by L. T. Meade
arter."
"But you can't, when there ain't no money. I tell yer somebody crep' inyere yesterday, most like when I wor--when I wor--"
"Never mind about that, mother. You had the pain bad, and you weredrowsy, and you left the door on the latch. That were how the thief gotin, worn't it, mother?"
"Ef you like to have it so, child. Seems to me--"
"Yes, I like to have it that way," repeated Jill. "You were drowsy, andsome one come in and took the money out of the drawer. Give me yer cup,mother, and I'll fill it again."
Mrs Robinson pushed her cup away from her, and stood up.
"Do you know what it is?" she said. "That there are times over and overagain when I'd a sight rayther you struck me than took things as youdo."
"But I couldn't take 'em any other way, mother, you know I couldn't.I--I love you too much." Jill's lips trembled. There was a fiercepassion in the way she said "I love you too much."
"And I put shame on you larst night, child. And now we are beggars.All our little savings is gone, and it's owing to me."
"No, we ain't beggars--I ha' a stocking put away in another drawer.It's for Nat and me 'gainst we set up housekeeping. I never spoke of it'cause I 'arned every cent of it arter hours; but I'll take some to-dayto stock our baskets, and then we'll be off to work."
Mrs Robinson strode noisily across the floor. She took Jill's facebetween her two hands, and kissed her on each blooming cheek. Then shesat down with a profound sigh of relief.
"Ain't you a good 'un?" she said. "Any mother 'ud be proud of yer. Youhurry and buy the flowers, dawtie dear, and then we'll be off."
Breakfast was speedily finished, the breakfast things put away, and thenJill, drawing a ribbon from inside her dress, produced a small key.With this key she opened a small drawer, took some money out of an oldstocking, locked the drawer again, slipped the key into itshiding-place, and went out.
After she was gone Poll sat very still. The bright colour which alwaysflamed in her cheeks had somewhat faded; her big, dark eyes lookedweary. After a time she gave utterance to a low moan.
"This pain's orful," she murmured. "I'd give the world for a nip ofbrandy. Coffee! What's coffee when you ache as I ache? A sip or twoof hot gin, or brandy and water, 'ud make me feel fine. Jill's the bestgel, but she don't know what it is to have the thirst on her like me."
Poll went into the little sleeping-room and flung herself across thebed. When Jill returned with the flowers she found her lying there, herface white and drawn, her eyes closed.
At the sound of the brisk step, Poll made a vigorous effort to sit up,but Jill's young glance could not be deceived.
"You shall not stir to sell a flower to-day," she exclaimed. "You liewhere you are, and take a good rest. I ha' got some beauties in the wayof flowers, and I'll sell 'em all, and we'll have a jolly supperto-night. I met Nat when I were out, and he said he'd come in tosupper. You stay where you are, mother, and I'll ask Mrs Stanley tocome and see arter you. I know she will, ef I ask her."
"The pain's werry bad this morning, Jill."
"Mrs Stanley shall go and fetch a bottle of that soothing stuff fromthe chemist round the corner. That'll put you to sleep, and then you'llbe a sight better. Now I must go."
Jill kissed her mother, took up her flower-basket, stopped at the nextlanding to speak to Mrs Stanley, and finally tripped down-stairs withher basket of blooming flowers on her arm.
Outside the house she was met by a tall fair-haired young costermongerwho took her basket from her, and turned to walk by her side.
"You shouldn't do it, Nat," she said. "It's a sin to be wasting yourtime, and the morning's late enough as it is."
"Late?" echoed the young giant with a gay laugh. "Why, it ain't nineyet, Jill, and anyhow I stole the time from my breakfast. I can justwalk as far as your stand with you. And you'll give me a posy for mypains, won't you?"
"You choose it, Nat," said Jill.
"No, no, you must do that. Ain't you got a rose under all 'em flaringpoppies, and a bit o' mignonette? Them's my style. You make 'em up forme, Jill, in a posy, and I'll wear 'em in my button-hole all day, nomatter who chaffs me."
