief of the good news, "I _do_ hope, Benjamin, as it'll be a lesson as
you'll take to 'art, and keep away from the drink; and if ever a man had
reason to keep steady, you 'ave, with Dan growin' up, and Becky's
doctor's bill to pay, and--" Mrs Tuvvy did not speak angrily, or raise
her voice above a soft complaining drawl; but it seemed to have a
disturbing effect upon her husband, who, when she reached this point,
sprang up and flung himself towards the door.
"Look, father," said Becky's childish voice from her corner. "See here
what Dan's brought me!"
"Filling the house with cats and dogs and rubbish," mourned Mrs Tuvvy,
joining the remark to her interrupted sentence.
"We ain't got no dogs, anyhow, mother," said Dan, as his father turned
from the door and went up to Becky's side; "a morsel of a kitten won't
eat much. She'll have a bit of my supper till she's older, and then
she'll catch mice and get her own living."
CHAPTER EIGHT.
BECKY.
"It seems as if it had brought luck, don't it?" said Becky.
She was lying on her hard little sofa, with her hands clasped behind her
head, and her eyes fixed on the grey kitten, who was playing all sorts
of pranks in a spot of sunlight it had found on the floor. There was a
smile on her thin face as she watched the little creature's merry
antics, and it was indeed wonderful to see how much amusement it was
able to find all by itself. First it chased its own tail round and
round so fast, that it made one giddy to look at it; then it pounced at
its own shadow, and darted back sideways in pretended fear; then it
rolled over on its back, and played with its own furry toes. It was a
week now since Dan had brought it home, forlorn and miserable, and it
had quite forgotten its troubles, and was happy all day long. Even when
there was not much for dinner--and that did happen sometimes, in spite
of Becky's care--it always purred its little song of thankfulness, and
was ready to be pleased, for it had a meek and grateful nature.
Dan, who was sitting at the foot of Becky's couch, with his feet
stretched out in front of him, as though he were very tired, looked up
as his sister spoke.
"What luck?" he asked sleepily.
Becky turned her dark eyes upon him.
"I'm sorry I waked you," she said. "I meant, because you brought the
kit home the same night father wasn't turned off."
Dan nodded seriously.
"It's all been better since," went on Becky. "Father brings his money
home, and mother don't worry, and we have dinner every day, and I do
think my back don't go all on aching so bad as it did."
"If you was to get quite well, it'd be luckier still," said Dan.
"P'r'aps I shall," said Becky wistfully. "I dreamed ever so beautiful
last night, that you and me was dancing to the organ in the street--the
one as plays `Pop goes the Weasel.' When I woke, I cried a bit, because
it wasn't true. Do you think as it'll ever come true?"
"Just about," said Dan, rousing himself to speak with confidence.
"If so be as it does," continued Becky, "it'll be along of what the
little gentleman at Fieldside did for father. If father hadn't kept his
place, I couldn't got well, because of paying the doctor and the
nourishing things."
"I think of that a deal too," said Dan; "it's all owin' to him."
"If there was ever anything we could do to please him," said Becky,
"wouldn't we be glad! He must be such a very kind little gentleman."
Dan shook his head decidedly.
"'Tain't likely," he said. "He belongs to rich folks, him and his
sister. They don't want nought from the like of us."
"Well, I'm sorry," said Becky, with a sigh. "I think over it a deal
when I'm alone, and sort of make plans in my head; but, of course, they
ain't real."
Poor Becky had plenty of opportunity for making plans in her head, for
since a year ago she had been alone nearly all day. Before that she had
been as gay and lively as the kitten itself, and as fond of play, but
one unlucky day she had fallen down some stone steps and hurt her back.
