Penelope and the Others, Amy Walton [best interesting books to read .TXT] 📗

poor soul, and I begin to doubt if she ever will again."

"Why?" asked Pennie breathlessly.

"She's been down with rheumatic fever these three weeks," said Nurse, shaking her head regretfully. "It's a poor woman who lives close by, Miss,"--turning to Miss Unity--"a very sad case."

"She knows," interrupted Pennie, for she thought it a great waste of time to explain matters all over again.

"My dear," corrected Miss Unity, "let Mrs Margetts speak."

"I run over to see her sometimes," continued old Nurse, "and take her a morsel of something, but it beats me to understand how those people live. There's five children, and the only person earning anything, laid on her back."

"Don't they get parish relief?" inquired Miss Unity with a look of distress. "They ought to have an allowance from the sick fund. Who visits them?"

"It's my belief," said old Nurse lowering her voice, "that no one ever goes nigh them at all. You see, Miss, the husband takes more than is good for him, and then he gets vi'lent and uses bad language. Of course the ladies who visit don't like that."

"I can quite understand it," said Miss Unity, drawing herself up.

"Of course you can, Miss," said old Nurse soothingly. "Now I don't mind him at all myself. I don't take any count of what he says, and I always think `hard words break no bones;' but it's different for such as you."

"Who looks after the poor thing while she's so ill and helpless?" asked Miss Unity, taking out her purse.

"That's the wonder of it," said Nurse. "The eldest's a girl of Miss Pennie's age, but not near so big. That child would shame many grown-up people, Miss, by the way she carries on. Nurses her mother and looks after the children, (there's a baby in arms), and she's on her feet from morning till night. If it wasn't for Kettles they'd all have been in the workhouse long ago."

Miss Unity here offered some money, but Nurse shook her head sagely.

"No use to give 'em money, Miss. He'd get hold of it and drink it in no time."

"Well, you must spend it for the poor woman in the way you think best," said Miss Unity, "and let me know when you want more."

Pennie had listened eagerly to every word. Here indeed was news of Kettles and her family at last. How interested Nancy would be!

"Oh!" she exclaimed, taking her godmother's hand, "do let me go to see them with Nurse and take them the things she buys."

But to this Miss Unity would not listen for a moment. She would not even consider such a thing possible. All she would promise was that they would soon come again to the College and hear from Mrs Margetts how the poor woman was getting on, and with this Pennie was obliged to be contented.

Miss Unity herself was strangely stirred and interested by what she had been told. The story of Kettles and her mother seemed to cast a different light on Anchor and Hope Alley, that "scandal to Nearminster," as the dean had called it. She had always considered it the abode of outcasts and wickedness, but surely it could not be right that these people should remain uncared for and uncomforted in sickness and want. They were surrounded by clergymen, district visitors, schools, churches, societies of all sorts established on purpose for their help, and yet here was Kettles' mother three weeks down with the rheumatism, and only a little child to look after her. What did it mean?

And then, Miss Unity went on to think, her mind getting tangled with perplexity, what of their spiritual privileges? The great Cathedral lifted its spire and pointed heavenwards in vain for them, so near, yet so very far-off. The peace and rest of its solemn silence, the echo of its hymn and praise were useless; it was an unknown land to Anchor and Hope Alley. They were as much shut out from all it had to give as those dusky inhabitants of another country with whose condition Nearminster had lately been concerned. Pennie's words occurred to Miss Unity. "I know Anchor and Hope Alley, and that makes it so much nicer." She looked down at her side--where _was_ Pennie?

Now while Miss Unity had been walking along in silence, her mind full of these thoughts and her eyes turned absently away from outward things, Pennie had been sharply observant of all that was going on in the High Street through which they were passing. Nothing escaped her, and the minute before Miss Unity noted her absence she had caught sight of a familiar figure in the distance, and had dashed across the road without a thought of consequences. When her godmother's startled glance discovered her she was standing at the entrance of Anchor and Hope Alley, and by her side was a figure of about her own height.

And what a figure! Three weeks of nursing, scrubbing, minding children and running errands had not improved poor Kettles' appearance. The same old bonnet, which Pennie remembered, hung back from her head, but it was more crushed and shapeless; the big boots had large holes in them, and the bony little hand, which clasped a bottle to her chest, was more like a black claw than ever. When Miss Unity reached them the children were staring at each other in silence, Pennie rather shy, and Kettles with a watchful glimmer in her eyes as though prepared to defend herself if necessary. Miss Unity took Pennie's hand.

