by L. T. Meade
We're most at the market now."
"Ef you could lend me a shilling to buy flowers, neighbour? My man camein drunk last night, and he carried away every penny as I put by in thetin box. There's little Jeanie, she is low and wake, and I've nothingfor her breakfast but some tea-leaves that I've watered twice afore. Efyou lend me a shilling, Poll, jest to see me over to-day, I'll pay youback sure and faithful to-morrow morning, so I will."
Poll's handsome face grew dark.
"In course I'd lend it to you, you poor critter," she said, "but I han'tgot it. You'll scarce believe me when I say that I come out without apenny piece in my pocket. Jill and me, we are well-to-do, as flowergirls go, but yesterday some villain of a thief came in and stole ourbits of savings. I ha' come out now to ask Dan Murphy to give meflowers on tick. I can't help you, neighbour, however willin' I am."
Mrs Peters's face turned deadly pale. She pulled her feeble arm awayfrom Poll's and looked at her with trembling lips and eyes that shonethrough a dim veil of tears.
"Oh, it seems orful," she gasped. "And I made so positive as the Lordwor there, and that He heard me, and sent you as a hanswer. It seems--it seems as ef--"
"As ef there weren't no Lord," repeated Poll.
"No, no; ef I thought that--" Mrs Peters turned ghastly, and pressedher hand to her heaving heart.
"And you shan't, neighbour," exclaimed Poll, a great wave of crimsonspreading over her face. "You shan't lose your last drop of comfort,not ef I know why. You go and stand round there, neighbour, and I'llcome and share my flowers with you, see ef I don't. I'll go on tick forenough for us both. You stand there, Betsy, and wait, I'll be safe tocome back to you."
Poll vanished almost as she spoke into the crowd of people who werealready pressing towards the flower merchants and vendors of vegetables,roots, seeds, fruit, and the other articles sold in the market.
The scene was an intensely busy and lively one. The farmers, who hadcome up from the country in the quiet hours of the night, had unpackedtheir wares, and spread them out to the best advantage.
The costermongers and flower girls were eagerly buying, wrangling,chaffering, nudging, and jostling one another. Now and then a highcoarse laugh rose on the air, now and then an oath; sometimes a cry ofanger or disappointment.
Poll, threading her way through the thickest of the crowd, approached astall which belonged to a flower merchant from whom she and Jillconstantly bought their goods. She had little doubt that he would allowher to replenish her own basket and Jill's, and to get a bunch offlowers over and above the quantity she required, for poor Mrs Peters.
Poll came up confidently.
"Is Dan Murphy here?" she asked of a small boy who stood by the stall,and who looked around him.
"Dan Murphy? Don't yer know?" he exclaimed.
"Don't I know what, you little beggar? Get out of my way, and I'llspeak to him myself."
The boy responded to this sally by standing on his head. Then resuminghis former upright position, he stuck his tongue in his cheek and winkedat Poll.
She raised one vigorous arm to give him a blow across his face, but hedodged her, and vanished.
Her coast was now clear, however. She went up to the stall, which waswell stocked with both fruit and flowers, and repeated her question.
"Is Dan Murphy here? I wish to speak to him." When she asked herquestion a man with a Jewish type of face stepped forward and repliedcivilly:
"Can I serve you, ma'am?"
Poll bestowed a withering glance upon this individual.
"No, lad, you can't serve me," she replied. "I want the owner of thisstall, Dan Murphy. He's an old crony o' mine."
"You haven't heard then, ma'am, that Murphy has sold his business to me.This stall is mine now."
"My word, but that's a blow." Poll was turning away.
"Can't I serve you, ma'am?" called the new owner of the stall after her.
"No, lad, no; that you can't."
She walked across the market, stepping daintily between long rows offlowering plants and great piles of strawberries, currants, raspberries,and other summer fruits. The air was redolent with the sweet, freshsmell of fruit and flowers; the hawkers were pressing their wares, andcustomers were rapidly filling their baskets.
