Andrew stopped a minute with his eyes fixed thoughtfully on Dickie, and yet as though he scarcely saw her. She hugged herself with her little crossed arms, and murmured confidentially, “Dickie will go to the circus too.”
“There wur a chum of mine sittin’ next,” continued Andrew, “an’ by and by, when the place was gettin’ very hot, an’ the sawdust the horses threw up with their heels was fit to choke yer, he says to me, ‘Old chap,’ he says, ‘come out an’ take a glass of summat jest to wet yer whistle.’
“‘I can’t,’ says I, ‘I’ve got my little gal to look after. I can’t leave her.’ But I was dry, an’ the thought of a glass of beer was very temptin’, ‘no call to be anxious over that,’ says he; ‘you won’t be gone not five minutes, an ’ere’s this lady will keep an eye on her fur that little while, I’m sure.’ ‘Certingly,’ says the woman sitting next, who was a stranger to me but quite respectable-lookin’. ‘You come to me, my dearie!’ and she lifted Mollie on to her knee an’ spoke kind to her, an’ the child seemed satisfied; an’ so I went.”
Andrew coughed hoarsely but went on again after a minute, speaking more to himself than Dickie—who, indeed, did not understand nearly all he had been saying.
“When I got into the ‘Blue Bonnet’ there wur three or four more of my chums a-settin’ round the fire an’ havin’ a argyment. ‘’Ere,’ says one, ‘we’ll hear what Andrew Martin’s got to say to it. He’s a tough hand at speakin’—he’ll tell us the rights on it.’ An’ before I knew a’most I wur sittin’ in my usual place next the fire, with a glass of beer in my hand. I wur pleased, like a fool, to think I could speak better nor any of ’em; an’ I went on an’ on, an’ it wasn’t till I heard the clock strike that I thought as how I’d left my little gal alone in the circus for a whole hour. I got up pretty quick then, for I thought she’d be frighted, but not that she could come to any harm. So I went back straight to where I left her with the woman, an’—”
“What does ’oo stop for?” said Dickie impatiently.
“She wur gone, missie!” said Andrew solemnly, spreading out his hands with a despairing gesture—“gone, an’ the woman too! I’ve never seen my little gal since that day.”
“Where is ’oor ’ittle gal?” asked Dickie.
“Lost, missie! lost!” said Andrew shaking his head mournfully. “I sha’n’t never see her no more now. Parson he was very kind, an’ offered a reward, an’ set the perlice to work to find her. ’Twarn’t all no good. So I giv’ up the cobblin’ an’ went about the country doin’ odd jobs, because I thought I might hear summat on her; but I never did, an’ after years had gone by I come ere an’ settled down again. So that’s how I lost my little gal, an’ it’s nigh twenty years ago.”
At this moment Nurse’s voice was heard outside calling for Dickie, and Andrew’s whole manner changed at the sound. He thrust the red handkerchief into his pocket, clapped his hat firmly over his eyes, and bent towards his work with his usual cross frown.