How to avoid it, Ailie did not know. At first she thought she would beg John Forsyth to change his mind, but when she opened her eyes softly and peeped at him, he looked so moody that she dared not speak. Then she thought that she would slip off, and hide herself in some dark secret place, until—oh, until there was hope that they might change their minds. She knew of many a hole and corner in the old rambling house, but to escape at present, without remark, was impossible, and she determined to bide her time.
What was to be done with her this night she did not know; neither did Esther. There was certainly no vacant space for her in the overcrowded apartment. A young widow living in the next room, with only three small children of her own, offered to take in Ailie, much to the relief of all parties. She slept there quietly on her heap of straw, and shared the children's scanty breakfast; but, after that, she watched for the first opportunity to slip unobserved out of the room, and to run down-stairs.
What she meant to do with herself Ailie had no very clear idea. Her one aim was to escape from John Forsyth, in dread of being walked off to the workhouse. A house of terror it was to her, in truth, and her greatest terror of all was the childish dread that if she once went away her mother would never find her again. Her one wish now was to be where John Forsyth could not discover her. The old court at the back of the house would not do. He would naturally look for her there, among the crowd of neglected little ones who spent hours every day in playing and quarrelling together over the mud, stones, and old oyster-shells there to be found. She dared not be seen on the staircase or in the passages. He might walk down any one of them. She would not loiter about in the street, for he would be sure to pass there.
Creeping at length into a dark corner, under the pile of lumber, refuse, and ruin which blocked up the empty space under the staircase, she settled herself into as easy a position as possible, and there decided to remain. They were not likely to seek for her in such a spot.
She congratulated herself not a little on her hiding-place, half an hour later, when she heard a heavy step coming down over her head, and John Forsyth's voice demanding, in evident annoyance—
"I say, can any o' you tell me what's become o' Carter's little girl?"
"Ailie Carter," croaked the old woman who had kept watch by her dying father's side. "No, not I. Where have she been all night?"
"Sleepin' with Mrs. Crane. If I catch her, she shan't forget the trouble she's a-giving us—running away and a-hindering like this! But I can't wait in no longer. If she thinks she's going to live on us, she's mistaken."
He went away grumbling, and Ailie did not breathe freely till he was out of hearing. She dared not let herself be seen even then, though aware that he would now be absent for hours on the search for work. If found, she would doubtless be watched till he returned, and then taken off to the workhouse. Ailie had set her whole heart upon not going there. She sat on resolutely in her dark close corner—hungry, cramped, and miserable, but enduring all, hour after hour, with a steadfast patience, unknown to more tenderly-nurtured children. It was nothing unusual to her to fast during a whole day.
But time passed slowly, and Ailie grew wretched and forlorn, as the hours went on. She slept a good deal, and listened to what went on overhead, and sometimes cried quietly; but she never thought of giving way, and coming out. She would do or bear anything in her power to escape going to the workhouse. She must wait for mother—poor mother, away in jail! Ailie longed so to see her again.