A London Baby: The Story of King Roy

by L. T. Meade

Roy? Her father had saidthat as she could not take proper care of him, some one else should.Had he really taken Roy away, and given him into the care of somestranger, some dreadful, dreadful stranger who would not love him, orcare for him as he ought to be loved and tended? The agony of this ideatook all fear away from Faith. Without a particle of hesitation now,she went back to her father. He was so busy he did not even hear herswift step, and started when her voice sounded at his elbow.

  "Please, father, I must know where you ha' tuk Roy. It 'ull kill meunless I know that much at once."

  The agony and consternation in her tone caused Warden to raise his headin surprise.

  "I don't know what you mean, Faith. I only took Roy into the bedroom.There! go, and put him to bed, and don't act more foolishly than you canhelp."

  "You only tuk him inter the bedroom?" repeated Faith. She did not stayanother second with her father, she rushed away from him and back to theinner room. A fear even more terrible than her first fear had come toher. She remembered that the door leading into the passage was open.Was it possible, possible that little Roy, her little sweet baby Roy,had gone out through that open door, had slipped down-stairs, and intothe street? Oh! no, it never could be possible. However angry God waswith her, He could never allow such an awful punishment as this toovertake her. She rushed wildly up-stairs and down-stairs, looking intoevery room, calling everywhere for Roy. No one had seen him, no one hadheard the baby steps as they stole away. The whole house was searchedin vain for little Roy. He was not to be found. In five minutes, Faithcame back to her father. She came up to him, her breath a little gone,her words coming in gasps. She laid her hand on his shoulder.

  "Yes, father," she said, "you wor quite, quite right. God h'Almighty'swerry angry wid me. I don't know how I'll h'ever bear it. Little Royain't in the house, father. When you put him in the bedroom he runnedout by the other door, he ran inter the street. We ha' searched h'allthe house over, and he ain't there. My little Roy is quite, quitelost."

  "Lost!" echoed Warden. He sprang to his feet. "Roy not in the house!Roy lost!" Back over his memory came the picture of the lovely sleepingboy, of the real love and pride with which he had kissed him. His prizeessay became as nothing to him. But swift through his hard, cold heartpassed an arrow of intolerable pain. "Roy, lost?" he repeated. "Godhelp me! and I wor werry rough to the little chap."

  They were the humblest words that had ever passed his lips. He rushedfrom the room, for he must find his son.

  CHAPTER SIX.

  Meanwhile, little Roy pursued his way down the long street which ledfrom his home to another, which on weekdays was full of shops and gaywith light and many-coloured windows. To-day, being Sunday, the shopswere closed, and the place looked dull. Sobbing slightly under hisbreath, and a very little alarmed at the temerity of his own act, littleRoy ran down this street. His object lay very clear before his babymind--he was going to meet Faith. Faith was out, and, as he too hadgone out, he would, of course, find her very soon. At the corner ofthis second street he came suddenly upon a flaring gin-palace, which,Sunday though it was, was brilliant with light and full of people. Thebright light streaming right out into the street attracted little Roy.He stopped his sobbing, paused in his short, running gait, and pressedhis little face against the pane. "Pitty, pitty!" he said to himself--he even forgot Faith in the admiration which filled his baby soul.After a time it occurred to him that Faith would be very likely to be insuch a lovely place. The swing-doors were always opening and shutting.Roy, watching his opportunity, pushed his way in by the side of a raggedwoman and two coarse men. They advanced up to the counter to ask forgin, but the baby child remained on the threshold. He looked around himwith the wide open eyes of admiration, innocence, and trust. Anythingso lovely gazing at anything so evil had been seldom seen; certainlynever seen before within those walls. The men and women drinkingthemselves to the condition of beasts, stopped, and a kind of shockedfeeling pervaded the whole assembly. It was as though an angel hadalighted on that threshold, and was showing those poor hardened wretcheswhat some of them had once been--what, alas! none of them could ever beagain. Little Roy's cheeks were slightly flushed; his tangled yellowhair, ruffled more than ever by his running in the wind, surrounded hishead like a halo; and as gradually it dawned upon him that all thosepeople surrounding him were strangers, his blue eyes filled with tears.The directness of his aim, the full certainty of his thought werebrought to a stand-still; all movement was arrested by the terriblecertainty that Faith was not there.

