by L. T. Meade
a jolly time, if only hehad consented to yield to his many temptations, and do as his companionsdid. But he never had yielded. One by one, as the temptations arose,as the opportunities for thieving came, he had turned from them andovercome them. Not that he thought thieving wrong--by no means.Whatever he might say to Flo, he had in his heart of hearts a strongadmiration for those plucky young thieves, his companions, and thoughthey _were_ afraid of the "p'leece," and often did disappear for longeror shorter periods altogether from their gay life, yet still they had ajolly time of it on the whole. Then, how splendidly the robbers actedat those delightful 'penny gaffs!--oh, yes! it was nonsense to starverather than take from those who had more than they could use themselves.Nevertheless Dick had often passed a day from morning to night withoutfood rather than steal--why was that?
Ah! how strongly we cling to our first and tenderest memories! Dickcould never forget the time when poor as they were, when, struggling asthey were, he and Flo were rich, as the richest of all children, inlove.
He could never forget the pressure of his mother's arms, he could neverforget the sweetness of the dry crust eaten on his mother's knee. Hadhe an ache or a trouble, his mother was sorry for him. Even when he wasbad and vexed her, his mother forgave him. She was always working forher children; never resting on account of her children. She stoodbetween them and the cold world, a great shelter, a sure refuge.
They thought it mighty and everlasting, they did not know that it wasmortal, and passing away.
She grew tired--awful tired, as she herself expressed it, so weary thatnot even her love for Dick and Flo could keep her with them, soexhausted that no rest but the rest of the grave could do her any good.So she went to her grave, but before she went her children had promisedher to keep honest boy and girl, to grow up honest man and woman, andthis promise was to them both more precious than their lives.
They kept it faithfully,--it was a great principle for light in theminds of these little children.
Yes, they had both kept their promise carefully and faithfully untilto-day; but to-day, in a moment of great and sudden temptation, goadedand led on by Jenks, Dick had slipped his clever little hand into alady's pocket, and drawn out a purse with six bright new shillings init.
The theft had been most cleverly done, and triumphant with his success,and elated by the praise Jenks had lavished on him, he had felt littlecompunction until now.
But remorse was visiting him sternly now. He was frightened, he wasmiserable; he had let go the rudder that kept him fast to anythinggood,--he was drifting away. But the act of thieving gave him no pain,he was not at all sorry for that smiling, good-natured looking womanwhose purse he had taken; he was quite sure _she_ never knew what hungerwas; he quite agreed with Jenks in his remark, that "'Ee and Dick andFlo wanted 'ot roast goose more'n 'er."
No; the agony was the memory of his mother's face.
He was afraid even to open his eyes, afraid, sore afraid, that if he didhe should see her standing before him, asking him to answer to her forthis day's deed.
He was afraid that tired, awful tired as she was, she would get up outof her grave to reproach him with his broken promise, to tell him thaton account of him there now could be no more rest for her. And he lovedhis mother,--oh, how he loved his mother!
A second time that night was Scamp disturbed by sobs, but the sobs didnot proceed from Flo this time. The tired little girl was sleepingheavily, her head on the dog's neck. Scamp could only open his eyes,which he did very wide; if he moved the least bit in the world he wouldwake Flo. The sounds of distress grew louder, he gave a low growl, thena bark, then with a sudden, uncontrollable impulse, he was off Flo's lapand on the bed with Dick,--he was cuddling down by Dick, fawning on him,and licking the tears off his face.
The boy repulsed him rudely. It was quite beyond the capacity of Scamp,great as his powers were, to comfort him. Nevertheless, Scamp had againdone his duty. In his rude exit from Flo's lap he had effectuallyawakened her. She, too, heard the low smothered sobs of distress, andrising from her cobbler's stool, she lay down on the straw beside herlittle brother.
"I'm real glad as you is cryin', Dick," said Flo.
This speech of Flo's was an immense relief to Dick. Of all things hehad dreaded telling his sister of his theft.
