by L. T. Meade
swallow down a great cupful of scaldingcoffee.
"Ah, there ain't nothing like doing your business yourself, and trustingyour affairs to no one else. That's my way. I larnt it from my mother.Wot's the matter, lass? You look peaky."
"I'm a bit tired," said Jill.
"And a bit late, too, I guess. Get out of this, this moment, youvarmint, or I'll break every bone in your body!" These last words werethundered at a small ragamuffin of ten, who had been loafing round, butnow took to his heels as if pursued by demons. "You're a bit late,"continued Silas, allowing his small eyes to rest upon Jill, with thesort of pleased satisfaction with which he regarded what he was fond ofcalling a "thorough-bred rose-bud." "I don't see you nor that mother ofyourn often round as late as this; but now, how can I sarve ye?"
"Oh, Mr Silas Lynn," exclaimed Jill, clasping her hands, and speakingin swift entreaty, "ef you _would_ give me just a few flowers to put inmy basket, and let me pay for 'em to-morrow morning."
Lynn indulged in a loud laugh of astonishment, perplexity, and pleasure.He was as hard as a nail to be sure, but he did not object to lendingJill some flowers.
"I'll lend 'em with pleasure," he said; "but you s'prise me, JillRobinson; I thought as you had a tidy lot of money put away."
"So I had," answered Jill, her lips beginning to quiver; "I hadyesterday, but not this morning. When I looked for the money thismorning it wor gone."
"_Stolen_, does yer mean?"
"No, no; nothing o' the sort--I can't speak o' it. Will yer lend me afew flowers, and let me go?"
"Gimme yer basket."
Silas pulled it roughly out of the girl's hand. He laid some wet grassin one corner, and arranged a pile of lilies on it; rose-buds, white,pink, cream-coloured followed; geraniums in every shade made up abrilliant bank in another corner. Masses of poppies filled theremaining space.
Silas had a knack of arranging flowers which could only be excelled byJill herself. His great hands could touch the tiniest blossoms with arare taste and a skill which produced surprising results.
"There!" he said suddenly. "I forgot the carnations! We'll pop in abunch here; they are wonderful for sweetness; they mind me o' my mother.She had all their little ways. I'd like to tell you about her someday. Yere's the baskit, and good luck to you! You're a tidy lass--theonly tidy one as comes to the market, and it's a pleasure to see yerwith the bits of flowers."
"But," said Jill, colouring and trembling, for sore as her heart was itcould not help going out to such a basket of beauty, "I didn't mean tohave flowers like _these_. Why, there's a sight more nor a guinea'sworth yere; and I only meant to have two or three shillings' worth o'the commoner sorts--poppies, and sich-like. I can make up field poppiesand grasses to look wonderful, and I could sell 'em off quick, for theladies like 'em for those new sort of heart drorin'-rooms as is all thego."
"Heart drorin'-rooms?" queried Silas. "My word, what are they?"
"I don't know, but they are all the rage. Heart drorin'-rooms and heartdresses. You hears of 'em iverywhere."
"Well, there's a heart baskit," said Silas, with a harsh laugh, whichwas partly caused by a sudden embarrassment which came over him. "Youtake it, and go."
"But I can't, really. I could never pay it back."
"You're not meant to--it's a gift."
"A gift, Mr Lynn?"
Jill raised her eyes, looked him full in the face, read a meaning in hisawkward glance, and pushed the basket of lovely flowers away.
"I can't take it," she said, "not as a gift; no, that worn't my thought.Thank yer all the same." She began, with hands that shook, to replacethe masses of flowers on the flower merchant's stall.
In a moment she found her two hands imprisoned. "Don't do it," saidSilas, in a voice of low thunder. "Ef you touch 'em I'll fling 'em onthe refuse heap out there. Pay me, ef you will, but take the basket andgo. And listen first: Jill Robinson! What do you think them flowersare worth to me? I'd give every flower on this stall for one kiss fromyour red lips. So now _you_ know the mind of Silas Lynn. I've a roughvoice, and a rough look, but my _heart's_ leal. Now you know my mind,so you can go, lass."
