Jack's Two Sovereigns

by A. S. Fenn

The tears came for an instant into Mrs. Kayll’s tired eyes.

“Poor boy,” said she softly. “How good he is! And we have always thought he cared for nobody but himself!”

“He is so quiet and says so little,” Madge answered, “that it is hard to understand him. But he is of more real use than any of the others. This morning and yesterday he was up before me, and had lighted the fire, put the kettle on, drawn up the blinds, and unfastened the doors.”

Mrs. Kayll thoughtfully put the money into her purse. She was surprised to find how little she had known of what was in her own children. Where had they learned so much unselfishness? she asked herself, not suspecting that they learned it of her, who never considered her own feelings or her own pleasure, but lived for them and her husband.

Not long after, Bob came in with another contribution to the family exchequer, in the shape of six more shillings which he had by some means contrived to earn while taking care of his father’s office; so that now Mrs. Kayll began to think they must have reached the lowest depth of their troubles, and that things were beginning to mend.

But she was wrong. The worst catastrophe of all was in store when they least expected it, but just now came the calm before the storm.

Mrs. Kayll went out that evening and bought some meat for the Sunday dinner, and the essence of beef the doctor had ordered for the baby, making what she spent go as far as possible, but yet providing enough for all, making up by an extra quantity of potatoes for the rather short supply of mutton. As for pudding, that was a luxury out of fashion in the Kayll family, except on Sundays, for a long time.

They all went to bed that night in tolerably good spirits, dismissing cares and anxieties until the next week, and, instead of sighing too much for the absent one, looking forward to the time of his return, and rejoicing that one more day of his detention was gone.

The next was a soft sultry hazy morning, with thundery-looking clouds lying at first low round the horizon, then here and there slowly rising up in dark threatening masses. The air was heavy and oppressive, and the blacks lay about thickly, or lazily floated down from above. In spite of the unsettled look of the weather, the two little girls and Jack went to church, leaving Madge preparing the potatoes, Mrs. Kayll attending to various domestic duties with the baby on her arm, Bob cleaning knives and forks, and Jem looking on at first one, then another, with his hands in his pockets.

“I’ve had a nice easy time of it with the cooking since father went,” said Madge, scraping out the black eye of a potato. They had dropped into a way of speaking of Mr. Kayll as though he were on a visit, and were expected home at the latest on Tuesday. Mrs. Kayll, however, could not quite, as the children did, make the best of to-day, and leave to-morrow to take care of itself. It was not easy to forget that the milkman had refused to bring any more milk until his bill was paid, or that the butcher and baker would not let her have either bread or meat, unless she paid for them on the spot. Of course they had their own families to think about, and it was but natural that they should consider them first. But the thought of next week and its struggles, and the difficulty of feeding all the hungry mouths, made her look this morning very care-worn and old.