All her games were over now: she must lie quite still, Dr Price said,
and never run about at all, for a long time. That was a new thing for
Becky, who had scarcely known what it was to sit still in her life out
of school hours; but her back hurt her so much that she was obliged to
give up trying to do all the active things she had been used to, one by
one. Her father made her a little couch, and on this in her dark corner
she passed many weary hours alone, watching the hands travel round the
face of the Dutch clock, and longing for the time for Dan to come home
and talk to her. Dan was her chief friend, for though father was very
kind, he went early to work, and sometimes came back very late, so that
she saw little of him; and as for mother, poor mother went out charing,
and was so tired in the evening, that she generally dropped off to sleep
directly she had washed up the tea-things.
So Becky's life was lonely, and often full of pain, which was the harder
to bear because she had no companion to cheer her and help her to forget
it. She even grew to look forward to Dr Price's visits, short as they
were, for the day did not seem quite so long when he had clattered in
with his dogs at his heels, and spoken to her in his loud kind voice.
He was a nice gentleman, she thought, though he did not cure the pain in
her back. Besides Dr Price there was only Dan, and when on leaving
school Dan got a place as gardener's boy, Becky felt sad as well as
pleased, for he would now be away all day.
Just at this fortunate moment, when it was so much needed, the grey
kitten had arrived, to be her friend and playfellow, and to comfort her
with its coaxing ways. It was, as Dan had said, not nearly so dull now.
The kitten shared her meals, played all manner of games with her,
almost answered her when she talked to it, and when it was tired would
jump up to her shoulder and snuggle itself to sleep. The feeling of the
warm soft fur against her cheek was so soothing, that often at such
times she would take a nap too, and wake up to find that quite a long
while had passed without her knowing it.
So, as she told Dan, it had all been better since the kitten came, and
somehow it seemed to make a part of all the fancies and thoughts that
passed through her mind, as she lay dreaming, yet awake, on her couch.
Becky had never made "plans in her head," as she called them, while she
was well and strong, and could run about all day. But now that her
limbs had to be idle, her mind began to grow busy, and though she could
not move out of the dusky kitchen, she took long journeys in fancy, and
saw many strange things with her eyes fast shut. Some of these she
would describe to Dan, and some she kept quite to herself; but now,
since hearing of Dennis Chester's Round Robin, they all took one form.
They were always connected with him or his sister, and what he had done
for her father, and curiously enough the grey kitten seemed to belong to
them, and she seldom thought of one without the other. If it could have
spoken, how many interesting facts it could have told her about its life
at Fieldside with Dennis and Maisie! Perhaps its little purring song
was full of such memories, as it lay pressed up so close to Becky's
cheek. At any rate it contrived in some way to get into most of her
dreams, whether asleep or awake. But though her life was on the whole
happier than it had been, there were still some very hard days for Becky
to bear, days when the kitten's merriest gambols were not enough to make
her forget her pain.
They were generally days when Mrs Tuvvy had "run short," as she called
it, and left very little for dinner, so that; Becky grew faint and low
for want of food. For Mrs Tuvvy, even when her husband brought home his
wages regularly, was not a good manager. On Saturday night and Sunday
she would provide a sort of feast, and have everything of the best.
After that the supplies became less and less each day, until on Friday
or Saturday there was not much besides bread and cheese, or a red
herring, until Tuvvy brought home his wages again. On such uncertain
fare poor Becky did not thrive, and she always knew that towards the end
of the week she should have a "bad day" of pain and weariness.
"There ain't much dinner for yer," said Mrs Tuvvy one morning as she
stood ready to go out charing. "I've put it on the shelf. Don't you go
giving any to that foolish kitten, and I'll see and bring summat home
for supper."
The door banged, and Becky was alone. She and the kitten would be alone
now until five o'clock, and must pass the time as they could. The
morning went quickly enough, and when it was nearly one o'clock the
kitten, who knew it was dinner-time, began to mew and look up at the
shelf.
Becky sighed a little as she took down the mug and plate. There
certainly was not "much," as Mrs Tuvvy had said, and, moreover, what
there was did not look tempting, for there was only a little watery milk
and a piece of hard bread and cheese.
