Her Benny: A Story of Street Life, Page 4

  CHAPTER IV.

  A Friend in Need.

  Friendship, peculiar boon of heaven The noble mind's delight and pride; To men and angels only given, To all the lower world denied. --Samuel Johnson.

  The experiences of Benny and his sister during the next day were buta repetition of what we recorded in the last chapter; but during thesecond night they found the shelter of the boat but a poor substitutefor a home, and in the morning they were stiff and cramped throughlying so long in one position; and when they paid Joe Wrag their thirdmorning visit, the old man noticed that all was not right with them.Nelly especially was gloomy and depressed.

  Joe Wrag was generally a silent man, and not given to asking manyquestions; but when he saw great tears in Nelly's round eyes as shesat gazing into the fire, he felt that he must know what was troublingthe child, and help her if he could. He had also a dim suspicion thatthey had not been to their home of late, and he wondered where theycould have spent their nights; and, like Benny, he dreaded the idea oflittle Nelly congregating with young thieves and vagabonds, and felt hewould rather a thousand times the child should die than that she shouldgrow up to be a wicked woman. So after reflecting for some time, andwondering how he should best get at the truth, he burst out suddenlywith the question,

  "When were you last to hum, eh?"

  For a moment there was silence, and Benny looked at his sister as muchas to say, "That's a poser; we're in for it now."

  "Come, now," said Joe, seeing their hesitation, "let's 'ave nowt buttruth; out wi' it, an' it will be best in the end."

  "You tell 'im, Nell," said Benny, "'cause he'll b'lieve you."

  So Nelly, in her sweet pleading voice, told him all the story of Benny'swrong, and of her father's cruelty, and how even she herself had notescaped his anger.

  "And did he beat you, my purty?" said Joe, clenching his fist tightly atthe same time.

  "Ay, Joe; but I dunna think he know'd what he were a-doin'."

  For a few moments the old man's face worked as if in pain. Then hemuttered to himself, "Some'at must be done, an' no mistake; but what?Eh, what?" Then he looked at the children again. "Don't yer think you'dbetter go to hum again to-night?" he said; and he watched eagerly forthe effect of his question. Nelly was the first to speak.

  "Oh, no," she said; "we should get it worse nor ever. Dad would a'mostkill Benny." And the tears welled up into her eyes again.

  "I's not goin' to risk it," said Benny stoutly. "I's 'ad hidin's enoughto last me a lifetime."

  "Ay, ay," said Joe. "I wonder, now----" And he looked reflectively intothe fire.

  "What are 'e a-wonderin' on?" queried Benny.

  But Joe was silent. He had evidently got hold of some idea which he wastrying to work out. At length he looked up and said,

  "Now, away with yer, an' come here again this ev'ning at six o'clock.D'ye hear?"

  "Ay, ay," was the response; and away they bounded, leaving Joe alone tohis meditations.

  Joe remained some time after they were gone in one position, scratchinghis head most vigorously, and would doubtless have remained much longerhad he not been disturbed by the men who had come to their work, andwho set him at liberty from his watch until darkness should again comedown upon the earth. Joe walked leisurely to his home as if burdenedwith some great thought, ate his morning meal in silence, and then wentto bed, and lay tossing for full two hours ere he could find a wink ofsleep.

  Joe Wrag had been for many years a complete enigma to a number ofwell-meaning people, who had become much interested in this silent andthoughtful man, and were anxious to know more about him than he caredto reveal. Several "town missionaries" had tried to make something outof him, but had utterly failed. He had never been known to enter ahouse of prayer, and whether in the matter of religious knowledge andbelief he was a heathen or a Christian was an open question; and yet,notwithstanding this, he lived a life that in many respects was worthyof the imitation of many who made greater professions.

  Indeed, to be strictly accurate, Joe Wrag never made any professionwhatever of any kind, and yet he was as honest as the day, and as trueas steel. Honest, not because "honesty was the best policy." Nay,policy never entered into his thoughts; but he was honest because hecould not be otherwise. His _soul_ was honest; and as for lying, heloathed it as he would loathe a viper. Nothing could tempt him to beuntruthful. In fact, he recoiled as if by instinct from everything meanand deceitful. What teaching he had received, or what influences hadsurrounded him during his early life, we have never been able to gather.He kept himself mostly to himself, and was silent about the past. Yearby year he moved along the even tenour of his way, ever ready to doa kindly deed when opportunity presented itself, but never thrustinghimself where he felt he might not be wanted. He had a perfect horror ofappearing to be better than he really was; and it was thought that thatwas his chief reason why he never made any profession of religion.

  About three o'clock Joe got up, and after partaking of a substantialmeal, wended his way to the neighbourhood of Copperas Hill. Afterturning several sharp corners, he found himself in a small courtcontaining about half a dozen houses. Before one of the doors he pausedfor a moment, then raised his stick, and gave a sharp rat-tat-tat. Thedoor was instantly opened by a woman who had evidently reached herthreescore years and ten. Yet she appeared hale and strong for her age,and though poorly, was yet tidily attired.

  "Well, ye are a stranger," was her greeting. "I'm verra glad to see 'e,though."

  "An' I'm glad to see you, Betty."

  "Well, come tha in. What's i' tha wind?"

