by L. T. Meade
she'll cry if I don't take her a flower. I've onlygot _one_ penny."
She opened the palm of her little hot hand, and showed Molly the coin.
"Now then, you shall choose, my pet," said the Irishwoman. "Thesebee-u-tiful flowers was growin' on the trees half-an-hour ago; why thejew is scarcely dried on 'em yet. You choose, my pretty, you choose.Oh, the smell of 'em, why they'll nearly knock you down with theswateness. Thank you, lovey, thank you. May the Vargint bless you, medarlint, and that's the prayer of poor old Molly Maloney."
The child received the rather stale rose-buds and mignonette with silentrapture. Having received her prizes she scarcely gave another glance atMolly, but began chattering eagerly to her mother about the bliss whichDick and Dolly would feel when she presented the posies to them.
The lady having paid Jill for the flowers, took the child's hand andwalked away. Molly gave a laugh of satisfaction as they did so.
"I told you so," she said, turning to Jill, "I said if I sold 'em chapeI'd get rid of 'em, and they was under Kathleen's bed all night. Icalled 'em fresh to the child, bless her. She _is_ a beauty, but--why,what's the matter, Jill?"
"Nothing," said Jill, suddenly. "Look after my flowers, Molly, I'll beback in a jiffey."
With feverish haste she pulled some of her choicest button-holes out ofa great heap in one corner of her basket, and leaving Molly open-mouthedwith amazement, ran as fast as she could down the street after the ladyand the child.
"Here, little missy," she said, panting out her words, for her breathhad failed her, "you give me them posies and take these. These are asight fresher and better. Here, missy, here!"
She pushed some lovely Gloire-de-Dijon, red geranium, and mignonetteinto the child's hand. The little one grasped them greedily, but heldfast to her wired moss-rose-buds and forget-me-nots.
"I'll keep them all," she said. "Thank you, girl."
"No, no, make her give 'em up, ma'am," said Jill, turning to the lady."I don't think they're wholesome. The woman's child is ill, and themflowers was in the room all night."
"Throw them away this moment, Ethel," said the mother in alarm. "What akind girl you are! How can I thank you? No, Ethel, you must not cry.These are much more beautiful posies. Thank you, thank you. But howshameful that one should be exposed to such risks!"
But the lady spoke to empty air, for Jill, having seen the roses andforget-me-nots flung into the middle of the road, had instantly turnedon her heel. Molly was rather cross when she came back, but as Jillgave no explanation whatever with regard to her sudden rush down theroad, she soon relapsed into gloomy silence and into many anxiousthoughts with regard to her little sick Kathleen.
The brilliant sunshiny morning did not fulfil its promise. In theafternoon the wind veered round, the sky became overcast, and betweentwo and three o'clock a steady downpour of rain began.
Such weather is always fatal to the selling of flowers; at such timesthe ladies who are out in their fine summer dresses are little inclinedto stop and make purchases. Gentlemen don't want button-holes when theyare wrapped up in mackintoshes; in short, the wet weather makes thepleasure-seeking public selfish.
Jill had been rather late arriving at her stand, and in consequence thegentlemen who almost always stopped to buy a button-hole from thehandsome young flower girl had carried their custom elsewhere.
With the exception of the lady who had bought a sixpenny bunch ofpoppies, Jill had only sold two or three pennyworth of flowers when thedownpour of rain began. As to Molly, even her halfpenny button-holes,quite an anomaly in the trade, could scarcely attract under suchdepressing circumstances.
The volatile creature began to rock herself backwards and forwards, andbewail her hard lot. What _should_ she do, if she did not sell herflowers? There was nothing at all in the house for little sickKathleen.
"Not even money for the rint," she moaned, "and that cruel baste of alandlord would think nothing of turning us both into the street."
She poured her full tale of woe into Jill's ears, who listened and madesmall attempts to comfort her.
"Look yere," said Jill, suddenly, "I'll tell yer a sort of a fairy tale,if you'll listen."