  "Bless us! who h'ever h'is the little 'un?" said the ragged woman whohad come into the gin-palace with him. "Wot's yer name, my little dear,and wot h'ever do yer want?"

  "'Ittle 'Oy want Fate," said the boy in a clear high tone.

  The woman laughed. "Hark to the young 'un," she said, turning to hercompanions. "Did yer h'ever hear the like o' that afore? He says as hewants his fate. Pretty lamb, it 'ull come to him soon enough."

  "'Oy want Fate--'Oy do want Fate," said the little child again.

  The woman bent down and took his hand.

  "No, no, my dear," she said. "You run away home, and never mind yerfate; it 'ull come h'all in good time; and babies have no cause to knowsech things."

  "'Oy do want Fate," repeated the boy. Two other women had now comeround him, and also a man.

  "It don't seem no way canny like, to hear him going on like that," saidone of the group. "And did yer h'ever see sech a skin, and sech 'air?I don't b'lieve a bit that he's a real flesh-and-blood child."

  A coarse red-faced woman pushed this speaker away.

  "Shame on yer, Kate Flarherty; the child ain't nothink uncanny. He'sjest a baby boy. Bless us! I 'ad a little 'un wid 'air as yaller ashe. You ha' got lost, and run away. Ain't that it, dear little babyboy?"

  This woman, for all her red face, had a kind voice, and it won littleRoy at once.

  "Will 'oo take me to Fate?" he said; and he went up to the woman, andput his little hand in hers. She gave almost a scream when the littlehand touched her; but, catching him in her arms, and straining him toher breast, she left the gin-palace at once.

  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  Warden spent all that night looking for Roy. He went to the policecourts; he got detectives even to his aid. By the morningadvertisements were placarded about, and rewards were offered for themissing child. He did all that could be done, and was assured by thepolice that whoever had stolen little Roy away would now certainly bringhim back. Warden was a carpenter by trade. He was engaged now over ajob which was to be finished by a given time, and which would, whencompleted, pay him handsomely. He had engaged to have it done by thisdate, and he was a man who had never yet failed in his appointments.But for all that he came home that morning, and never thought of goingout again to work. His whole heart, and soul, and energies wereconcentrated, waiting and listening for a little voice, for the sight ofa dear golden head, the return of the blue-eyed boy who was his own, andwhom now that he had lost, he knew, indeed, to be bone of his bone,flesh of his flesh. So near, so precious had little Roy become, thatwithout him it would be agony to live. Warden went home, and saw on thefloor some of the scattered fragments of his torn essay. The pieces hehad been laboriously trying to put together when Faith had come to himwith the news that little Roy had ran away, still lay on the table. Inthe grate were some burnt-out ashes; the room was untidy--dusty. It hadnot been touched since last night. It was Faith's duty to make thisroom ready for breakfast; and, as a rule, Warden would have been angrywith her for its present state of neglect; but this morning he saidnothing, only when his eyes rested on the torn pieces of the essay heuttered a groan, and, stooping down, he picked them all up and put themin the grate. There he set fire to them. When they had been reduced toa few white ashes he sat down on the horse-hair sofa and wondered whenFaith would appear. She came in presently from the inner room, andWarden roused himself to say, in a new and wonderfully kind tone:

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bsp; "I ha' had rewards put up, and the detectives are on the watch. We'llhave him home werry soon, Faithy."

  Faith did not make any answer. There was a queer, dull, almost stupidlook on her face. She moved half-mechanically about the room, gettingher father's breakfast and pouring it out for him as if nothing hadhappened. When she gave him his cup of hot coffee, she even seatedherself in her accustomed place opposite. Roy's little empty chair waspushed against the wall. Faith moved her own so that her eyes shouldnot rest on this symbol of the lost child.

  "Eat some breakfast, Faith," said her father; then he