Jill replied by a gay little laugh. The summer in the day got more andmore into her face. She gave Nat many shy and lovely glances.
"Look yere," he said suddenly; "you ain't answered my question."
"What is it, lad?"
"When are we to be married, Jill? I'll ha' a holiday in three weeks,and I thought we might go before the registrar just then, and afterwardsgo away for a week into the country. What do you say?"
"Oh, I can't say nothing. There's mother, you know."
"But your mother won't keep us apart, Jill. That 'ud be cruel."
"No, but I can't leave her. You know that."
"Well, look yere; I don't want you to leave her. I'm doin' well wid mybarrer, and you and me, we might take the flat alongside of MrsStanley's, just under where you now live. Surely your mother and theboys could manage for one another, and you'd be always close to see to'em, ef they was in any fix. The rooms is to be let, I know, and ef yousay the word, Jill, I'll speak to the landlord this very night."
"But that flat costs a heap o' money; it don't seem right nohow," saidJill.
"Yes, it's as right as anything, darlin'. I'm 'arning good money now,it's all perfectly square. You leave it to me. You say yes, Jill;that's all you ha' got to do."
"I'll think it over, lad, and let you know to-night. Here we are at mystand now. Good-bye, Nat dear--oh, and here's your posy."
The young man took it with a smile.
"Pin it in for luck," he said. "Now I'm off I'll be sure and come roundthis evening."
He blew a kiss to Jill, turned a corner, and disappeared.
Her stand was outside a large railway station. Six or seven other girlsalso sold flowers there, but not one of them could vie with Jill forpicturesque arrangement.
She sat down now, and taking up her basket began hastily to divide herflowers into penny and twopenny bunches. This piece of work shegenerally did at home, but to-day she was late, and had to arrange herwares as quickly as she could while waiting for her customers.
The sun shone all over her as she worked. She made a gay bit of colour,and more than one person turned to look at her. Her black rippling hairwas coiled round and round her shapely head. Her turban, too hot forthis sultry day, was flung on the ground by her side. Her black dressfitted her slim figure to perfection, and her gay many-coloured aprongave a bizarre effect to her costume, which exactly suited the somewhatforeign type of her face.
The flower girl who eat next her, in her untidiness, her dirt, andalmost rags, acted as a foil to Jill. She had bedizened her person in acheap dress of faded crimson. Her hat, nearly a foot high, was perchedon the back of her uncombed hair. It was trimmed with rusty crape andrendered gay with one or two ostrich feathers, and some bunches ofartificial poppies.
This woman, between forty and fifty years of age, was, in her way, afavourite. She indulged in a brogue which declared her Irish origin,and whatever the weather, whatever the prospect of the flower-sellers,she always managed to keep the laugh and the ready jest going.
"Did you ask me what me name was, honey?" she would say to a customerattracted by the gleam of mischief in her eye. "Oh, then, glory be toheaven, it's Molly Maloney, at your service, and where would you find abetter or a swater? Do take a bunch of flowers, lady, do now, and I'llpray for a good husband for you every time as I goes down on my bendedknees."
Sallies of this sort provoked smiles even from the refined people whowished to buy flowers, and secured roars of laughter from the otherflower girls, who delighted in egging Molly on to "give sauce," as theytermed it, to the fine folks.
On this particular morning, however, Molly's pleasantries were not sofrequent as usual. She whispered to Jill that little Kathleen, thatjewel of a girl, was down with a cowld, and she was moighty botheredwith her, and didn't know wheth
er to send for the doctor or not.
"You might come and see her, Jill," said Molly Maloney. "Kathleen sheworships the very ground you treads on, and she's down with a cowld or afaver, or something. I'll have no doctor to see her, no that I won't,for he'd be after ordhering her off to the hospital, and that 'ud killher entirely. Oh, glory to heaven, what fine flowers you have
