CHAPTER III.
One of Bobbie's and Jerry's greatest treats was to have tea at the cottage on the edge of the park, where old Mrs. Funnel presided over a table covered with cakes and home-made delicacies.
She always liked them to appear in good time; so punctually at four o'clock on Friday, the invited tea-party—consisting of "Old Nurse," in a crackling black silk, Jerry in spotless frilled cotton, and Bobbie in a white sailor's suit, bristling with starch and pearl buttons—made their way through the little garden of the Funnels' house, and rapped importantly on the door with the end of nurse's umbrella.
Mrs. Funnel, who had been awaiting the summons, welcomed them heartily; and Bobbie was relieved to see—on taking a cursory glance at the table—that besides the usual array of good things, there was a covered dish, which meant, as he knew by experience—muffins.
Jeptha, in his Sunday coat, with a red geranium in his button-hole, looked cheerfully conscious of his own splendour; and his wife's little wrinkled face beamed with kindness and hospitality.
"Jim can't get away yet, I'm sorry to say," she said, "but he'll be in afterwards. Sit down, all of you, please. Draw up to the table, ma'am!"
Bobbie deposited his dog-skin gloves carefully in his hat, and seated himself solemnly, trying to keep his eyes off the plum cake, for the sake of good manners.
"This bread's a bit heavy, mother!" remarked Jeptha, grappling with a large loaf in the centre of the table.
"I don't know how that can be," replied Mrs. Funnel cheerfully. "It rose enough."
"Then it must ha' sat down again!" said Jeptha. "It's that worritting oven, ma'am"—turning to nurse; "I assure you we do have a time with it sometimes."
The tea began merrily, and just in the middle of it the door opened, and James Seton's sunburnt face looked in. He carried a basket which Bobbie pounced upon eagerly, for he knew it contained the long-expected guinea-pigs.
Behind Jim stood a little woe-begone creature in a ragged dress, her head covered by a large crumpled sun-bonnet. The tears were rolling down her face, and in her hand she held the bottom of a broken glass medicine bottle.
"Look here, grandmother," said Jim, "I picked up this unfort'net little mortal just outside the Lodge gates. She'd been into town to buy some lotion for her sick mother, and she went and fell up against a stone, and smashed her bottle; and now she's in a terrible state of mind about it."
The little girl was still crying bitterly; and Bobbie, who was very tender-hearted, furtively wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and looked hard out of the window.
"Sit you down, child, and have some tea. You're fair worn out with misery," said Mrs. Funnel kindly. "After that we'll think of what's to be done. How much did the medicine cost, child?"
"Two shillings," said the child, with a fresh burst of sobbing.
Bobbie discovered, to his great annoyance, that two large tears had fallen down his own cheeks out of sympathy; and at the same moment he seemed to feel his little wash-leather purse growing so large, that he almost fancied in another moment it would burst out of his pocket.
Exactly two shillings were in it—the price of the bottle of lotion, or of two of Jim's guinea-pigs! Which should it be?
"If only I hadn't bought Maria's collar last Monday, I could have got you a bottle easily," cried Jerry, in great distress. "I've only twopence-halfpenny left, but do take it. Oh, you poor little girl, I am so sorry for you!"
Bobbie felt very guilty, and his money seemed to weigh upon him like lead. He watched the attractive brown guinea-pigs—who had been let out of their basket—gambol about the parlour. His mind was a chaos.
Suddenly he snatched out his purse, and thrust the two shillings into the little girl's hand, before she could say anything.
"Get the medicine, please," he said, in a gruff voice. "I don't want the guinea-pigs, thank you, Jim." And opening the door hurriedly, he darted off across the park towards home.