Poll thrust her hands deep into the big pockets of her gay apron, andgazed around her.
A vendor with whom she often dealt held up some bunches of pink andwhite peonies for her inspection. She knew how Jill's face would darkenand glow with pleasure over the peonies. What a sight her basket wouldlook filled with these exquisite flowers.
The man had poppies of various colours, too, and any amount of green fordecoration.
"Come, missis," he called to Poll. "You won't see flowers like theseyere in a hurry, and they're cheap--dirt cheap. You see these poppies;ain't they prime?"
Poll shook her head.
"Don't tempt me," she said. "I ain't got a cent with me, and the onlyman as 'ud give me flowers on tick has just gone and sold his business.I do call it 'ard."
"So do I," said the owner of the poppies. He was a good-humoured,rosy-faced young farmer.
"You look a tidy sort," he said; "not like any o' they--" He pointedwith his thumb in a certain direction where a group of slatternly flowergirls of the true Drury Lane type were standing. "You don't belong to'em," he said.
"No, that I don't. Worse luck for me. They ha' got flowers to sell,and I han't any."
"I wouldn't trust the likes o' them with even a penn'orth of flowers ontick," said the farmer.
"And right you are, young man. You keep what you has got and trust noone with goods until you gets money for 'em. Good morning to you."
"But, I say, look you here, missis."
"What is it?"
"You look a tidy sort. Maybe I'll give you some of these poppies.You're safe to sell 'em, and you can pay me to-morrow. Here's ashilling's worth--these pink ones, and some white, and a bunch of green.You bring me the money to-morrow, won't you?"
The young fellow picked up a great bunch of the flowers, thrust theminto Poll's hands, and turned to attend to another customer.
She stood still for a moment too surprised to move. Then, with a fiercecolour in her cheeks, strode across the market to the corner where shehad asked Betsy Peters to wait for her.
"Yere, Betsy," she said, thrusting all the flowers into the woman'sbasket, "ef there is a thing as sells, it's a white or a pink poppy.Seems as if the very of the stingiest of the ladies couldn't stan' upagin' a pink poppy. You'll owe me a shilling for these, Betsy, andyou'll pay me when yer can. Good morning to yer; I'm off back to Jill."
CHAPTER FOUR.
When Poll returned home and showed her empty basket, Jill could not helputtering an exclamation of surprise.
"Why, mother, you han't brought in no flowers!" she said, "and I madesure you had gone to fetch 'em."
"Let me set down, Jill. That pain in my side, it do seem to bite orfulhard this morning."
"Oh, poor mother! Set down and never mind the flowers. You shouldn'thave gone out so early, you know you shouldn't. Here's a cup of coffee.Drink it, do."
The little kitchen was a picture of brightness and neatness; the smallstove was polished like a looking-glass. Jill placed a coarse whitecloth on the table, drew it up to her mother's side, placed thebreakfast cups and saucers in order, laid bread and a piece of saltbutter on the board, and, sitting down herself, filled two largebreakfast cups with coffee, which was really good and fragrant.
Mrs Robinson drank off a cupful thirstily. She laid it down with asigh of relief.
"You're a real good gel, Jill," she said. "And now I'll tell you whathappened to me."
"Never mind, mother. You take your breakfast, and set quiet; I'll goand fetch some flowers myself, as soon as we ha' done."
"You can't, child; there ain't no money."
"No money? But there was plenty in the drawer last night."
"Look for yourself, Jill."
Jill paused in her occupation of cutting thick bread and butter. Theboys had already eaten their breakfasts, and gone away.
She gave a quick glance round the cosy little room. The sun shone in atthe window. The influence of the pleasant summer day was reflected allover Jill's young face.
"There's time enough," she said, with a slow, satisfied smile. "You eatyour breakfast, mother, and I'll fetch the flowers