He dreaded telling her, and yet he longed for her to know. Now by herwords he felt sure that in some way she did know. He nestled close toher, and put his arms round her neck.
"Is mother in the room, Flo?"
"No, no, Dick; wot makes you say that? Mother's in her grave, 'avin' agood tidy bit o' a sleep."
"You ain't sure," said Dick, half-defiantly, "you ain't sure but ef youopened yer heyes werry wide you mightn't see mother--just there, acrostour bed and Jenks'--standin' and a shakin' her 'ead."
"Why, ef she were I couldn't see," said Flo. "It be as dark as dark,--Icouldn't see nothink ef I was to look ever so."
"Oh yes, you could," said Dick, "you could see ghosts, and mother's aghost. I seed ghosts at the gaff, and them is hall in wite, with bluelights about 'em. Ef you opened yer heyes werry wide you could see,Flo."
"Well, I 'as 'em open," said Flo, "and I tell you there ain't no ghosts,nor nothink."
"Are you sure?" asked Dick.
"No doubt on it," responded Flo encouragingly. "Mother ain't yere,mother's in 'er grave, 'avin' a good time, and restin' fine."
"Are you quite sure?" persisted Dick. "Are you quite sartin as sheain't turnin' round in 'er corfin, and cryin'?"
"Oh no; she's restin' straight and easy," said Flo in an encouragingtone, though, truth to tell, she had very grave misgivings in her ownmind as to whether this was the case.
"Then she don't know, Flo?"
"It ain't reached 'er yet, I 'spect," said Flo. Then hastening to turnthe conversation--
"Wot was it as you took, Dick?"
"A purse," said Dick.
"A purse full o' money?" questioned Flo.
"There was six bobs and a tanner," said Dick, "and Jenks said as I didit real clever."
"That was wot bought us the 'ot roasted goose," continued Flo.
"Yes. Jenks said, as it wor the first time, we should 'ave a raretreat. They cost three bobs, that 'ere goose and taters. I say, worn'tthey jist prime?"
"'Ave you any more o' that money?" asked Flo, taking no notice of thislast query.
"Yes, I 'ave a bob and I 'ave the purse. Jenks said as I was to havethe purse, and I means the purse for you, Flo."
"You needn't mean it for me, then," said Flo, raising her gentle littlevoice, "fur I'd rayther be cut up in bits than touch it, or look at it,and you 'as got to give back that 'ere bob to Jenks, Dick, fur ef we wasto starve hout and hout we won't neither of us touch bite nor sup as itbuys. I thought as you was sorry, Dick, when I heard you cryin', butno, you ain't, and you 'ave furgot mother, that you 'ave."
At these words Dick burst out crying afresh. Flo had reserved herindignation for so long, that when it came it took him utterly bysurprise.
"No, I 'aven't forgot, Flo--I be real orfle sorry."
"You won't never do it again?"
"No."
"And you'll give back the purse and bob to Jenks, and tell 'im yer'll'ave no more to do wid 'is way?"
"Oh! I doesn't know," said Dick, "'ee would be real hangry."
"Very well," replied Flo; "good-night to you, Dick. I ain't goin' tosleep 'long of a thief," and she prepared to retire with dignity to hercobbler's stool.
But this proposal filled Dick with fresh alarm, he began to sob louderthan ever, and promised vigorously that if she stayed with him he woulddo whatever she told him.
"'Zactly wot I ses?" asked Flo.
"Yes, Flo, I'll stick fast to you and never funk."
"You'll translate the old boots and shoes wid me fur the next week?"
"Yes."
"And you'll break orf wid Jenks, and be his pardener no more?"
"Yes," with a sinking heart.
"Wer
ry well--good-night."
"But, Flo," after a long pause, "is you _sure_ as mother isn't ris fromher grave?"
"No, I'm not sure," answered Flo slowly, "but I thinks at the most, she'ave on'y got a sort o' a wake, and I thinks, Dick, ef you never, neveris a thief no more, as mother'll 'ave a good longish rest
