Certainly, Turk was playing a most mysterious part; but I trusted him thoroughly, knowing what a good fellow he was.
My mother was surprised to see me home so early, and more so when she heard what had taken place.
'I have a presentiment, my dear,' she said, 'that this is going to turn out a fortunate night for us.'
We went to the shop in the course of the night, and there was Josey West behind the counter, as busy as a bee, serving the customers, and chattering away like any magpie. Uncle Bryan would scarcely have known the shop. Josey had had it cleaned and painted, and the scales and counter, and nests of drawers in which the spices and more valuable commodities were kept, had been so smartened up that they looked like new. You could see your face in every bit of brass about the place. During a lull in the business, Josey came into the little parlour where we were sitting.
It's wonderful,' she said; 'we've taken eleven shillings already for pills and mixture. I'm beginning to get frightened. If an inspector of something or other were to come in and analyse us, I should drop down in a fit. Turk says there's nothing to be afraid of, but I'm not so sure of that.' Presently, however, she derived consolation from the reflection that, after all, the medicine could not possibly do any one any harm.
'Have you been to the theatre, Josey?' I asked.
'If you ask no questions, my sweet child,' was her reply, 'you'll be told no stories. Theatres! As if I haven't something a thousand times more important to attend to!'
For all that, she found time to have a quiet chat with Turk, and when he went away she called me into the shop, and saying she had something very particular to whisper to me, kissed me instead of making any communication; by which sign I knew that Turk had told her of the money I had lent him. She shut up the shop earlier than usual, and we had supper together. I had not had a meal in the little parlour for many months, and my mind was filled with the memorable incidents in my life with which the room was connected. It was just such a night as that on which Jessie had tapped at the door, years ago, when uncle Bryan was asleep, and my mother and I were sitting quietly together. I remembered the story I was reading, Picciola, and during a silence I raised my head to the door, with something of expectation in my mind. I dismissed the fancy instantly, but it was not unpleasant to me to think of what had occurred on that night--the conversation in the shop between Jessie and my mother, the awaking of uncle Bryan, and the first passage-at-arms between the child and the old man. My mother must have divined the current in which my thoughts were running, for she took my hand under the table, and held it fondly in hers.
'I can't help liking the little room after all, mother,' I said.