The man almost pushed her away, and the next moment his stentorian voicewas heard, shouting savagely at some timid customers who had appeared onthe scene.
CHAPTER NINE.
Jill had a very successful morning with her flowers; they were the envyand admiration of all the other flower women. Even Molly Maloney feltas if she must indulge in a fit of crossness when she saw thosewater-lilies, carnations and rose-buds. But there was something inJill's face which soon made the other women cease to feel unkindlytowards her. Trouble was new to Jill, and the frightened,half-pathetic, half-despairing expression of her fall, velvety browseyes gave the flower girls who came to talk to her and to admire herbasket a queer sensation. They were curious, but their curiosity wasnot likely to be gratified by Jill. Even to Molly Maloney she scarcelyvouchsafed a word of explanation.
"I'm in a bit of worry about mother," she said once, in a low whisper;"Don't speak on it, Molly; it'll pass, no doubt. You ain't seen motherthis morning, ha' you? She han't chanced to call round to ask arterKathleen?"
"No," replied Molly; "and, ef she did, I wouldn't dare to let her in.Kathleen's down with faver, and no mistake. I'm at my best to keep itfrom the neighbours, for, ef they knew, one o' them 'spectors would comeround and carry the por chile off to the hospital. Oh! worra me, worrame! it's a weary world, and no mistake."
Jill said some words of sympathy. She was fond of pretty little IrishKathleen, and, taking a choice rose-bud and carnation out of her basket,she gave them to Molly to take home to the child.
"Tell her they're from Jill," she said, "and I'll look round to-morrow,may be, or may be Sunday."
"You ain't 'feared o' the faver, then, honey?"
"No. Why should I be? It isn't sickness as frights me."
"You have a throuble, then, honey?"
"I'm fretted about mother, Mrs Maloney. She ain't well, and it fretsme. She's more than anybody to me, mother is. I've sold most of myflowers now, so I'll go. Good afternoon to yer, Molly."
Jill took up her basket and walked away. She spent all the rest of theday going from one low haunt to another, looking in vain for MrsRobinson. It did not occur to her to seek for her mother at BetsyPeters's, but, on her way back to their own little flat, she ran upagainst Betsy, who stopped her at once to ask about Poll.
"She wor werry bad last night," explained Betsy, and then she told ofthe incident which had occurred at the chemist's shop.
"I thought I'd call round and ask arter her to-day," said Betsy. "Herlooks frightened me, and she's real bad--real bad, Jill Robinson. Thechemist knows, and so do I, what ails her."
"It's more nor I do," said Jill, drawing herself up. For a briefinstant she feared that Mrs Peters was referring to Poll's unfortunatehabit of taking more than was good for her. Jill's black eyes flashed,and poor, meek, pale-faced Betsy started back a step in alarm.
"I don't mean nothink bad, dearie," she said. "It's the heavy hand ofthe Lord that's laid on your mother. She ought to go to a hospital. Idon't hold by 'em in most cases, but your mother ought to go."
Jill felt herself turning very pale. "What do yer mean?" she said.
The woman stepped forward and whispered a word in her ear. The uglysound caused her to reel for a moment, a faint dizziness came over her;she clutched Mrs Peters by the shoulder to keep herself from falling.
"Don't take on, lovey," said the woman. "It's the will o' the Lord.There's no goin' agen' Him, Jill."
"`His purposes will ripen last, Unfolding every hour: The bud will have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.'"
"Don't talk cant," said Jill. "Mother's bad, ef what you say is true.She has got something orful the matter, and you tell me it's the will ofGod, and you folks wot b'lieve in God talk o' Him as good and kind. EfGod is good and kind, then it ain't His will as mother should
sufferorful things sech as you tell on. I b'lieve there's a devil somewhere,and _he_ does the bad things. It ain't God. I'd scorn to think it o'any one so beautiful as He."
The girl's indignant words rang