"My dear," she said breathlessly, "how could you? I was so alarmed."

"This is Kettles," was Pennie's answer, "and she says her mother isn't any better."

"Don't you belong to the Provident Club?" asked Miss Unity, with a faint hope that Nurse might have been wrong.

"No, 'um," said Kettles, looking up at the strange lady.

"Nor the Clothing Club, nor the Coal Club? Does nobody visit your mother?" asked Miss Unity again.

"Nobody don't come 'cept Mrs Margetts from the College," said Kettles. "Father says--"

"Oh, never mind that!" said Miss Unity hastily, "we don't want to know."

"Please let her talk," put in Pennie beseechingly. "Father says," continued Kettles, her sharp eyes glancing rapidly from one face to the other, "as how he won't have no 'strict ladies in _his_ house; nor no pa'sons nuther," she added.

As these last dreadful words passed Kettles' lips the dean, rosy and smiling, went by on the other side arm in arm with another clergyman. Could he have heard them? He gave a look of surprise at the group as he took off his hat. Poor Miss Unity felt quite unnerved by this unlucky accident, and hardly knew what to say next.

"But--" she stammered, "that isn't kind or--or nice, of your father, when they want to come and see you and do you good."

"Father says he doesn't want doing good to," said Kettles, shutting her lips with a snap.

Miss Unity felt incapable of dealing further with Kettles' father. She changed the subject hurriedly.

"What have you in that bottle?" she asked. "It would be better to spend your money on bread."

"Oils to rub mother with," answered Kettles with a pinched smile; then with a business-like air she added, "I can't stop talking no longer, she's alone 'cept the children. If the baby was to crawl into the fire she couldn't move to stop him, not if he was burnt ever so."

Without further leave-taking she dived down the dark alley at a run, her big boots clattering on the flag-stones.

Pennie felt very glad to have met and talked to Kettles at last, and as she and her godmother went on, she made up her mind to write to Nancy that very night and tell her all about it; also to write a long description of the meeting in her diary. She was just putting this into suitable words when Miss Unity spoke.

"I have thought of something, Pennie, that would be nice for you to do for that little girl--Keturah her name is, I think."

"She's never called by it," said Pennie. "Don't you think Kettles suits her best, and it's far easier to say."

"Not to me!" answered Miss Unity. "I do not like the name at all. But what I want to suggest is this; you are anxious to do something for her, are you not?"

"I told you about it, you know," said Pennie seriously. "Nancy and I mean to collect for some boots and stockings. Did you see her boots? I should think they must have been her father's, shouldn't you?"

"I don't wish to think about her father in any way," said Miss Unity with a slight shudder, "but I should like to do something for the poor mother and the little girl. Now it seems to me that we could not do better than make her a set of underlinen. I would buy the material, Betty would cut out the clothes from patterns of yours, and you and I would make them. This would give you an object for your needlework, and you would not find it so wearisome perhaps."

She spoke quite eagerly, for she felt that she had hit upon an excellent scheme which would benefit both Pennie and Keturah. It was new and interesting, besides, to take an independent step of this kind instead of subscribing to a charity, as she had hitherto done when she wished to help people.

It may be questioned whether Pennie looked upon the plan with equal favour, but she welcomed it as a sign that Miss Unity was really beginning to take an interest in Kettles. She would have preferred the interest to show itself in any other way than needlework, but it was much better than none at all, and, "I should have to work anyway," she reflected.

"I don't see why, Pennie," said her godmother hesitatingly, "we should not buy the material this afternoon."

Pennie could see no reason against it, in fact it seemed natural to her that after you had thought of a thing you should go and do it at once. To Miss Unity, however, used to weigh and consider her smallest actions, there was something rash and headlong in it.

"Perhaps we had better think it over and do it to-morrow," she said, pausing at the door of a linen-draper's shop.

"Kettles wants clothes very badly," said Pennie, "and I shall be a long while making them. I should think we'd better get it now. But shall you go to Bolton's?" she added; "mother always goes to Smith's."

"Bolton's" was a magnificent place in Pennie's eyes. It was the largest shop in the High Street, and she had heard her mother call it extravagantly dear. Miss Unity, however, would not hear of going anywhere else. She had always dealt at Bolton's; they supplied the materials for the Working Societies and the choristers' surplices, and had always given satisfaction. So Pennie, with rather an awed feeling, followed her godmother into the shop, and was soon much interested in her purchases; also in the half-confidential and wholly respectful remarks made from time to time across the counter by Mrs Bolton, who had