"Oh, glory!" exclaimed Molly, "and I loves them stories. But it'smoighty cowld I am. You spake on, honey, and I'll listen. It'scomforting sometimes to picter things, but _I'd_ rayther think of aright good dinner now than anything under the sun."
"This isn't a dinner," said Jill, "but it's lovely, and it's true."
"Fairy tales ain't true," interrupted Molly.
"Some are. This is--I see'd it with my own eyes last night. I wentwith the boys to Grosvenor Square, and I see'd the fine folks going intoa ball. There was the madams in their satins, and laces, and feathers,and the men like princes every one of them. And the young gels in whiteas ef they were sort of angels. You could smell the flowers from thebalconies right down in the street, and once I was pushed forrard, and Igot a good sight right into the house. My word, Molly, it wor enough todazzle yer! The soft look of it and the richness of it, and the dazzleof the white marble walls! Oh, my word, what a story I could make up ofa princess living in a palace like that. What's the matter, Molly."
"Whisht," said Molly, "howld your tongue. There's some corpses comingdown the road. If there's one thing I love more than another it's acorpse, and there are three of them coming down in hearses. Threetogether--glory! There's a sight! 'Tis a damp day they has for theirburyin', poor critters!"
Molly stood up in her excitement, pushing her despised basket ofwithered flowers behind her. The wind had blown her tall hat crooked,and had disarranged her unkempt grey hair, which surrounded herweather-beaten countenance now in grisly locks.
Putting her arms akimbo, she came out from under the shelter of therailway portico to see the funeral processions go by. Three hearses,one following the other--such a sight was worth a wet afternoon tobehold. Molly, in her excitement, rushed back to where Jill wasstanding, and caught her roughly by the arm.
"Come on," she said. "They are the purtiest coffins I has seen for manya day. By the size of them they must howld full-grown men. Ah! what awake the critters would have had in ould Ireland! Swate it would havebeen, and wouldn't the whiskey have flown around! Ah, worra me, it's asorrowful day when they don't wake the dead. There they go! there's thefirst--six foot high if he was an inch--a powerful big coffin he takes.Well, he'll find it damp getting under the earth on a day like this. Myword, Jill! Look at the flowers! Why, they're heaped up on thatcoffin, and chice 'uns too--roses and lilies, and them big whitedaisies. Oh, shame, they'll all go underground, I expect. Here's thesecond! Can you see it, Jill? He's not so big, five foot seven oreight, I guess. Heaps of flowers, too. Simple waste, I call it, togive flowers to a corpse. It can nayther smell 'em, or look at 'em.Ah, and here's the last--poor faller, poor faller!"
The Irishwoman's ready tears sprang to her eyes. She turned and facedJill.
"He ain't got one single flower on him!" she said. "Poor faller!Where's his wife, or his swate-heart? Poor faller, I do call it anegleckful shame of them."
"But I thought you said--"
"Never mind what I said, I forgits it meself. There's the coffin,without a scrap of trimmin' on it, and the poor corpse inside a-frettin'and a-mourning. Oh, it's moighty disrespec'ful. Suppose it was yourNat, Jill?"
"No, it should never be my Nat," said Jill, with a little cry.
Her quick, eager sympathies were aroused beyond endurance. The plaindeal coffin, lying bare on the shabbiest of hearses, appealed to herinnermost heart.
"He shall have posies, too," said the flower girl, with a cry.
She rushed back to the corner when her basket was placed out of reach ofthe rain, swung it up on her powerful young arm, and rushing outfearlessly into the street, flung the brilliant contents all over thedeal coffin.
"Let him have them to be buried with!" she said, addressing her words toa few of the passers-by, who could not help cheering
her.
CHAPTER FIVE.
Soon after this Jill went home. She carried an empty basket, and whatwas far more unusual, a pocket destitute of the smallest coin. The fewpence she had earned during this unlucky day she had given to Holly, tohelp her to meet her rent and to buy some necessaries for little sickKathleen.
Jill went home, however, singing a low, glad song under her breath. Hertemperament was very excitable, she had gone through times of greatdepression in her life, but she had also known her