"I wish we had nourishing things for dinner, kitty," she said, as she
poured some milk into a saucer, and crumbled some bread into it. "You'd
like pies and chickens and such, shouldn't you? and so should I. I
don't seem to care about bread and cheese."
The kitten ate up its portion eagerly and looked for more, with a little
inquiring mew.
"No, no, Kitty," answered Becky, "there ain't no more to-day. To-day's
Friday, you know. We'll have to wait and see what mother brings back
for supper. P'r'aps it'll be fried fish or sausages--think of that!
You must wash your face now, and go to sleep, and the time'll soon
pass."
The kitten soon took the last part of this advice, and curled itself
into a soft little ball beside its mistress, but somehow Becky could not
sleep this afternoon. The sofa seemed to be harder than usual, full of
strange knobs and lumps that were not generally there. Whichever way
she tried to lie was more uncomfortable than the last; the room felt hot
and stifling, the rain pattered with a dull sound against the window,
and her back began to ache badly. Presently she left off trying to go
to sleep, and a few tears dropped on to the kitten's furry back. It
would be such a long time before any one came home!
Just then a horse's hoofs clattered down the street, and there was a
smart rap on the door. It was flung open, and on the threshold stood Dr
Price, booted and spurred, the eager white faces of Snip and Snap in the
background, with their tongues lolling out thirstily. Poor Becky
clutched her kitten to her breast in terror.
"Oh," she cried, "the dogs! Don't let 'em come in. I've got a cat!"
But it was too late. Snip and Snap were in already, running round the
kitchen in search of game, sniffing and poking their black noses
everywhere. In another minute Becky felt sure they would leap on the
sofa, and snatch the kitten from her.
"Oh, _do_ send 'em out," she cried in an agony. "They'll kill it."
"Not they," said the doctor soothingly. "Don't you be afraid. We'll
soon settle 'em.--Here, Snip, Snap, come out of that, you rascals."
It was not, however, settled very soon. Becky lay trembling on her
couch, while Dr Price gave chase round the kitchen to the dogs, lashing
at them with his whip, stumbling over chairs, and giving loud and sudden
exclamations as they continually escaped his grasp. At last, however,
he caught them, and with one white body dangling from each hand, carried
them to the door, threw them out, and shut it. Then he straightened
himself, wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and cast a glance at
his patient.
"Little beggars!" he said half admiringly. But now that the danger was
over, Becky broke down entirely, and the doctor was dismayed to see that
she was sobbing violently, and could not say a word. He strode across
the room, and put his arm gently round her.
"It's all right, you know, Becky," he said kindly; "the kitten's all
right. You mustn't cry so now. They frightened you, didn't they? But
they shan't come in again."
Becky struggled with her tears, and after a while she was able to say
that 'twarn't only the dogs, but her back was a bit bad to-day, and she
didn't seem to be able to help crying.
"H'm," said the doctor, pulling his hay-coloured moustache thoughtfully,
and glancing at the empty plate. "What time did you have dinner?"
"About one," said Becky faintly; "but I didn't just seem to care about
it."
"But I daresay you could fancy something now, couldn't you?" said Dr
Price, getting up. "Something very nice and hot. I'll be back in a
minute. Don't you mind the dogs; they can't get in."
In a very short space of time he was out of the door and back again,
followed, not by the dogs, but by a boy from the cook-shop, carrying a
covered dish.
"Now," he said, "you just set to work on this, and you'll feel ever so
much better."
Becky's eyes brightened at the smell of the savoury food. Hot roast
mutton and potatoes seemed almost too good to be eaten all by herself;
but she did not hesitate long, and began her meal with evident
enjoyment. Dr Price sat near, whistling very softly to himself, and
sometimes leaving off to smile a little under his light moustache, as
Snip and Snap continued to hurl themselves with hoarse cries against the
door.