  "Nowt much, Betty; but what thar is consarns you as much as me."

  "Well, out wi' it, Joe," said Betty, as soon as Joe had seated himself."No trouble, I 'ope?"

  "No, not that I knows on; but could 'e make room 'ere for a couple o'lodgers--little 'uns, mind you--children, on'y 'bout so high?" holdingout his hand.

  "Well, what an idear, to be sure! What are ye a-dreamin' on?"

  "Your old man," said Joe solemnly, "was my mate for mony a year, an'a good man he wur; an' if from that fur-off country he can see what'sdoin' 'ere, he'd be mightily pleased for 'e to do, Betty, what I'ma-axin' o' yer."

  "But I dunno that I quite understand," said Betty; "explain your meanin'a bit more."

  And Joe, in a solemn voice, told the story of little Nell and herbrother Benny. "It mebbe, Betty," he said, "they're the Lord's little'uns. I'm none o' the Lord's mysel'. I've tried to find 'im; but Hewinna be found o' me. I'm none o' the elect. I've settled that formore'n twenty year now. But if these bairns are the Lord's, we mustnaturn 'em away."

  "All bairns are the Lord's," said Betty; but Joe only shook his head,and sat gazing into the fire.

  Before he left, however, it was settled that a bed should be made forthe children in the corner under the stairs, which would be near thefire also. For this they were to pay a penny per night.

  "We mustna make paupers o' them, you know, Betty," was Joe's remark.

  It was also agreed that she should do what washing and mending thechildren's clothes needed, for which they were to pay also, if theycould afford it. "If not," said Joe, "I'll make it square wi' you,Betty."

  Punctually at six o'clock the children put in an appearance at Joe'shut. They had had but poor luck during the day, and Benny did not feelnearly so courageous as he had felt two days before. The prospect ofsleeping night after night underneath a boat was not so inviting ashe had imagined it would be; besides, there was the fear that theirhiding-place might be discovered, and that even this poor shelter mightbe taken away from them at any time.

  He did not confide his fears to Nelly; he felt that it would be cruelto do so; and she--whatever she may have felt--never uttered a singleword of complaint. She knew that "her Benny" had enough to bear, and shewould not add to his burden.

  Benny had been very much puzzled at Joe Wrag's manner in the morning,and had wondered much during the day "what he 'ad been a-turnin' over inhis nod
dle." He was desperately afraid that Joe would try to persuadehim and Nelly to return to their home, or even insist upon their doingso; and rather than do that, he felt that he would lose Joe's friendshipand warm fireside into the bargain.

  Joe was looking very abstractedly into the grate when they came upto the fence, and for a moment they watched his rugged face with thefirelight playing upon it. But Benny, who could read his father's facepretty cleverly, declared to himself that "he could make nowt out o'Joe's."

  As usual, Joe made room for Benny in his little hut; but to-night hetook little Nelly very tenderly on his knee, and stroked her long flaxenhair with his hard rough hand, muttering to himself the while, "Purtylittle hangel; I reckon she's one o' the Lord's elect."

  Benny wondered for a long time when Joe was going to say something thathe could understand; but somehow to-night he did not like to disturb himby asking questions. Nelly, on the contrary, was far away again from thecold and dingy streets, and the ceaseless roar of the busy town, andwas wandering in imagination through sunny meadows where the turf wassoft and the grass was green. She fancied she heard the music of purlingstreams, and the songs of happy birds in the leafy trees that wavedtheir branches over her. The air was fragrant with the scent of flowersthat she had heard of, but never seen, and weariness and cold she feltno more.

  The voice of Joe banished the beautiful vision from the glowing grate,and the child wondered if ever it would become a reality--if ever shewould dwell amid such scenes in a life that had no ending.

  "I've some'at to say to 'e, my dears," was Joe's first exclamation; andthe children looked up into his face, and wondered what was coming next."I've found a hum for 'e, and a reet good 'un, an' ye'r to go to-night."

  "Oh, scissors!" shouted Benny; and he ran into the street, and hadturned two somersaults ere he knew what he was doing; then stood on hishead for at least five seconds by way of cooling off, and what otherperformances he might have gone through I cannot say, had not Joe calledhim into the hut.

  Little Nelly said nothing; she only nestled closer to her benefactor,and Joe felt great scalding tears dropping upon his hand, and knew thather heart was too full for her to speak. Then he told them all abouttheir new home, and what would be expected of them, and how he hopedthey would be good and kind to the old woman, and always be honest andtruthful, and then when they died they might go to the good place.

  "Does folks go somewheres when they die?" said Benny, with a look ofastonishment.

  "Ay, Ben, that they do."

  "Oh, beeswax and turpentine!" he ejaculated, "that are a go!"

  But Nelly's face grew luminous, and her eyes fairly sparkled, as shefaintly grasped the idea that perhaps her dreams might come true afterall.

  They had no difficulty in finding their way to Tempest Court, or indiscovering the house of Betty Barker. The old woman gave them a roughthough kindly welcome, and Benny was soon at his ease. Their bed inthe warm corner under the stairs was, to use Benny's phrase, "simplysumshus;" and next morning when they appeared before Joe, it was withfaces glowing with gladness and delight.